#jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge

[trillian-anders]

marked

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, violence. 

word count: 10748

description: soulmate!au; just because you’re meant to be together doesn’t mean it always works out that way. what happens when you’re not completely ready to meet your soulmate? 

prompt: “that’s not how soulmates are supposed to react to each other”

note: happy belated birthday love, i hope this year finds you well and i hope you don’t get too hungover (sorry this took so long) 

for @jbbuckybarnes​;; birthday challenge

You’ve had their tattoo your entire life. That’s what you called it too. Their tattoo. It didn’t feel like yours. The tiny brand of their fated love. Whoever they were, they were already a fully formed adult by the time you were born. The nurse who wiped the blood and mucus off of your little body gasping seeing the soft little bloom on your chubby arm. 

You parents had been a little alarmed. The tattoos forming once the partner was eighteen years old, the age gap startling. But the fates were to be trusted. So life went on. 

At first when you were a little girl, you’d loved the little string of flowers on your forearm. You’d colored it in with markers and outlined it every day, but you didn’t understand what it was then. They were called bleeding hearts. The strand of them across your entire forearm. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to get it until you were an adult.” Her name was Amy. You didn’t get along with Amy. “Does that mean that you’re going to be with an old person?” A cackle from her group of friends. You sunk lower into your desk, covering your arm with your hand and pulling it in tight to your body. 

It became something they’d tease you about for years. 

The bleeding hearts that your Mother had planted, you came to resent them. The ones painted onto your childhood bedroom’s walls you’d begged them to be covered up. You started using makeup to cover up the black outline of the offending flowers, trying to gain some kind of normalcy. 

It’s funny how a couple of cruel kids can totally change your outlook on something that should be so simple, so easy. 

But it made you think, what if he was an old man? By the time you were eighteen he would be almost forty. That is, if he was exactly eighteen when you were born. There were possibilities outside of the norm, like usually people would be wondering what their partner was doing right now. What did they want to do with their lives? This person, whoever they were, man or woman, must have been alarmed that their flower never showed up. Their right arm staunchly blank until you yourself turned eighteen. 

You wondered that night, as your family celebrated your birthday, as you blew out your candles, if they were just as panicked as you were. 

x

The doctors stalled. Their movements halted, and the asset didn’t know why. What were they doing? New procedure? They murmured to each other. Passing by closely, a nurse resumed strapping him down, his bones still chilled from cryostasis. “Soulmate.” He heard. 

It scratched at him from the back of his mind, the word. He’d heard it before. He knew what it meant of course, soulmates. He’d separated one from another many times. Instructed to dispatch one and let the other live, it didn’t matter which one. 

He did his job, quickly and efficiently. He had to. 

A mouth guard placed between his teeth and his heart began to race in a Pavlovian response. Fingers clenching and unclenching with anticipation. His legs and arms being restrained before the metal plates would close over his face and the pain would begin. 

“I have a new mission for you,” Alexander Pierce. The man who was in charge. His boss. His master. “It’s ongoing. Concurrent with any other missions I ask of you, do you understand?” He felt himself nod, mind still scrambled, dazed. “You see this?” His wrist was harshly turned over, the black lines swirling around it he’d never seen before. “If you ever see this on someone else, this exact tattoo, you bring them here. Do you understand?” The asset’s eyes glazed over, unfocused. Pierce smacked him upside his head, gripping his face tightly and pulling his gaze into his. “Do you understand soldier?” 

“Yes, I understand.” 

x

The sun rose and set with no event. You hadn’t found him. Years passed and your life went on. The apprehension and the fear of finding him out there somewhere would never leave. Your friends found their soulmates, they got married, some even had kids now. And you were still alone. 

“You don’t want to meet him?” Your best friend, Nia asked. She wrapped a perfectly curled strand of hair around her finger, tightly pinning it with a clip and spraying it with hair spray. Her tattoo was of a set of constellations, it was on her collarbone. Her husband’s matching one was found in your first year of college. The two found each other in a chem lab and babbled to one another over renewable energy and found they both wanted to work for the same ecological lab that was currently designing a plastic made from trees, something they worked together to produce. 

You watched her in the mirror curl your hair for another college friend’s wedding, the bride and groom having met each other in a perfect meet-cute, their dogs both racing towards each other in the middle of central park. Screaming and tripping and tumbling into one another and realizing they had the very same perfect little heart on their ring fingers. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to meet him,” You explain, watching Nia’s perfectly manicured fingers twirl another perfect curl away from the iron, “I’m just apprehensive.” And that was the truth. 

You wanted what all your friends had, really. It’s just what happened was you didn’t see an issue in having an older soulmate until your classmates pointed out it was weird to have an older soulmate and now that it was pointed out to you that it was weird to have an older soulmate now you think it’s weird to have an older soulmate. 

But that’s hard to say to people. 

“Everyone is nervous to meet their soulmate,” Nia soothed, “But that person is the other side of your coin, they’re someone who the fates have created specifically for you.” And that’s what is so scary. Someone is out there waiting for you and it gives you a shit ton of anxiety.

x

“Are you sure you’re ready for this Buck?” Steve stood in the doorway behind him, geared up, watching Bucky tighten the laces on his boots. 

“Gotta get back into it sometime don’t I?” Bucky looked up at his long-time friend. Steve’s jaw was clenched, clearly on the fence about letting him back in the field. 

“If you feel it at all going south, just let me know. We can get you out of there, and fast.” Bucky stood, clipping his holster on his back he said, 

“I’ll be fine, let’s just go.” 

x

The wedding was beautiful. In Central Park where they’d met. The early summer sun was warm, but not overbearingly so. It was a perfect day for a wedding and you were already a little drunk. They did this thing with champagne and chambord that was really quenching your thirst and for whatever reason your glass seemed to never be empty. It was easy to lose yourself in the happiness of the day, dancing, drinking, and eating your weight in hors d'oeuvres. 

“Here, c’mon, let’s get a picture.” There was a large floral background weaved with beautiful blooms and greens. The group that were your best friends in college, the ones you smoked way too much weed with and drank yourself blind on twisted teas with, and the groom, whose bathtub you’d woken up in more than once, a group picture at his wedding that you were sure would start endless conversations about late night Taco Bell runs and do you remember this embarrassing thing you did this one time? 

But you couldn’t quite remember what happened after that. It all happened so fast. Spillover from some Avengers fight nearby. There was an explosion, smoke, then triage. 

You couldn’t breathe. The coughing was hard on your throat, gasping for breath. A clear plastic mask was fitted over your face, pure oxygen began pumping into the mask, you could feel yourself shuffled around, doors to an ambulance closing. Your blood was thin from the alcohol. You heard something about a transfusion and then it was dark. 

x

Bucky’s heart was racing as he came out through the fog. It was just like when they would pull him out of cryo. Muddled and cold. 

“Buck.” Steve’s voice called. “Can you hear me?” He couldn’t move his arms. He couldn’t move his legs. “Bucky?” It was a tiled ceiling. White. It hurt his eyes at first glance. He was at the compound. 

He didn’t know how it went south so fast. The mission was going to be intense, he knew, but he didn’t realize the series of tunnels that twisted through the city would lead them to central park. Right into a trap. The explosion he remembers, resurfacing he remembers, what he doesn’t remember was what happened when he was trying to grab civilians out of the way. It all became a blur then. 

“What happened back there?” Steve’s brow pulled in concern, he was changed, freshly washed and sitting in the chair next to the bed in the med room. 

“I don’t know.” Arms flexing against the restraints, “Let me outta here.” A buzz and a chink sound and the metal restraints unlocked and retreated back into the frame of the bed. Bucky sat up and swung his legs over the side, eyes locking onto the bleeding hearts on his arm and halting, before hastily tugging his sleeve down to cover it. 

“I think you need to talk to Shuri.” Steve stepped back and let Bucky stand, “There’s still something going on in there.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

x

Have you ever had a trach? A large plastic tube down your throat, it helps you breathe but it’s uncomfortable, and startling when you wake up and you could feel it hard against your tongue and throat. Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes from the harsh lights. A steady beep in the background as you reached consciousness and realized your surroundings. 

“Hey sweetheart.” Your Mom, brushing hair out of your face and soothing your rising heart rate, “You’re okay, you’re okay. Let me get the nurse.” 

Everyone for the most part was fine, the blast came from the ground, feet away from the reception. There were guests in critical condition in the ICU but no one had died. Bride and Groom were in the same condition as you were, bruised and with a broken bone or two but mostly fine. 

A cast sat, freshly dried on your right arm, from wrist to elbow. Your soul mark covered by plaster. Your throat hurt after the trach was removed and you were left to recover in your childhood bedroom. 

“It’s unbelievable.” Your Dad sat in his recliner, feet up, drinking what must have been his third cup of coffee that day. “Ross is a joke.” The news had been all about the Avengers and what happened in central park. Wedding guests who hadn’t been injured were interviewed, joggers, a family visiting from some other state with two small children. There was a replay of events, in between the rubble and smoke were the Avengers fighting a group with steel masks on, one with white scratching in the shape of a skull and ‘x’ scraped on the chest plate. They called him Crossbones. He was their leader. Supposedly. 

“If he were to just let the Avengers do their job, these criminals wouldn’t be getting so close to the city.” A gruff response to the newscaster talking about what Secretary Ross had issued in a statement earlier. 

“We are doing everything we can to find the perpetrators responsible for the Central Park bombing,” A simple, practiced response, “We will be working tirelessly until they are caught and brought to justice.” Your father scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“They’ll sit on their thumbs until the incident is forgotten and then maybe by then whatever group this is will have another bombing ready to go.” A knock on the door. Your Mother leaving the other side of the couch where she was listening, but not really while scrolling through her facebook page on her phone. 

“Hello, how can I help you?” The pleasant chirp of her voice. You couldn’t hear what was on the other end but moments later she reappeared in the living room, two men in suits in tow. “Y/N, honey, these men work with the government, they just have a couple questions for you about the incident.” 

The two men looked straight out of men in black, almost comically so. They said that they worked with the Avengers and it made your parents skeptical of them. Why would the Avengers send someone out to talk to you in the first place? You already had given your report to the police in the hospital. It didn’t make any sense. 

But you answered their questions and about an hour later they were on their way out the door and you hoped they wouldn’t be back. Something just seemed off about them. 

Life went on, as it does. 

You were back at work, girls nights on Thursdays having margarita pitchers and tacos at Nia’s penthouse apartment, her and her husband had the good fortune of working for a leading ecological engineering company where they both worked side by side in a lab attempting to mass produce reusable and biodegradable alternatives to the current norm. Chinese takeout containers in your fridge and the same bag of salad you throw out and replace each week. Normal. 

Except for one thing that made you feel a little crazy. You felt like you were being watched. 

x

Something was wrong, Bucky knew that, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. It was itching at the back of his mind. Something he had forgotten. Something he couldn’t piece together. It was killing him. 

He remembered everything from before. Every hit, every instruction, every time he was put in that chair and his brain was scrambled. Everything except one thing in particular. 

Those bleeding hearts on his arm. 

He knew that he didn’t have them during the war. It was a point of contention for him, never getting his soul mark, he was endlessly sensitive about it. Insecure. He wondered if maybe the fates hadn’t chosen one for him. Maybe he was a mistake, a flaw in the soulmate system. He didn’t have one. Which is why in that little apartment in Bucharest that he found himself staring at the thin and dark black lines on his right arm. 

Was this always meant to happen? He wrought his brain in those early days, when did this happen. When did his soulmate become an adult? How long ago was it? How old are they now? 

The apartment smelled like shit. Plumbing was out somewhere, the neighbors next door constantly screamed at each other, but it kept him hidden. It gave him time to think before he would let Steve find him. 

But those flowers. 

He couldn’t remember. It was gone. 

“It would have interfered with their plans,” Shuri explained, “If you had a soulmate that person might have been overwhelming enough to you to deter your mission.” The lab had been updated since he’d last been here. New gadgets and equipment scattered about in an organized but cluttered way. 

Shuri was always working on something new and she frequently called him down to work on his arm. Something to give it more feeling, now he couldn’t just feel pressure and temperature, he had actual nerve endings. “They’ll immediately close at the hub if something were to happen, though I don’t imagine you being able to destroy this arm easily.” The dark vibranium and gold.

Bucky nods in agreement, “That makes sense.” She gives him an odd look. 

“We could go deeper,” She continues, “They’ve probably buried it deep into your psyche.” It wasn’t a painful process, but it was uncomfortable. Bucky trusted Shuri and he wanted to know. He had to know. 

This person, whoever they were, was made for him. He knew that he wasn’t ready for them, for that relationship, but he could at least figure out when the flowers bloomed on his arm and put a timeline together. That’s what he needed. 

It was like falling asleep in the bath. 

Warm and comfortable, a little foggy. Sleep sets on and you find yourself sinking, slipping further into the heat. Then the inhale of water, burning against your lungs and you’re leaning over the side, fully awake and coughing liquid. 

Then again, 

And again.

Until it’s clear. 

He needed to stay far away from you, whoever you were. 

x

If there was one thing you loved about taking the NYC subway it was people-watching. Not able to happen when it was rush hour and you’d be shoved between an overweight man with a staring problem and an older woman who refused to sit because it was sexist, but on your way home after a late shift. When you had your seat and there were only ten other people in the car with you. 

This observance showed you an old man headed home with a cloth tote of groceries. You assumed he was a professor because who else wears tweed on top of a vest and tie. The leather attache case also seemed very professor-like. 

There was a group of kids, probably fresh out of high school, laughing loudly and joking around at the front of the car. One of them recording the other three on their phone, a short clipped tune playing on the phone. Probably something for TikTok. 

There was a couple and both had a bike with them. The girl was in loose cotton overalls and had lavender hair. The guy’s hair was long, reaching just below his shoulders, heavily tattooed, and thin. He had tapered cuffed jeans and a floral button down on. They would kiss every couple minutes in between talking softly. 

The weirdest group were the three men at the end of the subway car. They gave you a weird vibe, but being around seven other people made you feel a little more safe. 

They weren’t talking to each other, looking at their phones, but something made you feel like they were watching you when you weren’t looking. You just hoped they weren’t getting off at your stop. 

“This paranoia,” your therapist explained, “Is most likely rooted in the incident. You were comfortable and your guard was down.” And then the attack. “It’s perfectly normal to be experiencing some PTSD after being through a traumatic event.” 

But it felt so superficial. Other people have had worse situations. No one was hurt that badly. Yes, your cast itches like hell, but you didn’t have to live through the blip. You were one of the ones who blipped, so it was like it never even happened. 

You had two parents who really loved you and supported your decisions. They didn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to and they always were there if you needed help. 

You had a good group of friends who were reliable and got together once a week like adults do. You had a nice studio apartment not too far away from the good part of town and a job that you excelled at. 

There were people who had a bad day, every day. And you had a truly bad day once and now you were this paranoid mess that always felt like the other shoe was about to drop. 

“Your worst day is your worst day,” is what she said, “Don’t compare yourself to others, their trauma does not discount your trauma.” 

But it still didn’t feel right. 

You were regretting bringing your tumbler out to work. Always at the end of the night, full of water or tea, and not wanting to carry it anymore you dumped it out on the street. Another block and you’ll be home. Only one of the men got off at your stop. Tumbler stored in your backpack you white knuckle your keys in your fist. He was headed in the same direction. 

It became kind of like tunnel vision. The only thing you could hear is his footsteps. Hard, clacking against the pavement and also the side of your skull. Your heart was racing and you could feel a cold sweat break out on your forehead and the nape of your neck. Your hands are shaking. 

The steps to your building have never felt more comforting, but the final slam of the passcode protected door was definitely a little more comforting. The shadow of the man continued to walk by. No glance in your direction. 

And you felt foolish. 

You were just paranoid, you were sure of it. 

“So I was thinking,” Nia took a sip of her margarita, the table full with nachos, guac and chips, and various small street-style tacos. It was a local spot not too far from your apartment, a basement restaurant that was the friend group favorite since freshman year of college when you’d sneak in with fake IDs. “Maybe we upload your soulmark to one of those search sites.” 

You roll your eyes, licking the salt of the rim of the glass before taking a long pull of your drink. “I don’t think that’s for me,” You shrug, leaning back in your chair, “I just want to let it happen, it’ll happen eventually.” It’s not that you had anything against those sites. They really helped people and it’s completely possible that it’s how the fates planned for them to meet, but seeing as you were fine as you were at the moment, you didn’t really want anything to help you speed up the process. 

Nia sighs, but relents, “So are you going to come to Gin’s gallery opening?” 

x

“What do you have on Rumlow?” Bucky just freshly back from Wakanda greeted Steve. 

“How was it?” Bucky shook his head, changing the subject, “Do we have anything on him? His location? Anything?” Steve looked at his friend, understanding, but not wanting to drop the subject. 

“We’ve got a couple leads to flush out, but honestly Buck, are you okay?” There was a dark look in his eyes, the look he had often had when he was fresh from the ice and going through Shuri’s process for the first time. The memories he’d face everyday. 

“I’ll be fine.” And that was that. Not further questions. He didn’t want to be asked and Steve knew he would come around eventually. 

He told himself he was fine, because he was, mostly. This fence he straddled of wanting his soulmate and the before final resignation that he didn’t have one, he was finally on a third side. He couldn’t find them. 

Not if he didn’t want to hurt them. 

The fog cleared. 

He remembered bursting from the ground, flung recklessly by the bomb, landing on his feet. Crouched. Knees shocked in protest, from catching his body weight. He remembers instinctively, standing, making one pass and realizing there was a large group of people in the smoke. He got to work, pulling people out, getting them out of the way before going back in. 

Then there it was. As clear as day, he could see it. The bleeding hearts. And then he didn’t have control over his body anymore. 

He snapped your arm. 

He was ripped away by someone on Rumlow’s team. But he snapped your arm. His eyes focused on your unconscious body as he felt himself fighting others. He didn’t mean to break your arm. 

He didn’t mean to. 

But he did. And it sat in his gut. Toxic and acidic, rolling and cresting up his throat until he was spitting up bile. Laying over his toilet, gagging and unable to vomit. 

He had to stay away. There was no other option. 

“They wanted you to bring her back to them?” Shuri asked.

“But they don’t exist anymore.” Bucky offered. Shuri nods, scrolling through the datapad. 

“I can take the mission objective from you,” She explains, “But you’re going to have to deal with these negative feelings with your therapist.” The fear. The anxiety. The longing. 

“It’s a string.” He remembers his grade school teacher explaining. “A string that’s loose at first, but the tension pulls you closer and closer together until you meet.” A string that bonds, wraps itself around you and fuses you together. 

Shuri continues, “You’ll see her again.” It’s a certainty. “Hopefully by then we will have this taken care of.” The trains moving the vibranium, Bucky watched them, disassociating. It was so relaxing seeing them pass on a schedule, quickly and efficiently. Always on time. “You deserve to be happy, James.” That brought his eyes to hers, still unfocused and wanting to leave. “You deserve to be with her.” But he wasn’t so sure. 

“Let’s go.” Steve’s voice was soothing, familiar when he feels like he’s drowning. It always brings him out. It pulls him back to the surface. 

He’s in the jet. The jet just landed. Another base. Another search for information. Far away from New York. Far away from you. 

“All these bases look the same.” Sam sounds annoyed, the concrete structure buried halfway into the ground. Old Hydra bases that Rumlow knew. The ones that Bucky also knew. The ones that Rumlow knows that Bucky knows. Breadcrumbs found in the forest leading them into the evil old woman’s oven. 

It was abandoned and recently so if the empty rotting food containers and spoiled milk in the fridge was anything to go by. Robbed of the guns and ammo, the last few bombs left over from the old regime kept under lock and key behind steel doors. 

“Where do you think they’re going next?” It was no secret that Rumlow hates Steve, Bucky, and Sam. Sam is the reason his face is burnt to shit. Bucky was the golden boy of Hydra and Steve… Steve was one of the big three. Steve’s face was plastered on billboards and they sold action figures of his likeness. Rumlow was the jealous type. Always. 

If Rumlow had been chosen to be a Winter Soldier he would have taken it with pride. He wouldn’t have suffered or had to have been scrambled like Bucky. And as far as Bucky was concerned Rumlow could have taken it. But it wasn’t that easy. And Rumlow had been 60 years too late. 

“Onto the next one?”

x

You could swear that was the same guy from the other night. Maybe. Possibly. Were you crazy? Your leg shaking with anxiety, bouncing to try to release any kind of energy building. The paranoia. The fear. He rode this train the other night. The guy who gets off on your same stop. But maybe that’s just his stop. Maybe he lives on your block. Maybe you really are crazy. 

You were trying to look preoccupied with your phone, but from the corner of your eye you could see him. Black t-shirt and jeans. Hands held placid in his lap, staring out the window. Not much to look at when you’re underground, but if you looked up you can see your own reflection in that window. 

Trust your gut. 

That’s what all of those true crime shows and podcasts have told you. Trust your gut. And something was wrong with this guy. 

Your cast itched like hell. 

In your phone you created a note. What color were his eyes? How tall was he? What was his build? Any distinguishing features? Scars? Tattoos? Did he have a visible soulmark? 

Your stop came. And as expected he also got off. 

The pounding of your heart matched the dual footsteps. A thump in your ears as you listened to the blood rush through them. Above ground you quickly dialed someone you hoped would answer. 

It rang once, twice, three times. 

Four and five. 

He seemed close. Like he knew you were onto him. Like he knew that you knew his intentions were sinister. 

Six and Seven. 

Keys fisted in your opposite hand you prayed under your breath that Nia would wake up. Fucking Christ Nia answer. 

Eight and Nine. 

A chill down your spine, a harsh grip against your cast, arm yanked out of socket. The man pulled relentlessly, other hand coming to grip your neck. Your fisted keys meeting his cheek and eye socket. A scream. Phone dropped. A sore, broken and still healing arm, bruised and blue, now in the open air. A fist meeting your face and your back hitting the brick wall of the building behind you. 

Directed to voicemail. 

x

“Is it bad?” Natasha sniffed the cup in front of him before taking a sip, “Tastes fine to me.” The coffee he didn’t realize he’d been glaring at. Too caught up in thinking about the flowers on his arm. The ones revealed by his rolled up sleeve. 

“The coffee’s fine.” Bucky sighs, yanking down his sleeve, looking up at Natasha’s prying eyes. A beat of silence.  “It’s fine.” 

“No it’s not.” She protests, grabbing his arm and yanking the sleeve back up, “What’s going on?” Bucky shakes his head, picking up his mug and creating a distance, tugging the sleeve back down over the offending ink. “You haven’t been yourself since Central Park.”

“I haven’t been myself since I enlisted in the military.” Not untrue. 

“You know what I mean,” Nat leaned against the counter, peering at him, a calculating look in her eyes. “Did you see them?” The way his back tensed she knew she was right, brow pulling together tight. “Bucky-”

“Drop it.” He could hear disappointment in her voice,

“You not talking to them isn’t going to make it hurt any less.” He knows. He knows. But it would hurt you less. So that’s what he’s going to do. 

“You have to learn to trust yourself,” His therapist said, “You have to trust that you’re a good person and that you weren’t in control, you wouldn’t have done these things normally, would you?” Well no, but he still did those things. The guilt will never go away. He just has to learn how to come to terms with it. 

It’s a process. 

But he needed to keep you from him. 

It’s not that he believed he would break your arm again or worse, but maybe. It’s a possibility and it gave him enough anxiety that he isn't sleeping well anymore. Those blissful eight hours dwindled to six hours full of tossing and turning. Being too hot and then too cold. Nothing was helping, jogs, hot baths, cold showers, time spent with a punching bag, reading, meditation. He wondered why Pierce never removed the skin on his arm. 

If he didn’t want him to have anything to do with his soulmate that is. 

“They could have used them to control you.” Shuri had speculated, “Make you more compliant.” Makes sense. 

But he could have just brought you back and then what? They use you to torture him. Give you to him as a reward? Let you play house for doing a good job? 

He shudders with the thought. 

His room was a nice reprieve from the questioning. From Nat, Steve, and even Sam had started to ask about his more than chilled demeanor recently. But he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to focus on. He didn’t know what he wanted. 

But it seemed like someone was going to choose for him. 

x

You hated hospitals. The smell, the noise, the way the sheets felt against your skin. The only good thing about it was the socks, for whatever reason they are the thinnest yet warmest socks ever created. Wild. 

“We think you should move home,” Your Mother was pacing, “We never liked you moving into the city in the first place.” You knew this. 

When you were freshly graduated from high school and told your parents that you wanted to move to New York it was definitely a hard subject for a while, but you’d been living in the city for a while now and truth be told this was only the third time something bad has happened to you since moving here from North Jersey. 

The first one was years ago when you were still in college and to be fair, it was a bad part of town, it was very late at night, and you and your friends were as naive as you were young. The guy didn’t make off with too much money anyway since all of you were broke, but regardless, still a shitty situation.

The last two were just this past week, the wedding, and now the guy who took your wallet and ripped the cast with unbelievable force from your arm. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Your arm had been pulled out of socket as well, so now you were in a fresh cast and a sling. 

“The city is getting worse,” Your Father agrees, “I don’t know if I can honestly take another call telling me you’re in the hospital.” You could agree with them. 

When you were younger and the Avengers first became a thing it was a steady increase in crime. Then Daredevil and Spider-Man didn’t help. Every criminal in New York wanted to test their chops against the big guys. King Pin became a thing and a bunch of superpowered criminals became rampant, kept only in check by the constant monitoring of heroes on the streets. 

But it wasn’t always like that, 99% of the time it was just another normal day. The problem is your parents loved watching the news, and everything on the news was bad. They didn’t see the good things about the city, they didn’t see the good people in the city. Like the older man in your building who you could call at any time with a plumbing issue and he’d be right over to fix it, the housing office will get back to you anywhere between 7-30 days. There’s another woman with a large family who, even when they’re not there, cooks enough to feed an army and is more than happy to deliver leftovers to your door. 

You’ve never felt more like yourself before moving to the city, there was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t be moving out of New York any time soon. 

“It’s just bad luck,” You sigh, closing your eyes against the harsh fluorescent light, “I’ll be fine really, I told you that you didn’t even have to come up here.” 

A knock at the door, your nurse. She walked in and placed the little paper cup with two pills on the tray next to the bed. 

“These are for pain, you have some other visitors,” Other visitors?  “Are you okay to be questioned?” You’d already given your statement to the police. 

“Questioned by who?” The nurse looks over to your parents apologetically.

“It would probably be best if they questioned her alone.” Begrudgingly your parents left the room, two Avengers taking their place. 

x

“So one of Rumlow’s goonies attacked this girl?” Sam looked down at the file in his hands. The car scenery changes from the woods and forest of upstate into the skyscrapers and metal of the city. Bucky’s stomach was churning, but he faced the window and didn’t speak. 

“She was also one of the vics at Central Park.” Steve directed the car down the exit ramp, into the heart of the city. Bucky felt like he was going to vomit. 

It’s her. 

“So dude gets a good look at her, thinks she’s pretty, follows her for days afterward?” Sam speculates. Bucky’s neck feels hot. 

This whole car feels hot. He cracks his window. 

“I’m gonna wait here.” Steve and Sam look at him in the rearview, Sam even turning in his seat as Steve navigated a spot in the parking garage. “What?”

“Everytime there’s something Hydra we can’t pull your nose out of it,” Sam began, “But all the sudden, ‘I’ll wait in the car?’” 

“Are you good, Buck?” Steve’s voice with more concern, killing the engine. 

“No.” He grumbles, “I’m not.” He couldn’t go in there. He just couldn’t.

x

“If it’s okay,” Steve began, “We would just like to ask you a few questions about the man who attacked you.” It must have been a big deal, the guy who followed you. Why would two Avengers be in your hospital room if it wasn’t. 

“Of course.” The chill of the hospital room was slowly warming, a nervousness was growing. Who was this guy? And why did he attack you? 

“When did you first notice he was following you?” The Falcon, he stood further back, almost against the wall. His arms crossed and legs in a wide stance. Captain America was in a much more comforting position, sitting in the chair next to your bed, leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows on his knees. 

“Uhm, well… I was in the hospital for a day or two after the attack.” You shift in bed, suddenly wildly uncomfortable, “I was on the subway, headed home, and he was with two other men.”

“Did they also follow you off the train?” You shake your head, 

“No the first night I saw them, they seemed to know each other, but they stayed on their phones most of the time. The man who attacked me was the only one who left at my stop.” The two men had been on the subway sporadically, not always with him. But more often than not. 

Whoever they were, they must have thought you were dumb enough not to notice. But you were also dumb enough to think your paranoia wasn’t real. Maybe you should be going to therapy once a week instead of twice a month. Maybe then you would have learned the difference between markers of past trauma and an actual gut feeling of danger. 

“What did he look like?” 

x

Bucky’s leg anxiously bounced in the backseat. His fingernails were no longer interesting and his phone, no matter how often he checked his apps, gave him no solace. 

“Maybe just a peek.” He reasoned, leg halting its movements and he looked out the window of the car to the door, entry to the hospital. You were so close, his heart was pounding. He steps from the car, but pauses at the glass sliding doors long enough for them to automatically close again before finally venturing inside. 

Bucky hated hospitals. The smell reminded him of the lab. How sterile it was. How cold. It made him wildly uncomfortable. 

His heart clenched painfully in his chest. The arm. The one he knew that your tattoo resided because that’s where his was, covered in a cast and a sling. There was bruising down the same side, starting under your right eye and trailing down and disappearing into your hospital gown, before reappearing on the small sliver of skin between your sleeve and the top of the sling. 

This was his fault and he knew it. 

But he’ll handle it. 

He’ll make sure that Rumlow and his thugs were safely behind bars on the Raft. Either that, or buried in a shallow grave somewhere in Siberia. 

“She might have seen something.” Steve slammed the car door and Bucky pretended to be preoccupied with his phone. 

“We’ll have to tail her for a while,” The engine starting, Sam continues, “He’ll come back.” Bucky’s jaw clenched.

He wouldn’t give him the chance. 

x

The paranoia. The fear. It was palpable. You constantly looked over your shoulder. You’d bought another deadbolt for your door. Checking the windows twice before bed. You bought blackout curtains. As soon as the sun set. Windows checked, curtains pulled. Deadbolts are always locked. 

You didn’t leave unless you had to. The two Avengers didn’t comfort you, why was this guy after you? 

“We’ll do everything we can to find him,” The Captain, just like the words of Ross, aimed to soothe but it really showed you that they had no idea either. 

“Maybe you should take a break,” That’s what your therapist said, “Go stay with your parents for a little bit.” But you couldn’t. Because it felt like he was winning. And you were far too stubborn for that. 

You started carrying a knife.

It bounced against your hip as you walked, to and from work. The heavy metal you’d run your fingers across if you felt too anxious to continue. The routine helped. It helped the stress, the depression, the anxiety. You found yourself missing the comfort of the tattoo. 

It gave that to you. 

You never noticed it before now. When by force you can’t actually see it, now you wanted to see it more than anything, but your arm was encased in an inch of plaster and was still terribly sore. It was a comfort to know that there was someone out there that would have been able to help you through this. But you didn’t know who they were, or where they were. And it didn’t matter anyway. 

What good would you be if you couldn’t help yourself?

“Have you felt an increase in thoughts of this nature?” Your therapist was a nice woman who wore her hair messily piled on top of her head. Gray streaks throughout and proud of them, always in all black and always had a fresh iced coffee whenever you met with her. You’d been seeing her for years. 

Insecurity about one's soulmate often led a person to seek help, the strange self-loathing and anxiety that grew as a teenager was what gave you a final push in college when you turned to abusing adderall in order to tackle your busy schedule and just keep you from thinking all together. 

“Just since the assault.” And that was true. You’d been so good for such a long time. 

“Progress isn’t linear.” She always tells you. And you’ll try not to criticize yourself even further for falling behind. Or what you think is falling behind. 

You try to hold those ideas close. Because your soulmate isn’t who is going to help you get past this. You are. 

x

It didn’t take long. Not for the Winter Soldier. And definitely not for a man who was personally wronged by a sloppy thug who left tracks like mud on white linoleum. 

It was his soulmate they were after. The tug on his heart strings as he remembered the way you face looked, eye socket swollen and black because of this asshole’s fist. The anger that bubbled and rolled, acidic and hot in his gut. 

It took him less than 36 hours to find the guy. 

“What does Rumlow know?” Fuck all if Brock thinks Bucky Barnes was going to call him Crossbones. The man’s eyes were rolling, head lolling, drool coming from the corner of his mouth, strapped to a medical table that Bucky could still feel against his back. He sighed in frustration. Maybe he hit the guy a little too hard. That’s fine. They had time. 

This place gave him the creeps. The facility that he’d searched with Steve and Sam just a day or two ago. It was eerie seeing it empty. The way he remembered it, back in the 90s when he was here, right before Howard and Maria, it was booming with personnel. Men and women devoted to ‘the cause.’ Hydra’s better tomorrow. 

The better tomorrow that he helped shape. 

Natasha set the bomb off. He was cleaning up the rubble. 

“What does Rumlow know?” The man’s eyes met his, fearful, a hard swallow. Tongue seeking out the tooth that Bucky already ripped out. The cyanide. Another hard swallow, his fate resigned. Bucky leaned forward, the metal chair rusted and screaming in protest. “What?” Bucky couldn’t help but bite, “You had no problem beating a woman on the street.” And now the coward wanted to be afraid. “Start talking.” The tools Bucky kept on him lay out on the medical cart. Pliers and a couple different knives. A pick he used to unlock doors. Mostly for show. 

Mostly. 

Fingernails were the worst. That’s what Bucky started with, but the guy was more of a coward than he thought. He got two fingers in before squealing, 

“He just wanted a picture of the tattoo.” Fat blubbering tears. Snot across his nose. “He wanted to see her soulmark.” 

“Well?” Bucky pressed on the raw flesh, hard. “Did he see it?” If Rumlow saw the tattoo, if he had a picture, and he knew where you lived, he had to move fast. The man squirmed, crying, “Did he?” Bucky yelled. 

“Yes.”

x

You wondered how these kids got so talented. Truly. A ten-year-old who tells Gordon Ramsay that he’s making a Bearnaise sauce. Like what even is a Bearnaise sauce? 

From the comfort of your home, a blissful day off, you’d gotten a lot done. Probably one of the most productive days you had in a long time and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that cleaning your entire apartment ceiling to floor and listening to an audio book completely cleared your mind. It gave the sinking feeling in your gut that you couldn’t shake a twelve hour break as well. 

This ramen that took three minutes to make from a plastic bag looked paltry in comparison to ten-year-old Grace’s filet mignon that she was presenting to the judges, artfully drizzled with her Bearnaise sauce, but it was the best you could do planning to go grocery shopping tomorrow. 

The broth was hot, spilling on your pants as a series of hard knocks met the wood of your front door. Anxiety spiking. Stepping from the couch, you backed away from the door. Setting the bowl on your counter,you backed yourself down the hallway, towards your bedroom where you knew your phone was charging on your night stand. 

The person stopped knocking, voice coming muffled through the door. “Y/N, this is James Barnes.” The Avenger? Your steps halting, you stood in the doorway of your room, straight ahead was your front door. “I have reason to believe you’re in danger.” There was an internal struggle. Was this guy telling the truth? Do you go look out the peephole? You weren’t even sure you knew what this guy looked like to know if it was him or not. What if this was a trick? What if the man who assaulted you was on the other side of that door?

Heart racing you took a step forward, heading to the door to look through the peephole when you were yanked back hard enough to hurt your neck. A scream leaping from your throat as a hand covered your mouth, a strong arm pinning your arms down and keeping you from lashing out. 

“I’ve got you,” A whisper, “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” You could feel your body trembling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.  “That’s not James Barnes.” There was a slight breeze from where your bedroom window was open. “I’m gonna let you go, but you’ve got to listen and trust me to get you out of here. Can you do that?” His body was hot against your back, the hand over your mouth cold and metallic. James Barnes had a metal arm, didn’t he? You could feel yourself nod, the man releasing you slowly and letting you take a step away before turning back to face him. 

His hair was short, ruffled, with a thick scruff on his face. And the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. 

“Let’s go.” The banging on the door resumed, but this time, the hinges were bending, metal warping with each hit. The man you were supposed to trust jumped onto the windowsill and held out his hand to you, “We don’t have a lot of time.” Your eyes flit between the front door, now splintering, and the open metal palm of the man who broke into your apartment. Adrenaline rising you made a split second decision, the door falling off its hinges you let the man pull you out of your apartment and down the fire escape. 

It was close, almost too close. 

Apartment window locks, the old ones anyway, were an easy lift and pop out of place. The banging on your front door gave him cause for alarm, but you’d already been making your way back to him. Steve had a lot of questions, but was enroute nonetheless. All he had to do was get you as far away from Rumlow as possible. 

“They’re on their way to take care of the guys breaking down your door,” He explained, trying not to think about how soft your hand was in his. “Steve, Sam, and a couple other agents.” 

Your eyes were shifty, he knew you didn’t trust him, at least not all the way. 

“Are you okay?” The swelling was gone from your eye but it was still a violent shade of blue and for a second Bucky thinks he went easy on the thug before turning him over. 

You’re three blocks away, the late night traffic and noise was a little disorienting. A car was in front of you backed into an alley, blacked out windows, the Avengers insignia in gray paint on the side. Maybe this guy was the real deal. 

“I’m fine.” Truth was you were terrified, your feet were cold and you were surprised you didn’t step in glass with how fast he’d dragged you three blocks without shoes on. He gave you an odd look before opening the passenger door and gesturing for you to get inside. There was hesitation. His eyes locked with yours, seeming to debate something before taking a step closer to you. 

You stepped back. 

“I need you to come with me.” His voice was soothing, reassuring, but you still couldn’t quite be bought. 

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of situation you got me out of back there, but this is all a little too strange for me,” There were police sirens, flashing lights sped down the street behind you, towards your apartment. You look back at the man in front of you, arms wrapped around yourself and toes now going numb. “I just don’t know exactly who I can trust right now.”

The metal digits moved to his sleeve, tugging the fabric upward, his pale skin a stark contrast against he black ink of bleeding hearts.

His bleeding hearts. 

Your bleeding hearts. 

“Trust me,” he says, voice desperate, “Please.” And in an instant, you did. 

It made sense.

It made complete sense. 

He was over eighteen when you were born, because he was born a century ago.

 There was silence in the car as you left the city. Both unable to speak. Where did you go from here? You weren’t ready for this. You don’t know if you could do this. Your hands were shaking, your shoulder was aching and you suddenly felt wildly uncomfortable. 

There’s an expectation with soulmates. Is it what he expected of you? Like was this you jumping into the deep end of dating and meeting families and getting married and spending every waking minute sappy and in love?

You weren’t ready.

You couldn’t do this. 

You were safe. That’s all that matters. Bucky’s hand hurt from gripping the wheel so tight. His heart was racing now that you were so close. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do here. Does he start a conversation? Does he tell you about what just happened? No. He doesn’t want to scare you more than you probably already are. Rumlow is a conversation for later. When there can be a rational conversation outside adrenaline and fear. 

But where do you go from here? Bucky didn’t know. Should he be asking you on a date? Are you going to ask him on a date? His anxiety spiked thinking about it. He just started doing well enough in therapy to go back on field missions, he didn’t know if he was ready to take on a committed relationship. The rolling feeling in his gut was back. 

“Here,” The compound was sleek and minimalist, “If you want to rest until the rest of the team gets back, it might be a while after interrogation and processing.” A room for you to sleep in, the sun already sunk below the horizon well before you were pulled hastily from your apartment, the fatigue finally settling in. 

“Uhm, thank you,” You didn’t know what to say, but it seems like he didn’t know either. 

“I’ll uh…” He took a step back, “I’ll come get you in the morning.” Okay, okay. “If you want to take a shower, it’s right through there. And there’s spare clothes in the drawers.” Avengers sweats and hoodies. Nondescript undergarments. 

The bottom of the shower, arm hanging out the side. You didn’t know how long you sat there, the water never went cold. But by the time you were done and you slipped under the covers the rest of the world just seemed to disappear. 

X

“She’s your soulmate?” Steve looked at his friend incredulously. “Bucky why didn’t you say anything before?” He was stubborn, and he didn’t know what to do at the time. 

“I don’t know.” Steve was annoyed. Hands on his hips, wide captain stance, authoritative voice annoyed. Disappointed dad annoyed. 

“We would have had a strict detail on her,” He paced, “We could have brought her here for christ’s sake.” But Bucky didn’t want that. He wasn’t ready for this. 

“She didn’t seem really interested in it Steve,” he shrugs, “And neither am I.” Sam scoffed, leaning back in his chair. 

“You don’t want to be with her?” A strange look, “She’s literally made for you, and you for her, and you don’t want to be with her?” Sam’s eyebrows pulled tight in confusion. 

“That’s not how soulmates are supposed to react to each other.” Steve adds. Both men didn’t understand. When they found their soulmates everything seemed to click into place. They weren’t as damaged, they weren’t as scarred. They wouldn’t understand. 

“I’m not ready.” Bucky’s chest felt tight. “I’m just not ready. Not yet.” 

x

You never had to see him. This Rumlow person. Crossbones. The next morning, when you woke up, James Barnes was waiting for you at the door. 

“Are you hungry?” He seemed nervous, but so were you. He leads you out into the main common room. A plate of food covered in a metal lid, eggs, bacon, toast. A plate set aside for you from their early breakfast, he explained that most of them wake up for early morning training. Paperwork for the incident yesterday. It was quiet. Awkwardly so. But you didn’t know what to say, and it seemed like neither did he.

He busied himself making a cup of coffee and you watched him move. The ease in which he moved about this kitchen in where you imagined he made his meals, where he bonded with those other Avengers. Celebrities. It seemed surreal almost. Domestic. It’s why in all of those magazines they take candids of celebrities going to the grocery store, coming from the gym, faces clean of makeup. 

They buy food. They work out. They have wrinkles and acne. Just like us. 

They make coffee. They have awkward conversations. They don’t know what to do. Just like us. 

It’s why your Mom loved watching reality tv shows. Not because she liked the people on them, but because sometimes it was interesting to see how the 1% lived. What they worried about. What their worldview was. How black and white they saw things. 

You briefly wonder what an Avengers reality show would be like. 

This was your soulmate. 

The person created for you. And he drinks his coffee black. He had dark circles under his eyes. His arm was black, gold detailing, shaped just like his flesh arm. You were trying to remember the guy from the history books, what he looked like, but fifth grade was so long ago and you were more worried about growing out the bangs you’d cut at home in your bathroom. 

It was hard to believe. 

But it was real.

And right on his arm as he turned to join you at the kitchen bartop. You felt your back straighten, your fork continuing its path, pushing eggs from one side to the other. What do you do now? Say something? Anything? You couldn’t tell if he didn’t want this as much as you or if that’s just how he was. Silent, standoffish, the gears in his head turning and turning with thought. His eyes were unfocused, staring at the movement of your fork. Seemingly snapping out of it when you lay your fork to the side, his eyes met yours, a forced smile. 

This isn’t what you expected, but the bubbling in your guy was going to spill from your lips before you could possibly help it,

“We don’t have to do this.” Whatever this was. 

You’ve seen soulmates meet and you’re sure he’s seen soulmates meet in his lifetime. It wasn’t uncommon. Passing on the street, they see the soulmark, tears, hugging, maybe even a kiss if the pair was passionate enough. At your place of work it happened once with a new hire. It happens, constantly, around you. But this wasn’t like that at all. 

He lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank god.” Your heart clenches, a feeling of rejection, smothered down, swallowed with a sip of orange juice. 

“Wow.” His mouth opens and closes, 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” shaking his head, he runs a hand through his hair, “I’m just not ready for this.” An understanding,

“Me either.” You both mirrored each other, relaxing against the chair back. You stare at one another for a minute, the silence comfortable for the first time. There was a simmer of rejection in the acid of your stomach, like maybe if he’d just been into it. If he wanted to be together now and do those things together now, you’d push aside your fears and leap into it. 

But this was being an adult? Making the choice that you need to make and not the choice that you want. 

There was that feeling there, you wanted to ask him questions. You wanted to know everything, this curiosity nagging at your brain. But this was good enough for now. 

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” He asked. You let out a heavy sigh, realizing you wouldn’t be able to go back to your apartment for a bit. The door was bashed in “...and the fight was in your living room.” So the entire front of the apartment was mostly destroyed. “You won’t be able to go back there for a while.” You mourn the $300 you’d just spend finishing the living and dining area. “I mean, I’m not going to kick you out.” He continued, “But I’m not sure you really want to stay here.” 

“I don’t.” He watches you rub your eyes and lean over, elbows on the table. “I can go stay with my parents for a little while.” 

He didn’t think about how you would have living parents. His were long gone, buried in a cemetery behind the church they’d gone to their entire lives. It gave him pause,

“If that’s what you want to do.” 

“It is.” 

There was silence for a moment more, Bucky debating something before beginning, “I uh… just got cleared for field work, I still have some stuff I need to work through before I can be in this relationship.” Shifting awkwardly, “Fully.”

He watched your eyes widen a fraction, before releasing a sigh, “I understand that,” You lean towards him, “It’s weird cause my whole life I thought you were gonna be some guy old enough to be my father.” 

“Technically I’m old enough to be your great-grandfather.” A laugh, the tension vaporized from the air. 

“I wish I paid more attention in social studies,” You shake your head, “After central park,” A swallow, “I started to have nightmares and I felt so paranoid, and then that guy attacked me on the street, and now…” 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” His eyes soft, fists clenched under the bar top, “That’s my fault.” 

“I know they were after you,” you could see it across his forehead, the way his shoulders were tense, the guilt, “but it’s not your fault they attacked me, and central park was just a coincidence.” 

“I know.” He knows. “But I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again.” You paused, not knowing to say, but it makes sense. His line of work was dangerous, and it means that you might be put into danger every once in a while. 

“We will just have to find new ways to cope then.” You could see the appeal, the way his eyes were looking down at the bartop, then snapped up to yours. It felt like the breath was knocked from your lungs. Is this what it feels like?

If he had asked you in that moment to stay, you would have, without hesitation.  

“If you need anything,” You couldn’t see his eyes properly in the dark of the car parked outside of your parent’s house, “Just call, and if I don’t answer send me a text.” 

“Okay,” you look down at your hands in your lap, then over at the front door, the porch light on and you could see the TV through the window, your parents probably watching Brooklyn-99 reruns and trying to stay awake until you arrive. 

“Hey,” His hand slipped into yours, pulling your eyes back to his, “You can stay at the compound if it would make you feel more safe.” 

“I think I’ll be okay,” He’d taken you back to your apartment, behind the caution tape and helped you pack a suitcase before driving an hour outside of the city, well into New Jersey. Your belly fluttered as he pulled the suitcase from the trunk, carrying it to the front door where the two of you now stood under the porch light. 

“Just check for me,” He said, “You’ve got my number and Steve’s.” You did. “You’ve got the number for the compound direct office.” You did. “Okay, okay.” A pause, “Let me just give you Nat and Sam’s numbers too, and Shuri’s.” You huff a sigh as the phone is taken from your hand, numbers quickly punched in. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He looked at you from beneath his lashes, thumbs quickly entering the last few digits. 

“If anything suspicious happens, and I mean a neighbor takes their dog on a different route, someone passes the house one time too many…”

“I’m gonna be okay Bucky.” Your heart warmed with the concern, but you were also comforted by the fact that you’d agreed to take this slow. 

“This is more for me than you, more for my peace of mind.” You could understand. He let out a deep breath, eyes meeting yours while he handed the phone back. There was a beat of silence, a creeping tension creeping up your spine, something pooled in your lower belly. Not awkward, not awkward at all. Something else. You took a step closer to him,

“Can I just do one thing before you go?” Bucky’s tongue peaked out, wetting his lower lip, rosy and pink. “I’m just-”

“Yeah,” A whisper. His fingers were soft on your arm, warm. And you pressed your lips to his. Hard to explain, how right it felt. Like you had a puzzle you’d been working on all your life and you were close to finishing, putting the whole thing together and he came up and handed you a piece you didn’t know you were missing. But it wasn’t complete yet, not yet. 

Lips parting as you kissed him again, that pink tongue brushing against your lower lip. A breath away, “I should go.” Another kiss, soft and languid. 

“Yeah.” It was hard to catch your breath, setting back down on your heels, stepping back. The air suddenly chilled, your body missing his warmth. 

“If you need anything…” You smiled as he took step off the porch, mouth grinning, stupid and sweet. 

“I’ll call.” 

.

.

.

taglist //  @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious

#jbbuckybarnesbirthdaychallenge #bucky barnes x reader #soulmate au #sebastian stan #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #the winter soldier

[jbbuckybarnes]

Masterlist: Birthday Writing Challenge

FINALLY! Here are all the works from my 900 follower & birthday celebration writing challenge. Thanks to everyone that joined! Please support the other participants by reblogging their work. I still have to get to some of them (blaming exams!). There might be some missing because people didn’t use the tag or I couldn’t find the user anymore (or because Tumblr threw something into the deep end).

AU’s / Tropes

Assassin AU - @capsheadquaters​ Book Store AU - @fanfictionaries​ Neighbor AU - @spaceodditybarnes​ Roommate AU - @elsatxx​ HERE - @romaxnogersav​ HERE matching tattoos - @trillian-anders​ flowers where soulmate is injured - @sassy-pelican​ no aging after finding each other - @arawynn​

Sentence Prompts

“Why is your cat such an assh*le!?” - @elita1​

“I really don’t want to carry your dead body for 5 miles, so please do me a favor and don’t fuck up.” - @capsheadquaters​

“All you had to do was NOT start a fight on an UNDERCOVER mission!” - @nekoannie-chan​

“Rise and shine, hoe!” - @elsatxx​

“Just gimme the book and fuck off!” - @fanfictionaries​

“That’s not how soulmates are supposed to react to each other!” - @trillian-anders​

“Who did this to you?” - @romaxnogersav

“Why? Why are you being…so nice to me?” - @arawynn​

“You have flowers all over you all the time. What the hell is your soulmate even doing!” - @sassy-pelican​

Dialogue Prompts

“Why would you do this?” - “Cause I wanted to.” @lookalivefrosty​

“Did you just shoot two guys with the same bullet?” - “Did it look cool?” - @what-is-your-plan-today​

“Hold still! I’m not finished with the wounds.” - “It’s a bit hard if you’re so close to me.” - @hopingforbarnes​

“You can paint?” - “A little bit” - *holds up realistic oil painting* “A LITTLE BIT?” - @lucky-bucky-boy​

“Who even are you?” - “A bunch of idiots trying to save the planet.” - “We’re still trying names.” - @fatbottomhargreeves​

“Can we please pretend I never said that?” - “Never, cause I love you too.” - @shakespeareanqueer​

Song Prompts

American Boy - Estelle - @imanuglywombat​

Guys my Age - Hey Violet - @spaceodditybarnes​

#jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge #mine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #james barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #the winter soldier #captain america #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #bucky fanfic #text

[romaxnogersav]

Broken Pieces

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, comfort, mentions of anxiety, low self-esteem, insecurity

Word count: 3265

Summary: Steve comfort you after yet another heartbreak and you realize you've loved him all along.

Tags: @funfickgirl22 @patzammit

Request by anon: Hey!! Could I have a one shot where the reader just got rejected by her crush and it breaks her heart and Steve comforts her (yknow the leaning against the door with the gentle “hey” thing he does? That’d be cool) and when he’s giving her one of his classic best hugs and she’s crying on his shoulder she realizes the one she loved all along was Steve?

Challenge prompt: Roommate Au + “Who did this to you?”

A/N: This piece was written for @jbbuckybarnes​ ‘ Writing Challenge! I wanted to work on this challenge entry and a request I had and I ended up combining the two because they gravitated towards each other so much, and I hope that’s okay! I had a bit of a hard time finishing this, some mixed feelings about it, but now I honestly love it. Thank you to Rebecca for allowing me to participate, and to the anon that sent in the request. I hope you both like this!

Enjoy!

You stopped the engine, swiped at your eyes, and brushed the wetness from your cheeks. You took a deep breath, hoping to keep the tears at bay long enough to make it to your room before you finally let it all out.

You had left with a beaming smile, confidence like no other. You had the intention of finally telling him, the man you have been crushing on for some time, how you felt.

You had dressed well, with what makeup you wore on point, and left the apartment. You were finally ready to say what had weighted heavily on both your mind and heart for the past couple of months. How much you liked him, how you were hoping he might feel something as well.

It was too unfortunate though, that he didn't feel the same. He had no problem with breaking your heart though as if your feelings didn't matter one bit.

He said he wasn't looking for anything serious. He wasn't looking for a relationship, to settle down with a girl. Neither were you. But you wanted to start somewhere, try and build something with someone. Was it that bad to want that?

It seemed like it was. He told you, he didn’t want to be held back. Falling into bed with a woman the moment the opportunity presented itself was enough for him. In his words, you had been the perfect one, just a tad desperate, a little bit too naïve.

Maybe you were if you had been foolish enough to fall for such a person. The reality was finally catching up to you. It was too bad that you hadn't seen it earlier.

But he had been nice at first. Wanting to know about you, what you did, where you came from, what you liked. You had thought he was genuine, that he might have wanted for things to work out. Turns out, he only wanted you in his bed. Anything you might have wanted to be wasn't in the cards for him.

Hoping you could get something more out of life, might have been what clouded your judgment.  

Whatever it was, it didn’t stop the pain.

You took a deep breath and walked out of your car. You looked up towards your apartment, the lights in the living room were off, which meant Steve, your roommate and best friend had yet to come home. Good, you didn’t need him to see you like this.

You locked the car and made your way towards the building's entrance. Your heels clicked with every step you took, the concrete underneath illuminated by the shadows the sunset cast.

Soon enough, you were unlocking the door to your apartment, and stepping in. You didn't even flicker the light in the entryway on. You placed your keys in the small table next to the door, toed off your shoes, hang your coat, and made your way to your room.

When you closed the door softly behind you, you all but collapsed on the bed and curled yourself in a fetal position, one of your hands hugging your middle.

You felt the tears prick at your eyes, and you tried to swallow past the lump in your throat, tried to keep it together for a few more moments. It was to no avail. Your eyes filled with tears, clouding your sight. The hand that wrapped around your middle shook, and you closed it into a fist to try and prevent that.

A loud sob escaped you, and then one more, and one more. Soon, your whole body shook, the sounds coming from you filling the room, and spreading the sound around the whole apartment.

What had you done to deserve such a fate? Why did it ever end up like this for you? It was like you weren’t enough, as if there was something wrong with you.

You weren’t perfect, because perfect hardly ever existed. You weren’t perfect on the outside, you had your imperfections. Things, big and small that you didn’t like about yourself. A scar here, a mole there. You even hated your hair sometimes.

You weren’t perfect on the inside either. There were things you didn’t like about yourself and your demeanor. You didn’t always say the right thing, you didn’t always do the right thing, either. You had a hard time expressing yourself sometimes. Your self-esteem wasn’t high, you weren’t as outspoken as many others were.

You weren’t perfect in many forms. And you thought that was okay, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe not being perfect wasn’t enough.

All you wanted was to be happy. As a complex of a person as you were, you deserved that at the very least. You wanted to have something to ground you when the hard times hit because you had those days sometimes.

Weren’t you worthy of happiness? Of being someone’s constant, someone’s ray of sunshine, the way you wanted that someone to be yours?

It wasn't like you had many relationships, one or two maybe. Every time though, it looked like you just weren't it. You couldn't remember the last time a guy told you, you were beautiful, and meant it. A guy, other than Steve and your other male friends like Bucky or Tony. You couldn't remember the last time a man was with you, because they wanted to be, not because of some hidden agendas. You couldn’t remember the last time someone appreciated you, told you they loved you.

It was like you were never it. Like there was something about that was never enough to keep, enough to like or even love. And what if it was true? Maybe you weren’t one to be loved.

You were still crying, sob after sob escaping past your lips when you heard the front door open. The sound of Steve’s keys jingling stopped you, silencing your cries. You clasped a hand over your mouth, trying to keep it together, calm yourself down.

You sniffled a little and wiped at your eyes.

“Y/N, are you here? I'm home!" He raised his voice, hoping you were able to hear him. He was surprised to know you were home this early, it was just past nine-thirty in the evening. He knew you went on a date less than two hours ago, so why you were home at this hour, was a mystery to him.

You heard his feet pat against the wooden floor in the hallway, the sound getting louder the closer he got to your room. You jumped out of your bed, wiping at your eyes and cheeks even more. You moved towards the closet, and pulled a pair of jeans, making it look like you were doing something.

There was a soft knock, and then then the door was being pushed open to reveal your roommate, and longtime friend, Steve.

“I thought you had a date tonight. You look lovely, by the way,” He complimented you, leaning against the doorframe, and you had to swallow down a sob that wanted to leave you. Of course he would say that he always did. No one else ever said that to you, not even the guy that broke your heart. It made you wonder if he only did say it for your sake.

You forced your cries down and shook your head a little. You cleared your throat, trying to mask that you had been crying just now.

“I had, and thank you,” you answered softly, praying, that he couldn’t pick on the difference in your voice. You put the jeans back in place and pulled a not so neatly folded blouse, so you could keep your hands occupied.

“And how did it go?” He was able to sense that something wasn’t okay, that there was something that was bothering you. How could he not really? You've been friends since high school, lived together since college. He could read you like the back of his hand.

You did your best to sound natural.

"Good, it was g-good," Your voice quivered, and you clasped a hand over your mouth to stop the sob that threatened to escape.

He tilted his head to the side, studying you. He saw you fisting the blouse in your hand, your shoulders shaking. His arms, that had been crossed over his chest until now, fell to his sides and he spoke softly.

“Hey,” he pushed himself off of the doorframe, “What’s going on?” he questioned gently and slowly walked towards you.

“Nothing,” you chocked out instantly. He laid his hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn around. You shook your head, holding onto the piece of clothing for dear life. He reached for the dark material and cautiously pried it off of your hands.

Your head was down, staring at the movement of your hands leaving the soft cloth. Even with your sight blurry because of the fresh wave of tears that wanted to be set free, you were able to see Steve’s big hand grabbing onto your smaller one. He pulled you a bit so you were facing him, even though you still kept your head down.

“Hey, look at me, babe,” He murmured, and one of his hands moved up and under your chin. He lifted your face and looked into your eyes, searching. “Who did this to you?” he questioned in a light tone, keeping his voice level. On the inside though, he was boiling. The hand that wasn't holding your chin closed into a fist.

He secretly knew, that it happened again. You, this bright, constantly selfless person, had gotten her heartbroken, and it was once again, he, as someone that loved you, going to help you and show you how much more you deserved.

You shook your head again, trying to avert your gaze so you wouldn’t have to see his eyes. See the pity you knew was there. Every time, he was left to put back the broken pieces, just because you weren’t strong enough. He must be sick of you by now.

"No-no one," he looked down for a moment and exhaled before his gaze flickered back to you.

“Talk to me," he pleaded with you, one hand moving behind your head and the other settling on your back.

Was there a point in lying? He already knew what happened, the tears staining your cheeks showed as much.

“I did Stevie, it was me. I’m just not enough, I’m never enough,” You sobbed, and he pulled you into him. Your arms wrapped around his middle, your face hiding in his collarbone. He ran his hand along your back, the other cradling your head, and moving through your hair.

He was warm, making you feel secure, even though you felt like you didn’t deserve it.

“That’s not true, doll.” He whispered, his voice barely audible with your cries. You were sobbing in his arms, your tears wetting the shirt he wore, he hardly even cared though. All he cared about was calming you down, making you see that you were more than enough, loved.

You shook your head against his skin, not even believing him. You were too far gone into your head. Your self-esteem was lowering itself, your anxiety was taking over. It was happening time and time again, bringing you down more than it had the last time. Your mind had its' own thoughts on the matter, ones that did nothing other than to pick at your wounds even more.

“But it is,” you mumbled, tightening your arms around his middle, “I’m not good enough. No one ever wants me Steve. They play their game for a while, and then I get thrown away, broken. Am I that unsatisfying to be with?” you shook against him, your whole body giving up on you. He pulled you towards the bed, where he sat at the edge and pulled you into his lap, cradling you against him. He shushed you before he pulled away and looked into your eyes. His gaze leveled with yours, blue eyes meeting your shining ones. Eyes full of concern, full of love and appreciation.

“Listen to me, hey,” he swept his thumb against one of your cheeks and then the other, wiping the tears that had stained them. “You are beautiful, top to bottom, both inside and out. You are intelligent, and the absolute best at what you do. You are sharp-minded, funny, and witty. You don’t take bullshit to heart. You are a compassionate, kindhearted person. You are the best friend anyone could ask for. You love, respect, and appreciate, like no other woman I've ever seen. Most importantly, you are unique, because you are you. And you are special,” he brushed some hair that had fallen around your face, and then wiped your tears away, tears that couldn’t seem to stop.

"It's a shame, that there are people in this world that can't see that. At the end of the day though, it's their loss. They allowed something magnificent like you to walk away. You are enough Y/N, more than enough even. Any man will be lucky to be with you, it just takes a special kind of person to see that. So, don't think about yourself in that light again, because what you said about yourself, that's not true. It's never going to be true," He finished off with a gentle, light smile on his face, still wiping at your tears, even though more and more were coming.

He always did that. He was always there for you, no matter what. He was there, after a rough day, with a bad joke and your favorite food, ready to cheer you up.

He was there, after every heartbreak you had. He would pull you against him, give you one of his bear hugs. He’d shush your sobs, run his hands over your back. He’d wipe at your tears and give you a little smile. He’d remind you how remarkable you were, how those assholes were missing out. He was there every time, to pick and put your broken pieces back together. He would run from the other side of the world if he had to, just so he could make sure that you were okay, be there for you.

That was the kind of man Steve was. Selfless, appreciative, supportive. You could go on and on about what a guy he was. One in a million. He was a special one.

He had done so much for you over the years. Combine all the times he stood by your side when you weren’t at your brightest, with all the times he was there for you at your happiest. Steve was a great friend, the greatest in history.

You loved how every time you looked into his eyes, all you saw was fondness, affection. Never has Steve looked at you with anything else but warmth and love.

Any woman would be lucky to be with him, too bad that woman wouldn’t be you.

Your breath hitched. What?  No, you did not just say that. What the hell was that even? You and Steve were friends. You were his closest friend after Bucky, you could not possibly think like that.

Sure, yes, he was handsome, but he was so much more to you. You weren’t sure you’d ever be able to fully explain how much he meant to you, how much you loved him. You loved his personality, how caring and passionate he was. You loved how sassy he got, oh boy, sassy Steve was something else. You loved his humor, his creativity. You adored how driven he was, how he never gave up. He never gave up on the things he believed in, the people he loved. He never gave up on you, and you would never give up on him.

Looking back at everything he had done for you the last few years, you could only come to one conclusion, you loved him. You loved Steve, your best friend, the one person you could rely on, no matter the circumstance.

It was too bad though, you would probably never tell him. Too bad, he’d probably never feel the same. He might just end up being like all the others, breaking your heart, if you ever opened your mouth. And then, there won’t be anyone to help put the pieces back together.

The thought, the possibility, made you shake, even more, your breath shuddering and your eyes watering even more. Your hands tightened around Steve, even more, palms digging into his back. You sobbed again, feeling his hand smoothing over your back.

“Shh, it’s okay, doll. It’s okay,” he shushed you once more, voice a soft murmur next to your ear. You clutched to him for dear life, before your next words left your mouth.

“I love you,” you sobbed. There was no point in lying, not to yourself, not to him. Your heart was already broken, you didn’t know if it could take any more. But there was no point in suffering anymore.

Steve’s movements didn’t cease, nothing about his demeanor changed.

“I love you too, you know I do,” he ran his hand through your hair, massaging your scalp in the process.

You shook your head against his collarbone, a hiccup leaving you. “No,” you mumbled, sniffling. “I know you do Stevie, but I-“ you stopped yourself and took a deep breath, swallowing past the dryness in your throat.

“You what?” his brows furrowed

“I’m in love with you,” you whispered, everting your gaze to the side. It was as if time wasn’t moving. Your heart was thrumming in your chest, tears, from what, you didn’t know, running down your face. Heartbreak? Pain? Uncertainty? Fear? You had no idea.

Your form trembled in anticipation, waiting to hear what Steve had to say. He adjusted his hold on you, and his face fell in the crook of your neck. You sat like that for a few moments, before you heard his soft voice again.

“Good, ‘cause now you can finally stop getting your heartbroken," you pulled away and searched his face. His eyes gleamed in the low light, and the corners of his lips were pulling upward. He must be kidding, or you hadn't heard him right. He was probably able to see the confusion in your eyes because he opened his mouth and spoke again.

"You've gotten your heart broken far too many times now, baby. You didn't deserve that, and I'm only hoping to be able to prevent you from ever feeling that pain ever again. All I want for you is to be happy, to make you happy if you'd let me do that for you. No more broken pieces scattered around, waiting to be put back together. No more crying over assholes that didn't know what they were missing out on. The only thing I want to see you do from now on, his smile. You are loved, Y/N, and you are enough," it was like something out of a book, a fairy tale. You thought it was unreal until Steve pulled you in, and his lips touched yours. Slow and gentle, yet a pretty short kiss was placed upon your lips.

Sure, heartbreak brought pain, and a million broken pieces, just waiting to be put back together. Steve was always the one to do that because as a friend, he couldn't let you suffer. But both of you had enough, it was time for you to feel what was to be loved, and it was time for him to show you just how much.

#jbbuckybarnesbirthdaychallenge #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers au #steve rogers roommate au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers comfort #steve rogers one shot #marvel au #marvel angst #marvel comfort #marvel one shot #challenge entry #tina writes

[lookalivefrosty]

Summertime

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader (but, really, Winter Soldier Bucky x Female Reader)

Summary: Three days ago, the Winter Soldier walked away from Hydra. They’ve just sent you to bring him back.

Word Count: 7,656 words (!!!)

Warnings: a heavy helping of angst, descriptions of injuries and pain, canon typical violence. The reader is an enhanced human with the ability to manipulate pain. (Let me know if you come across any others I’ve missed, I’ll gladly add them!)

*Reblogs of course are welcome, but please do not repost this story to any other websites without my permission!!*

A/N: This was written for @jbbuckybarnes​‘s birthday writing challenge. Happy belated birthday, and thank you so much for reassuring me that it was okay to post this past the deadline! I didn’t mean for it to take this long, but the good news is, this is the first thing I’ve written and actually liked in about five or six years. So, yay? I really hope you and everyone else who reads it enjoys it! 

P.S: my prompts are bolded, the not too shabby moodboard was made by me, and the title of the fic and lyrics within said moodboard are courtesy of My Chemical Romance’s ‘Summertime.’ Oh, and, the totally awesome text divider seen just below (and several times throughout the fic) was created by @writeyourmindaway​ (thank you)!

EDITED ON 5/24/2021 - no major changes, only a change in spelling for two of the characters' names.

“You ever think of where you’d go if you got out of here?” you’d asked the Soldier once, the two of you hunkered down in a safe house somewhere in Alaska. It’s been so long since then that you can’t even remember what mission had brought you there - or maybe you should say, so much has happened since then that you can’t remember. 

He didn’t answer your question. He couldn’t. His programming limited his dialogue to giving orders to those ranked below him and answering the questions of those ranked higher. You’d been able to see his answer in his eyes, though, sitting there on the opposite side of the hallway from him, your faces illuminated by an oil lamp he’d found while sweeping the basement for any threats. 

They had narrowed slightly, his way of wordlessly saying, ‘No.’ 

No, because he never thought he would ever escape from Hydra; and neither did you, for that matter. But it was nice to think about, especially back then. Freedom.

“I can remember,” you’d said slowly, not missing the faint look of surprise that crossed  his usually stoic face at the words. You shouldn’t be able to remember anything that occurred before they wiped you the first time. But you remember this vividly, too vividly for it to be a mere fragment of your imagination. 

“I can remember,” you’d started again, “this place my parents and I used to go to along the Blue Ridge Parkway.” 

And then you’d told him about it. How after visiting a few tourist attractions you’d park the car at a lookout spot and stare out over the miles and miles of autumn colored trees in the valleys below, untouched by man aside from the randomly placed house. Far away from where you stood, blue tinted mountains pierced the overcast sky - and it was beautiful. 

He’d listened to every word you’d spoken intently, his gaze never straying from your face as you reminisced on happier times. And when you’d finished, he’d looked sad. You could feel the longing in his chest within your own, and see a sparkle in his stormy blue eyes that seemed to say, ‘I would take you there, if I could.’

And he has, hasn’t he?

Here you are, standing at the very same lookout you’d told him about that night. It’s warmer than you remember, greener, seeing as it’s summertime - but it’s no less beautiful. If you squint you can see ghosts of the past; two figures standing against the most breathtaking of backdrops, smiling with their arms around one another as you took their picture.

You miss them. 

Your parents. 

You wish you could remember more about them. 

About yourself. 

Your old life.

“Empat.” 

His voice startles you, but not because you didn’t know he was there. You’d felt his presence step within the reach of your powers almost twenty minutes ago; had known it was him because you know his aches and pains as well as you know your own. The phantom pain where his left arm used to be, the carpal tunnel syndrome in his right wrist and hand from years of holding a gun, and all the other wear and tear seventy years of assassination work has put on his still visibly young body. New to the roster, though, is the break in his right forearm - no doubt an injury gained during his fight in D.C. three days ago. A fight you’d been sidelined for, but should have been battling alongside him. 

If you had been, that break wouldn’t be there. You’re certain of that.

You could only do so much with the amount of distance between you, but because you care, because you wanted him to know that you knew he was there, you’d cast your healing warmth over the fracture, numbing it until you could touch him and heal it completely. As thanks, he’d given you this time with your memories. Time before the inevitable had to happen.

But time is up now, and he’s standing right behind you, his voice startling you not because it’s unexpected but because he’s never been able to call you anything, let alone the name Hydra had given you. Empat, meaning Empath. His programming simply didn’t allow for it. To hear his voice say it now - after months and years of knowing each other, fighting alongside each other, nearly dying for each other -  well, it’s quite a shock to the system.

Three days, you think. It’s only been three days since he walked away from the Triskelion wreckage, walked away from Hydra, and already he’s regained the ability to speak autonomously. And here you are, sent here to drag him back to the very same people who stripped him of his ability to do so in the first place. 

You, because they know that in spite of their best efforts to keep him as emotionless and empty as possible, he feels something for you. Because if it’s you asking him to, he might come back willingly, without a fight. Because if it comes to a fight he’ll hesitate before killing you, and give you the opening you need to-

“Empat,” he says again, interrupting your internal ramblings. The sound of it threatens to bring tears to your eyes.

You don’t want to do this.

But you have no other choice. 

“Hi, Soldier,” you greet him gently, and he takes that as his cue to move to stand at your side. He places himself on your left and it’s such a familiar position: you and the Soldier shoulder to shoulder, against the world. Normally it would bring you comfort; but today, it just makes you sad. 

As if he can sense it - which he probably can; he has a knack for reading people - the Soldier brushes the back of his hand against the back of yours in a silent offer of comfort. You turn your wrist and intertwine your fingers with his without a second thought, and together you gaze out over the mountain range, silence hanging thick in the air between you for what feels like a lifetime. 

And then, “Is it what you remember?”

So you were right. The red star on the tracking device had stopped in this town with a familiar name yesterday not by coincidence, but on purpose. He’d traveled west, deep into the peaks and valleys of the Blue Ridge Mountain range just so he could bring you here, to the location of your only remaining memory. 

It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you - that you can remember, at least - and, God, do you want to cry. 

“Yes,” your voice and your smile is strained, “Thank you.”

He squeezes your hand tighter in response, causing a bolt of pain to shoot up towards his shoulder and down to the tips of his fingers - but he shows no signs of feeling it when you glance in his direction. He was trained to suffer in silence; if you weren’t, well, you, you wouldn’t have the slightest clue that he was in any pain at all. 

“Your arm?” you inquire, turning your head to face him at the same moment he turns to face you. It’s only then that you realize what he’s wearing: a black baseball cap pulled down over his brunette tresses, a dark denim jacket over a black t-shirt, blue jeans and his usual pair of boots. The shoes are the only part of his attire that you recognize, but you have to admit, this casual look he’s got going on… 

You like it.

“Steve,” he tells you, as if you know who Steve is. You raise your brows. “The guy on the bridge,” he amends. “Captain...Captain America.”

Right. The target Hydra had sent the Soldier to kill not once, but twice - an anomaly, as he usually gets the job done on the first try. You’d been as shocked as your superiors when he came back from the fight on the bridge to report the mission as failed - but more so due to the foul mix of emotions churning within him than the failed mission itself.

 It was astonishing to see him in such anguish so openly; to feel the full force of his normally repressed guilt, anger and sadness. You’ve gotten glimpses of it in the past, during those precious few minutes between him being awoken and being wiped. But only one other time had you seen him so distraught, which could only mean one thing.

The target - this Steve, whoever he is - had somehow broken through decades of wipings and programming to free the man Hydra had tried so hard to keep contained, and every sour emotion he’s felt while locked in his cage - though only for a moment before Alexander Pierce ordered him to be shoved behind the bars again.

It’s not easily done; liberating the man that lingers beneath the surface of the Soldier.

You would know.

You’ve done it before.

“You knew him,” you say simply, recalling the trembling words he’d spoken that day. Words that, when combined with the look on his face and what had happened after he’d uttered them, had shattered your already broken heart into even smaller shards.

“But I knew him.”

“I don’t know,” the Soldier replies eventually, and he’s lying - to you and himself. 

But that’s okay.

You assure him as much with a small smile.

“Here,” you change the subject, “let me…” you turn your body towards him and bring your right hand up to cup the back of his, which still clings to your left one, as he turns to face you as well. You close your eyes and focus on the break, casting your warmth over it and holding it steady as it guides his bones back into place. As it does, your body takes his pain and converts it into ammunition, adding it to what’s already been piled high within you thanks to the metal choker around your neck. 

Hydra’s scientists had designed it especially for you; a necklace that would, whenever your handlers deemed it necessary, electrically shock you continuously so you would have to be constantly taking your own pain away. Whenever you use your healing abilities - regardless of whether you’re using them on yourself or someone else - your body absorbs the pain and stores it within until you either unleash it on someone or your handlers shut the necklace off and the power coursing through your veins is allowed to dwindle away on its own.

It flows through you now, but you’re so used to the uncomfortable prickling feeling that accompanies it at this point that you hardly even notice it’s there anymore.

How sad that is.

“Thank you,” the Soldier says after you’ve finished healing him and open your eyes again. That’s another first: the Soldier thanking you aloud instead of with his eyes and soft, secret touches. If it weren’t for the current circumstances, it would have brought you joy.

 “Don’t thank me,” you beg with a rapid shake of your head. “Not when you know what I’ve been sent here to do.”

“Empat, it’s okay-” 

“No,” you interject harshly, dropping his hand and retreating a few steps backwards. “It’s not okay, Soldier. It’s not. Because you knew,” your smile is sardonic as you point a finger in his direction. “You knew they’d send someone - that they’d send me - after you. You knew what they’d make me do to bring you back. So why, Soldier? Why didn’t you cut the tracker out? You could have been free,” your voice cracks on the last word, and you feel his chest ache in response.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before dropping his focus to the grass between his boots. You stand there, blinking tears from your eyes and waiting for him to say something - anything - in defense of himself, but he doesn’t say a word. 

He’s maddeningly silent.

“Why would you do this?” you demand again, your voice frail in spite of the anger rising inside of you. The Soldier is slow to raise his gaze back to yours, and even slower to give you an answer.

“‘Cause I wanted to.”

It hits you like a punch from his left fist, and you find yourself unable to speak.

He... He wanted this? He wanted you to be sent after him? To potentially have to fight him, to have to drag him back to the people you’ve always told him you wished you could help him escape from?

“Listen,” he urges, seeing the look of hurt and betrayal that’s overtaken your features. He’s lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture, and his left one catches your attention, as it’s donning a black winter glove. Where did he even find one of those this time of year? “I did it because I didn’t know how else to find you. I went back to the bank after...after the fight, and everyone was already gone. You were gone, and I had no way of knowing where you were but I knew that if I left the tracker in, it wouldn’t be long before they sent you after me. It...It was the only way I had to be able to see you again,” he finishes with a sad, tearful smile, the same one he’d given Alexander Pierce that night after his first encounter with Steve. 

It pulls at your heart now just as it did then, but at the same time -

“You could have been free,” you echo your earlier words, sounding every bit as devastated as you feel. Your tears make the Soldier a blur as he steps closer to you, raising his hands to tentatively cup the sides of your face. You blink and a pair of them slip down your cheeks only to be quickly smeared away by his thumbs, gloved metal and bare flesh alike.

“I don’t want to be free if you’re not free with me,” he tells you softly, and you see those words for what they are: a testament of his love for you. It’s the first time he’s been able to voice such a thing, and you want to find joy or at the very least solace in it. Truly, you do. But right now, with the situation at hand, knowing he’s tossed away the only chance at liberation he’s had in seven decades all because he didn’t want to leave you behind, you can’t. 

You just feel guilty. So incredibly, debilitatingly guilty.

“I’ll never be free of them,” you state grimly, pulling out of his hold and putting some distance between you. “As long as this necklace is around my neck, I’m stuck. They’ll ramp it up as soon as I get too far for their likings and kill me. But you - you had a chance. And you threw it away because of me,” you practically choke out the last word. You pause for a few moments to collect yourself before continuing to speak, your eyes fluttering shut to send another pair of tears down your cheeks.

“I’m begging you, Soldier. If you love me, cut the tracker out and leave. I’ll tell them you beat me unconscious before I could move to apprehend you, or… I don’t know. Something. Just please don’t make me take you back there. Don’t make me the reason you go back there, I…” your throat gets too tight for you to speak any further, so you open your eyes and try to communicate with him through them, as he used to you.

I won’t be able to live with myself if you do.

He lets your unspoken words hang between you for exactly seventeen shaking breaths, and when he goes to speak, he looks apologetic, telling you he’s not going to change his mind even before he confirms it aloud. 

“You know I never get to choose what I want for myself,” he says, a pleading tone to his voice. His eyes are equally as imploring as they stare into yours, trying to get you to see just how much he needs you to do this for him. “I want this, Empat. I do. So, please, for once in my life - let me have what I want.”

…How are you supposed to say no to that?

The answer is simple: 

You don’t.

“Alright,” you sound as defeated as you feel. “Alright.”

The corners of his lips twitch upwards, but the glossiness of his eyes conveys what you feel twisting inside of him. The fear. The sadness. The anger.

He reaches out, asking for your hands, and you unfold your arms to give them to him, biting back a sob as he intertwines his fingers through yours.

“Whatever you have to do,” he says slowly, “Do it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply to gather what little strength and courage you have left in you; then, you breath out a single word:

“Sputnik.” 

A moment later, the Soldier collapses at your feet.

…

...

You couldn’t do it.

You’d told him you would, and had fully intended on honoring his wishes - but it was one hour into the three hour drive back to the safe house your handlers were waiting for you within that you realized you just couldn’t. You couldn’t take him back to the people who have been holding him hostage for over seventy years, doom him to another who knows how many more  years of brainwashing and torture. You couldn’t, and you wouldn’t.

So you turned the car around, much to the displeasure of your handlers. The wattage of your necklace shot up almost immediately after you’d made the u-turn, and you’d almost driven into the guard rails due to the sudden onslaught of pain. You’d quickly smothered it, though, and righted the vehicle on the road, backtracking until you reached the abandoned house you’d spotted only a few minutes prior in the drive.

It had caught your eye because of its reminiscence of that safe house back in Alaska. It’s a small and barely standing home made of deteriorating wood, its front door hanging by a single hinge. Upon entering it you’d found it had the same damp, moldy atmosphere, and a similar, familiar layout - a ground level with two bedrooms and a bathroom, a living room and kitchen area, and a basement. Its windows were shattered, parts of the wood flooring were either caved in or missing altogether, and you’d even found an oil lamp while you were scoping out the basement. 

Talk about déjà vu.

As for getting the Soldier into the house, it was as much of a struggle as it’d been to get him into the car your handlers had sent you out in. Somehow, though, you’d managed, and had tied him to a weathered dining chair that had squeakily threatened to collapse under his weight when you’d dropped him into it. 

What had happened after that is nothing more than a blur of blood and tears, right up until you’d collapsed into an identical chair in front of a boarded up window, staring as if you could see right through the planks to whatever lies beyond.

You don’t know how much time has passed since then, but you haven’t moved since you’d sat down. You’ve barely even breathed.

There’s a pounding in your head from previously shed tears and there’s dried blood on your hands, your clothes. You’re shaking so badly you don’t know how you haven’t vibrated right off of the chair and into a clump on the floor.

He hasn’t woken up yet. You’re starting to worry he may never - that there’s another code word that has to be used to wake the Soldier after he’s been shut down by ‘sputnik.’ 

Wouldn’t that be just your luck? To do everything that you’ve done in the time since he’s been unconscious just for it all to be futile because-

A soft groan sounds from behind you, and you hold your breath.

Did you actually hear that? Or did you-

“Empat?” he rasps, a confused lilt to his voice. You almost start crying again at the sound of it. 

He’s awake. 

Everything you’ve done isn’t for nothing, after all.

“I’m here,” you get to your feet and move towards him slowly. Taking in his disoriented expression, you ask, “How do you feel?” 

You being you, of course, you already know how he’s feeling; he’s got a headache similar to your own and he’s discombobulated, stiff and sore. Still, you ask him - not only because it’s nice to do so but because you want to hear it out of his own mouth.

However, instead of answering your question, he raises one of his own. “Why are you covered in blood?”

You stop right in front of him, shaking your head. 

“It’s not mine,” is all you offer, reaching forward to brush his hair out of his face since he can’t do it for himself. You then trail your fingers down the side of his cheek, watching as his eyes flutter shut briefly in response to the gentle touch before he seemingly forces them open again, assessing you with his stormy blues.  

“Where are we?” he asks. You freeze in your movement.

“Hour away from where we were,” you supply. He ponders that for a few moments, tearing his eyes from you to take in what he can of the room before meeting your gaze again.

“Are they coming to extract us?”

You drop your gaze.

“Empat,” his tone is low; dangerous - the closest it’s been to the one he uses while giving orders on missions this entire time. You turn away from him and clasp your trembling hands together.

Every so often your handlers have been knocking up the voltage of your necklace to tell you to hurry up and get you and the Soldier back to the safe house. You’ve been having to use more and more of your powers to keep yourself from feeling it, from being harmed by it, and it’s drained you more than you’re willing to admit. 

You don’t know how much longer you can fight against it. You need to get moving before they ramp it up beyond the reach of your powers and kill you, which they’d very clearly told you they would if you failed them.

You’ve only hung around this long waiting for the Soldier to wake up to make sure that he would wake up; you didn’t want to leave him behind without knowing for a fact that he was going to be okay. 

But he’s awake now, and really there’s no reason for you to be here anymore... Yet, you can’t bring yourself to move any further away.

“Empat,” the Soldier calls for you again, this time more desperate. “What did you do?”

You close your eyes. 

He’s going to be so upset with you over this.

But perhaps that will make it easier for him to move on.

“I cut the tracker out,” you inform him, hearing him inhale sharply in response. “I…Understand why you didn’t do it yourself. I’d do the same thing, to see you one last time - but you know that if our roles were reversed you would refuse to take me back to them. So you shouldn’t expect me to,” you face him again, letting him see the tears that started running down your cheeks as you were speaking. 

He looks as devastated as you feel.

Biting back a sob, you walk back up to him and cup the sides of his face, as he had yours earlier, and lean down to rest your forehead against his. You remain in that position for only a moment before pulling away enough to peer into his tear-filled eyes.

“I’m sorry I have to be another person keeping you from what you want,” you brush your thumbs over his cheekbones, “but I can’t do this to you. You’ve been with them so much longer than I have, Soldier; you’ve been through so much - too much. You deserve to be free, to live. And you’ve got a chance,” you smile at him sadly. “I can’t take that from you.”

Those words appear to be what takes him over the edge, as with his next blink, the Soldier’s tears spill over. They run down his stubble covered cheeks and quickly find themselves wiped away by your waiting thumbs.

“They’ll kill you if you show up without me,” he chokes out. And he’s right. You know he is. But,

“You would do it for me.”

You have him there, it seems - because he has nothing to say to contradict your statement. You nod, for no particular reason, and press your lips to his forehead; your silent I love you, your wordless goodbye.

You pull away from him with the intentions of leaving, but before you can even straighten your spine he says, “Y/N.”

You freeze.

That name…

You pull further back and meet his gaze.

“What?” 

“Y/N,” he says again. “That’s your name. Your real name.”

Your breathing hitches.

You don’t know how, but you know he’s right. You can feel it. 

“How-” 

“You told me,” he answers your unfinished question. “When we first met, before they wiped you that first time - no one told you I couldn’t talk and you - you introduced yourself to me. You were terrified of me, I could tell - but you still stuck your hand out and told me your name. I couldn’t,” he pauses to gather himself, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I couldn’t have told you my name even if I could have remembered it, but I put my hand in yours, and you smiled at me. Do you know how long it’d been since someone had smiled at me? Without any malice behind it?” he leans forward against his binds, baring his wet eyes into yours. 

You don’t say anything. You’re completely and utterly speechless, staring at him with wide eyes and a trembling lower lip. You drop your hands from his face and take a step back, absorbing every single word he has to to tell you.

“They wipe me to make me forget, but I never forgot that moment, Y/N, no matter how many times they did it. I never forgot your name even though my own was long gone.” The Soldier presses on, “I don’t know why, but I feel like it was for a reason. Like I was supposed to be the one to remind you what it was - to help you remember who you were. But I can’t do that if you’re...If you…” 

He doesn’t finish, but it’s not hard for you to figure out what he was going to say.

I can’t do that if you’re dead.

“I don’t know what you think I can do,” you force the words out around the lump in your throat, “I die if I go back without you. They’ll kill me if I stay with you - either way, I’m dead. There’s nothing we can do-”

“Yes there is,” he insists, desperate. “We can go there - we can fight them-”

“And they’ll kill me as soon as they realize what’s happening,” you dismiss the suggestion, “right in front of you. I don’t… Want you to have to watch me die, Soldier. I don’t want you to have to carry that around with you for the rest of your life - can’t you understand that?”

“Untie me then. Let me try and get that thing off of you-”

“What?!” you take a step back as if he’s struck you. “Are you insane?! You’ll get electrocuted if you touch it!”

“Not if you protect me from it,” he counteracts. You shake your head and go to protest against the idea, but he starts talking again before you can. “Don’t you remember the day you realized what you could do? What you could really do?”

Of course you do. That’s another memory Hydra couldn’t rip away from you no matter how hard they tried: the day you found out the true extent of what powers Loki’s scepter had bestowed upon you. The day that you were promoted from the Winter Soldier’s nurse to his partner in crime - literally.

Seeing the look of recognition in your eyes, the Soldier latches onto it. “You can do it again. I know you can.”

“Your arm,” you point out. “It’ll conduct the electricity - send it straight towards your heart. And I don’t know if what I can do is enough to protect you from the damage that would cause.”

His face falls. 

Clearly, he hadn’t thought of that. 

He parts his lips to make another argument but before he can get a single word out the wattage of your necklace suddenly increases again, making you cry out and fall to your knees. You just barely manage to smother the pain this time; if they turn it up any higher, you’re not sure you’ll be able to.

“I knew you couldn’t do it,” a voice taunts in Russian from somewhere behind you. Recognizing it, you lift a hand in the general direction it came from and feel the power coursing through your veins gather in the palm of your hand before a cloud of black smoke erupts from it. The man lets out a scream of pure agony a moment later before hitting the weathered floorboards, dead. You look over your shoulder and take in the lifeless form of the handler before turning back to the Soldier, wide eyed.

“Untie me now,” he orders, and you know better than to argue with him.

As Hydra’s motto claims, ‘Cut off one head, two more will take its place.’

You’re gonna need his help.

So you scramble to your feet and round the chair he’s tied to, unsheathing the knife strapped to your thigh. It’s not easy to cut through the rope, which had been specially designed to restrain the Soldier, but it’s not impossible, either. You have him free before long and he puts his hand out for the blade, which you hand over without even thinking just in time for two more figures to step through the doorway.

“Sput-” the handler who had been just a syllable away from shutting down the Soldier again gets cut off by the knife you’d given him embedding itself in his chest. A cloud of black smoke engulfs him a moment later and he chokes on it for a moment before collapsing just as the first had.

Next, gun shots ring out. If any bullets hit you, you don’t feel them - all you can feel is the power in your shaking hands, the slight ease of its pressure as more of it is released onto the third Hydra agent. She does little more than gasp before her eyes roll back in her head and she lands on top of her comrade.

The Soldier surges forward, scavenging the closest body for any weapons. He finds a gun just in time to get a head shot on a fourth agent.

“We need to get out of here,” he states the obvious, taking a shot at a fifth one. 

He doesn’t miss.

You clench and unclench your hands, the power surging within them making it impossible for you not to fidget. “My tracker’s still in, they’ll just follow us,” you remind him, “and the necklace-”

“Search them for the remote,” he meets your eyes briefly over his shoulder. “Someone here has to have it.”

You nod and kneel beside the body he’d taken the gun from. You rummage through the handler’s pockets, coming up short on finding the device that would free you from the necklace. From Hydra. 

It’s unreal to you that this is even happening right now; you never thought you would ever have even a chance at freedom, but now -

As if it’s punishing you for even thinking about escaping, the wattage of your necklace suddenly spikes. And as you’d predicted, this time you can’t completely cover the pain it’s inflicting on you - it’s too strong, hurts too much. 

You scream and fall sideways, clawing futilely at the electrified metal around your neck. For several long, agonizing moments, all there is is pain, pain, pain - and then, suddenly, it’s gone. 

You think at first you’re dead; in fact, you’re certain of it. But then a hand taps on your cheek and you open your eyes - when had you even closed them? - and see the Soldier’s face hovering over your own. It melts with relief and he says something to you, but you can’t hear whatever it is over the ringing in your ears. 

You’d tell him that, if you weren’t so dazed.

After some time the Soldier gives up on getting a response out of you and helps you to sit up, watching you closely afterwards, presumably looking for any signs that you’re going to pass out. You don’t, though your head does swim, and find yourself blinking rapidly trying to get your eyes to focus. They land on the doorway when they do, where a familiar man stands holding a familiar object, the sight enough to make your blood run cold.

Having noticed the shift in your demeanor, the Soldier follows your line of sight, tensing just as you had when he realizes what you’re looking at.

The ringing in your ears fades away just in time for Talon, the highest ranking of the handlers, to speak. 

“Drop the gun, Soldat,” he commands, shaking the hand holding the remote to your necklace pointedly. “Or watch your precious little empath die.”

The Soldier swallows thickly. Then, he obeys, the gun clattering onto the wood floor just beyond your reach. 

“As I thought,” Talon muses, his smile anything but friendly as he approaches you and the Soldier at a slow pace. His eyes are fixated on the latter, but his thumb hovering over the red button on the remote is enough of a deterrent to keep you from trying anything.

You don’t refrain from openly glaring at him, though.

“You’d do anything to keep her safe, hm?” Talon inquires coolly, his lips falling into their natural frown. “First chance at freedom in almost seventy years... And you toss it away for a girl you’ve known for two,” he holds up two fingers on his free hand for emphasis, and you flinch. Even though they’re the same words you've been telling yourself this entire time, they somehow sound even worse coming from someone else’s mouth. 

The handler doesn't show it outwardly, but he notices how his statement hits a nerve. You know this because, for a moment, his irritation gives way to amusement; he can tell you're feeling guilty, and he's enjoying it.

Bastard.

Talon comes to a stop a few feet away from where you and the Soldier are sat. His eyes, their irises the color of green peridot, flicker back and forth between the two of you a few times before he seethes, “She makes you weak.”

The Soldier tightens his arm around you, and you can feel the anxiety rising within him; the anger. You want to spare a glance in his direction but opt to keep your gaze fixated on Talon, afraid of what he might do if you were to be momentarily distracted.

“It’s pathetic,” the handler goes on, “and if we didn’t need her help to sort out the mess your failure-” he jabs an accusing finger at the Soldier “-created, I would have you kill her. Slowly and painfully, to punish you both.

"I should regardless, considering what she was about to do,” he moves his focus onto you, now. “You should count yourself very lucky, Empat, and pray that I still find you useful when all this is said and done.”

Your glare turns deadly at the threat. In response, Talon hits a button - not the red one - to make your necklace come to life, albeit on a much lower setting than it’d been on before. 

It’s a warning more than anything, but it still hurts.

“Yes, you will both be punished harshly for your recent acts of disobedience - eventually,” Talon states, tossing the remote into the air and catching it, quite literally playing with your life. “There’s simply no time for it now, as we leave for Sokovia tonight, per von Strucker’s request. He’s made a call for all of his creations to return and help defend their birthplace,” he stuffs the hand holding the device into his pocket and seems to consider you before adding, “He’s very interested in seeing how your powers have developed since he’s last seen you, Empat.”

Unease claws its way down your spine at the words, and though you’re not sure why - you trust it. You may not consciously remember von Strucker, but there’s a girl locked away in your mind who does; who’s warning you that he’s no one you’ll want to see ever again. 

You trust her.

Talon sighs exaggeratedly, having seemingly grown bored of this one-sided conversation he’s been having with the two of you. 

“Get her up, Soldat; we must get going,” he commands. You feel your heart lurch, and finally tear your gaze from the handler to look at the man who’s yet to let you go. 

There’s a look of calculation on his face; the one he bears whenever a mission goes wrong and he has to come up with a new plan on the spot. What could he possibly-

“My name,” the Soldier snarls through gritted teeth, glaring up at the other man with pure hatred swirling in his chest. “Is James, Buchanan, Barnes. Not Soldat, not Asset - James. Bucky.”

You gasp silently in response to what he’s just revealed, and place your hand over that of his that rests on your waist, squeezing it tightly. Right now is the most inappropriate of times to feel happy, but you are, because the Soldier, your Soldier, he has a name. Well, he’s always had one - but now he remembers it; now you know it. You know his name and you know your own - your first one, at least - and, wow. You have names. Real, genuine names and it feels so surreal, so right, even if you are currently standing on the verge of losing them again.

“I gave you an order, Soldat,” Talon emphasizes the title pointedly, and you whirl back onto him with a glare even more murderous than the first had been. “And I expect you to follow that order, or I’ll-”

In your peripheral vision, you see the Soldier - James, you remind yourself - pull out a gun and line up a shot with expert ease. You barely register the action before he’s pulling the trigger and an ear piercing bang echoes throughout the abandoned house.

The bullet hits its mark, of course - a fatal head shot. 

Talon’s body falls towards the ground and when it makes impact, whether his hand was just carrying out his last request or your luck is just that bad and he happened to land on it, the red button on the remote gets pressed. 

The wattage of your necklace spikes, and it’s the most excruciating and unbearable pain you’ve ever felt. Your lips part to scream but the cry doesn’t even get a chance to escape before you succumb to the pain being inflicted upon you, your world going dark.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And then…

And then there’s light.

Not a heavenly, bright light, but a dim, golden glow. 

You blink against it a few times, trying to focus your vision, all the while casting your healing warmth over the pain in your head. The world around you finally aligns and you realize that you’re in a car, sprawled across the back seat with your head lying on top of a rolled up denim jacket.

Your last few moments of consciousness return to you as the headache is successfully smothered to nothing, and immediately your hand shoots up to grasp at your neck - the action sending a jolt of pain through your arm.

Brows furrowing, you withdraw the limb and bring it to eye level, finding a bandage wrapped tightly just below your elbow. You bring your other hand up and pull the bandage down carefully, revealing a stitched up wound right where Hydra’s scientists had implanted a small tracking device beneath your skin seemingly so long ago.

The implications the sight brings forth make your heart stutter.

Slowly, almost afraid of what you’ll find, you lower your hand back towards your neck -

Finding nothing there. 

And the fact that your necklace is gone is your second indication that something huge happened while you were unconscious, as the only time your handlers ever take it off of you is when you’re off mission and locked away in a cell. Gingerly, you rub at the scarred skin where it usually rests, putting the few pieces you’ve gathered so far together. 

Your tracker has presumably been cut out, your necklace is gone, and both of those things could only mean-

You stop yourself short, realizing you’re getting ahead of yourself.

You can’t let yourself think that until you know for sure it’s true. 

So without moving - because if it isn’t him, you’re gonna want the advantage of the person in the driver’s seat not knowing you’re awake - you close your eyes and reach out with your powers, studying the only other soul in the car. You take into account every familiar ache and pain in their body, the fragile hope within their chest, and you smile.

“Soldier?” you call, ignoring the pain in your arm as you push yourself up into a seated position. Startled, his icy blues snap towards the rear view mirror.

And then they melt.

“No,” he responds, a smile tainting his tone. “I’m Bucky.”

Disbelieving and overjoyed, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. He maneuvers the car to park it on the side of the rural road and you slide off of the back seat, leaning over the center console to look at his face. He turns to look at you, too, grinning - something you’ve never seen him do before. 

He’s offered you slight tugs at the corners of his lips in moments where he was more ‘James’ than ‘Soldier,’ yes, but not ever this - this flashing of his teeth and crinkling at the edges of his eyes. Bathed in the golden glow of the rising sun and freedom, he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. 

“Hi, Bucky,” you greet him breathlessly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Hi, Y/N,” he returns, and the next thing you know you’re being pulled - squealing - from the back seat towards the front, and his arms are around you, holding you tight against him. In the cramped space of the car, the embrace is awkward and even on the verge of painful - what with all the levers and the steering wheel digging into you; but you don’t care. You just wrap your arms around him, too, and pull him impossibly closer, a different kind of tears filling your eyes as you bury your nose into his dark hair. 

“I thought I lost you,” he heaves out the shaking words against your chest, trembling in your hold. There’s so many emotions twisting within him that it’s hard for you to decipher them from one another, but most prominent of all is his guilt; his overbearing, gut-wrenching guilt. It makes you realize, with a sinking heart, that not only had he thought you dead, he’d thought he’d been the one to kill you - inadvertently - by shooting Talon.

“I’m right here,” you murmur into his hair, pressing a kiss to it after. “It’s alright - we’re alright, Bucky. We’re free.”

At your words, he pulls back enough to meet your gaze, an almost mystified look on his tear-stained face. It’s the smallness of his voice as he repeats your last two words back to you that causes your own tears to spill over. 

“We’re free.”

He almost sounds like he doesn’t really believe it, and you can understand that, as you hardly do yourself - but still, you try and reassure him, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, Bucky, we’re fr-”

Bucky presses his lips against yours, cutting you off.

Taken aback, you stiffen at first - but then you melt into him, one of your hands moving to cup the side of his face and pull him closer, the other sliding down to rest over his heart. It beats strongly against your palm, setting the pace for the kiss, the first the two of you have ever shared. And, oh, what a first kiss it is: gentle yet passionate, grounding but freeing all the same. 

It warms you from the inside out and tingles beneath the surface of your skin in the most exhilarating of ways, making you feel so alive - reassuring you that you are, as it would be so easy for you to convince yourself that you’re not, since this is the closest to Heaven you’ve ever been. 

If you could have it your way, it would never end; you would stay in this moment for the rest of your life, reveling in the feeling of Bucky’s lips moving against yours and his arms encasing you, the mix of positive emotions swirling in your respective chests. Your lungs however eventually betray you, and you have to part from him to catch your breath - but you don’t go too far. You only move to rest your forehead against his, a happier rendition of a moment lived not too long ago.

You stay like that, just basking in one another, for an eternity. And then he asks you, in a tone that tells you he’s open to anything you might suggest, “Where do you want to go?” 

You smile as you open your eyes, meeting his waiting gaze. 

“Anywhere,” you tell him simply. “As long as I’m with you.”

A/N: first and foremost, if you’re reading this, bless you for making it this far, and I really hope you liked this one-shot! I’d love to hear any thoughts you may have on it :).

I’ve been planning the story of Bucky and this specific reader in my head for months now, so to see them finally “come to life” is a pretty great feeling. I hope you guys love them as much as I do, because I’ll hopefully be sharing the journey that led them to this ‘epilogue’ with you soon 💜.

One last thing, I want to give a shout out to every single person who has given me words of encouragement and advice over the past few months as I’ve talked about picking up writing again. Especially @stop-obsessing-over-those-actors, whose reaction to just a snippet of this one-shot and constant support throughout the writing process pushed me to keep going even when I felt like giving up and dropping out of the challenge. I’m so sorry I kept you waiting to see what happened for so long! I hope the wait was worth it!

 ( @buckyreaderrecs and @stop-obsessing-over-those-actors, I did it you guys!!  💜)

#jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier fic #winter soldier imagine #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #winter soldier x female reader #J Writes Stuff #Series: Demolition Lovers

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Muse

Pairing: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve’s little art hobby wasn’t necessarily a secret, but how good he was at it? That part was.

Word Count: 1552

Warnings: Fluff, eluded angst and insecurity from Steve

A/N: This is for a writing challenge by @jbbuckybarnes​. I truly tried my best to make this my absolute most inclusive piece of writing, so if you have any constructive criticism on how I can do that better please message me.

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs welcome and highly appreciated. 

Bright sunlight pranced throughout the small Brooklyn apartment, flittering and flickering through the air. A few tea light candles were strewn around on flat surfaces, emanating a soft vanilla scent that enhanced the sweetness that lingered from the nights dessert, a rare thing but a necessity with what was bound to happen in the next few weeks. Soft blankets and a peaceful quiet, comfortable silence that only made the warmth of the moment stronger. 

Your eyes flickered from the book in your hand to your sweet boyfriend sitting opposite of the room in his favorite chair. A colorful pallete and a dirty cup of water sat on the table next to him, his hand moving in thoughtful flicks as his teeth nibbled at his lip in concentration. A few pieces of his blonde hair had fallen into his face, occasionally shaking his head to move it from his view and causing a smile to spread across your lips.

Steve has always painted. A fun little hobby to fill the time. Sometimes it'd just be a drawing, a simple sketch with charcoal. But lately, since meeting Dr.Eskrine late last week he's been specifically painting more and more. The colors on his pallete have even become brighter and move varied, but he never showed you the pictures. You assumed they were just personal little doodles, nothing big and extravagant, maybe something that would be somehow embarrassing for him. 

However, you did know why he had been painting more. Steve had been recruited, kind of. He'd be the subject of an experiment called Project Rebirth. Neither of you knew too much about it, but you did know that within the next week or to Steve would be receiving his letter for him to be wisped away. 

At first, Steve was excited. He finally had managed to find a way to get what he wanted, a way to serve his country. And you were excited for him as well, how couldn't you be? His blue eyes lit up so bright when he told you, so excited and talking so fast he was practically reminiscent of a puppy. He nearly gave himself an asthma attack with how much energy was coursing through him. 

But the reality quickly set in for the both of you. He'd be leaving. Your Stevie, your perfect gentleman of a boyfriend, your number one supporter would have to leave you, and there was a good chance he may not come home. You two cried that night, a whirlwind of emotions laying catastrophy to your bliss, and vowed that every moment between then and him leaving would be the most special time you could imagine. 

Some would argue that there wasn't anything special about this; About sitting feet apart, in the most peaceful quiet only slightly disturbed by the sounds of people going home after a long days work outside, doing your own thing. But you couldn't have this with anyone else, this comfort and feeling of home was something you never felt until Steve. Everyone was shocked when the two of you moved in together, but you hadn't wanted to let this feeling slip through your fingers, and you were even more grateful now that you had made the decision to do so. 

Without thinking much of it, you sat your book down and stood up, moving to Steve. After pressing a kiss to his forehead you grabbed the dirty cup of water and moved to the kitchen just feet away to refresh it for him. 

You felt his gaze follow you, as it always did when you moved about. He tried not to admit it but he was truly shocked as to how he got so lucky to be with you. Someone so caring, driven, and open minded. Someone who's inner beauty matched their appearance, who was definitely way out of his league in his opinion and didn't have a care in the world for how small he was. A girl who was almost too ambitious and too determined for her own good. You inspired him, way more than you knew at this point. 

"Whatcha painting, dear?" Your voice cut through his thoughts as you came back with the fresh water, only trying to peak at the pad of paint paper a little. 

The flush that covered his skin was far too obvious for him to play off, and he tripped over his words as he talked, "it's uh, nothing - really - I mean it's not nothing but-"

The light laugh that fell from your lips caused him to blush even darker. Steve watched as you leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before kneeling beside him. The look you gave him was too pure and sweet and he knew he wouldn't be able to resist whatever you requested of him next. 

"Can you please show me some of your paintings, Stevie? You paint so much and I feel like this is a piece of you I don't know much about." The sweetness and curiosity had him cliff diving head first into falling in love with you all over again. 

"Uh, s-sure." Steve did well of hiding the one he had been working on, sitting it aside and out of view as he flipped through a few pages of his painting paper and showed you a picture he painted of a garden. 

Your breath was practically stolen as your gaze danced across the intricate detail of the picture he was showing you. Variants of almost every shade in the rainbow were whisped across the paper, creating a beautiful scene of blooming flowers and bushes, caged in by a white picket. 

"You can paint? Like, really paint?" The statement came as more of a question, almost in disbelief with what you were seeing. You had sworn painting was just a pass-time type of hobbie for Steve, but you were wrong, way wrong. It wasn't a hobbie, it was a talent. 

"A little bit, yeah, I guess," he mumbled, bashful and still not use to any type of praise. "I had- I had painted that one night after we had talked about buying a house one day. You said you wanted a little cottage with a white picket fence and a huge garden. I figured, if I couldn't give the real thing to you, I could at least paint you something close to it."

Your heart practically broke and swelled all at once. The sincerity of this man never ceased to baffle you. "Stevie! You call this a little bit?" You exclaimed. "This is beautiful. Can you show me another?"

He smiled, shy but hopeful and nodded. Steve moved down to sit on the floor with you, pulling a few of the papers out to lay across the floor, all different scenes of things you had talked about wanting to do together. A little bakery, a blue cottage, a cabin and lake. Your eyes scanned across every one, seeing every little detail and color, feeling like you were seeing a scene out of a movie, feeling like you could have actually been there. 

"Steve, love, these are amazing," you breathed out, voice soft and quiet. 

"I painted them for you," he admitted, voice just as hushed. He avoided looking at you, but you couldn't help but look at him after that admittance. "When I found out about getting recruited I starting painting everything we ever wanted to do together so you could hang them up or keep them to remember me, so you wouldn't forget me."

"Forget you?" The little pang of hurt was evident in your voice. "Stevie," you leaned over, cupping his face with your hand and making him look at you. A quiet exchange of sad smiles before you pressed a kiss to his lips, a promise, "I'll never forget you. I love you."

Steve smiled a little more brightly. "I love you too, doll."

"But," you voice had a tease, trying to keep the mood light and happy. It wasn't time for tears, not yet. You wanted as many happy moments with him as possible before he left, "you have to promise not to forget me."

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head, "I couldn't if I tried."

And little did you know, the painting he set aside was his way of making sure he didn't forget you. That he wouldn't forget the way your hair sat against your skin, or the bridge of your nose, or any freckle and smile line. The warmth that emanated from you or the curve of your lips in a resting smile.

No picture could do any of that, any piece of you justice. So, Steve didn't rely on a picture, instead he just painted his favorite muse. After a moment of hesitation he moved to grab it. It wasn't quite finished, but almost there and done enough to show you. 

"I painted those for you, but I'm painting this one for me, to keep with me while I'm away."

Steve sat back down, showing you the all too realistic portrait of you reading a book, in the position you'd taken comfort in over the last week. Your breath had truly caught in your throat this time, times welling as emotions bubble in you. "See, doll, I can't forget something I've painted."

Tags: @lokilvrr​ @hurricanerin​ @kcd15​

#jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge #jbbuckybarnes #writing challenge #steve #steve rogers #pre serum steve #pre serum steve rogers #steve fluff #steve rogers fluf #preserum steve rogers fluff #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #preserum steve rogers x reader #preserum steve x reader #fluff #reader insert #marvel x reader #marvel fluff

[hopingforromanoff]

You’re Not So Tough

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff  x female reader

Warnings: brief mentions of medical stuff and I think a few curse words

Requests are open, so feel free to send in requests and I will do my best to get them posted ASAP.

This is for @jbbuckybarnes​ Writing Challenge! Congrats on 900, and happy birthday!!

A/N: I have quite a few others things to write (requests and other writing challenges) BUT I was listening to @caws5749​ ‘s Natasha playlist, and the song “Tough” came on and then my brain was like “haha you have to write this right NOW” 

A/N pt2: This blog has become mostly Natasha bc I love her so much (and you guys do too) BUT I’m planning to have 2 (3?) Bucky x reader and probably a Wanda x reader coming out soon!

Also, a big thank you to my best friend @ryllee12​ for beta reading for me- even tho she never uses the Tumblr I made her get lol

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

My Masterlist

“Hold still! I’m not finished with the wounds” you scolded her lightly for moving her head away from you once again. 

“It’s a bit hard if you’re so close to me” you lightly scoffed at her response, and turned to your makeshift medical table to grab a fresh alcohol wipe before you began to stitch her head. 

“Y/N, honestly I don’t know why you’re worried about me so much, there are other people who need you more than I do” Natasha had been trying to shake you off since she was brought in. This was your job, to help people in the field, and right now Nat needed your attention. 

“Natasha, you hit your head: Hard. You have a concussion, and you’re bleeding! Why are you being like this?” you tried to speak as gently as possible as you tied closed the first stitch. 

“What do you mean?” You could tell she was beginning to get defensive. 

“Well you don’t have to act so tough all time, not around me” you brushed her hair away from her face without even thinking about it. She may have been your colleague, and patient but you had always wanted it to be so much more than that. 

“Y/N, I could so kick your ass in a fight, I think you’re the one who thinks she’s tougher than she actually is” Natasha teased with a small smile. 

“That’s not what I meant. You always put up a wall, and you won’t allow people to see when you’re vulnerable” You secured the last stitch before you discarded your gloves.

You briefly made eye contact with her before you continued “It’s okay to ask for help, It’s okay to be insecure sometimes, and it’s okay to need people”.

“It’s not as easy as that. My whole life I've been told that needing other people made me weak. That if I relied on others then I’m useless” Natasha began to play with a loose string that hung from the side of the blanket that sat on top of the dingy safe-house bed. “I’m trying to be better, I want to be better, and I want to let people in”. 

“You should let me in because I lo-” You began to mumble but quickly snapped your mouth shut before you could say anything that would embarrass you. 

“I can’t hear you, my head is already hurting, and it’s hard to focus” Nat pressed her fingers to her temples trying to relieve the pain. 

“It was nothing, don’t worry about it, you should focus on healing” you dropped your gaze to shield your eyes that could give away too much. 

“No tell me, everything you say is important” she pressed harder with a concerned but caring look on her face. 

“I was gonna say that I loved you, but just forget it. It doesn’t matter” you busied yourself with cleaning up your supplies. 

“Alright Tough-Girl, you gonna come kiss me? Because I'm kinda in love with you too” you spun around so quickly, and let out a small squeak as you suddenly found Natasha was now standing very close to you. 

“Natasha stop, you don’t have to pretend just to protect my feelings” you focused on the way your pants brushed against your combat boots. 

“Oh my god, would you just shut up, and kiss me?” Natasha grabbed your hand, and closed the small space between the two of you. 

You lightly pressed your forehead against hers, careful to avoid touching her fresh stitches. Your lips brushed against her lightly chapped ones, not yet fully committing to the kiss.

“ Y/N” she whispered softly gaining your attention. “Please kiss me”

Your breath quickened when you finally pressed your lips against hers. She was warm against your chest, and one of your hands fell to the small of her back, pulling her even closer. You had to force yourself to pull away to catch your breath. Natasha was having none of that though, and her lips quickly met yours again. This time much more feverishly, neither of you having much control. Natasha’s lips fell to yours as your tongue ran along her bottom lip and your body became weak with passion.

Suddenly the bedroom door flew open to reveal a very confused Bucky. “Y/N, can you please come tell Sam that his leg isn’t bro- oh shit sorry”. 

You had tried to cover it up but it was too late, you had already been caught. You lightly coughed trying to shake the memory, and reached around Natasha for your medical bag. 

She lightly tapped the back of your thigh, and leaned down to whisper in your ear “Go on Tough Girl, you’ve got heroes to save”. 

Permanent Taglist: @sebbbystaaan​

#jbbuckybarnesbirthdaychallenge #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #black widow x reader

[wonderswritings]

Debatable

Summary: Bucky drags you onto his mission to save you from dealing with the recruits and Steve. But that seemingly backfires when you have to help anyway. Warnings: Pre-established Relationship Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Trope/Sentence: Assassin AU 11. I really don’t want to carry your dead body for 5 miles, so please do me a favor and don’t fuck up.

This was written for @jbbuckybarnes writing challenge. Congrats on the followers and Happy birthday love! 💙 Go here to be tagged in future works!

(gif not relative story but 🤤) ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

I huffed, rolling my eyes as I walked up the ramp of the jet, tossing my bag onto the seat as I walked towards the front, sitting in the copilot seat.

“I can’t believe you managed to drag me into this.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his flipped the switch to close the ramp door.

“It was either this or you’d have to help Steve with the recruits gun recertification.”

I shivered, shaking my head.

“Nope. I hate doing that.”

Bucky grinned, turning towards me once we were in the air, the jet on autopilot.

“Which is why you’re coming with me. I guess that means you owe me one.”

I scoffed, tilting my head to the side.

“Yeah right. More like You still owe me like twenty seven times.”

He lifted his hand, waving it around.

“Eh, schematics, semantics.”

I snorted, shaking my head.

“Idiot.”

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“Debatable.”

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“Why’d they send you if this is supposed to be a quick in and out?”

“Clint is with his family and Nat is helping Wanda.”

I turned back towards Bucky, gasping

“And they didn’t invite me?!”

He turned towards me, making a face.

“Uhm, what?”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing my gun from my duffel and placing it in my holster.

“She’s not helping her, they went on a trip.”

“Ohh. Yeah maybe I was supposed to keep that quiet then.”

I snorted, walking towards him as he grabbed another knife, holding it out towards me.

“I’m good.”

He huffed, flipping the knife and grabbing my hip, pulling me to him and placing it in my thigh holster. He looked down at me, licking his lips before he stepped back, turning back towards his duffel.

“You ready?”

“Yup. Just one thing.”

He turned towards me, making a face.

“What?”

“I really don’t want to carry your dead body for 5 miles, so please do me a favor and don’t fuck up.”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head.

“I promise not to fuck up.”

I laughed, walking down the ramp beside him. Once the ramp was closed, the jet turned invisible, Bucky marking where the jet was.

“You ready?”

“Unfortunately.”

He snorted, walking beside me.

“Really?”

“We have to walk through the freaking forest.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“You’ll live, come on.”

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I groaned, blinking to get the blurriness to pass.

“James I am going to kill you.”

I heard him laugh before he grunted, hearing gunshots.

“Am I in trouble?”

I huffed, sitting up.

“What do you think?”

“No?”

I stood up, walking over and grabbing my gun from where it was thrown.

“Guess again.”

“Sorry?”

“Yeah, you’re gonna be when we get out of here.”

“Where are you?”

“Second floor. You?”

“The roof.”

I huffed, shaking my head.

“I’m not even going to ask. You can come down to me. No way in hell am I walking that many stairs.”

Bucky chuckled as I walked out of the room, checking the other rooms as I passed them.

“Aren’t you supposed to be an assassin?”

I huffed, pushing the stairwell door open.

“Aren’t you supposed to be an assassin?”

“Rude.”

“I’m still not walking up twelve flights of stairs.”

“Not even halfway?”

I shook my head, popping the “p.”

“Nope.”

“Rude.”

I grinned, shrugging.

“You love me.”

He huffed, grumbling.

“Debatable.”

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“So you remember how you said you weren’t going to come up to the roof?”

I nodded, flipping my dagger.

“Uh huh.”

“Well I kinda need you to come to the twelfth floor.”

I stopped flipping my dagger, tilting my head to the side.

“Why?

There was yelling and a series of gunshots before I heard Bucky huffing.

“Would you just get here?! Please.”

I grinned, getting up.

“Only cause you said please.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

I walked towards the stairwell, walking back when I saw an elevator.

“Jackpot.”

I walked towards it, tapping my foot as I waited for the doors to open. The doors opened with a “ding,” and I grinned as I pressed the twelfth floor, leaning against the wall of the elevator. I pushed off the wall when the elevator came to a stop, “dinging.” I stood in front of the doors, my hands on my hips as I waited for the doors to open. I looked up when the doors opened, rolling my eyes with a huff.

“Seriously?”

Bucky cut his head towards me, grinning.

“I didn’t actually think you’d come.”

I threw my hands up, walking towards him.

“You said you need help! This is not you in need of help!”

He let the agent he had in a chokehold go, the agent falling with a “thud.”

“Seriously?!”

Bucky smiled as he walked towards me, shrugging.

“I wanted to see if you’d come or not.”

I huffed, glaring.

“I am going to kill you.”

He stopped in front of me, wrapping his arms around me, spinning me around, laughing.

“You love me.”

I huffed as he put me down, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Debatable cause that is seriously up for grabs right now.”

He laughed, throwing his head back when he grew serious.

“Is that an elevator?”

I turned, nodding.

“Yup.“

“Where the hell was the elevator when I was looking for it? I had to run up ten flights of stairs!”

I laughed as we walked into the elevator, pressing the first floor button.

“Payback. It sure is sweet.”

Bucky huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, pouting as he leaned against the wall of the elevator. I turned towards him, grinning as I tilted my head to the side.

“Hey, you’re not hurt are you?” Bucky made a face, shaking his head.

“No. Why?”

I snorted, nodding.

“Good cause I wasn’t about to carry your heavy ass through the freaking five mile walk through the woods.”

“Hey it’s a nice ass!”

I shrugged, nodding as I glanced back at him.

“True.”

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“Hey.”

I turned, looking over at Bucky.

“Yes?”

“What’re your plans for when we get back?”

I titled my head to the side, making a face.

“Why? You planning on taking me out or something?”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head with a grin.

“Would you just answer the question.”

I shrugged, leaning back.

“I dunno. I’ll probably take a shower and then facetime the girls find out why the hell they left me with seven idiots.”

“Seven?!”

“Oh right, Clint’s with his family so six idiots then.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re mean.”

I grinned, shrugging.

“Yeah, but that’s nothing new.”

He snorted, nodding.

“True. Wanna get something to eat when we get back?”

I grinned, looking over at him.

“Sure you don’t want to go with Stevie boy?”

He huffed, shaking his head.

“I hate you.”

I laughed, throwing my head back.

“I thought you loved me?” He snorted, looking over at me.

“Debatable.”

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I slung the strap of my duffel onto my shoulder, walking down the ramp doors.

“Hey, wait!”

I turned, watching as Bucky ran down the ramp towards me, falling into step beside me.

“I’ll come by your room in an hour.”

“With food?”

Bucky laughed, nodding as we walked into the elevator.

“Yes, with food.”

I nodded, leaning back against the elevator wall.

“Okay then. But don’t hate when I’m in my pajamas.”

Bucky laughed as the elevator came to a stop at my floor, shaking his head.

“I won’t, promise.”

I turned my head to the side as I let my bag fall beside the couch, looking over at Bucky.

“See you in an hour.”

Bucky nodded as the elevator doors closed, leaning his head back against the elevator walls.

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I was laying on the couch, flipping through the tv channels when the elevator dinged. I didn’t bother to get up, figuring it was Bucky.

“Y/N?”

I lifted my arm, wiggling my fingers. Bucky laughed, and I looked up as he walked around the couch, placing the bag of takeout from Cho’s on the table, laying the pizza box beside it. I sat up, Bucky sitting down beside me.

“Takeout and pizza?” He shrugged as I grabbed the takeout bag, pulling the contents out as Bucky flipped the pizza box open.

“I was hungry.”

I laughed, nodding.

“Uh huh. And it has nothing to do with the fact that you eat a lot.”

Bucky huffed, looking over at me.

“You do too!”

“Yeah but not as much as you and Steve. You guys, and Thor, could literally eat an entire restaurant.”

“Hey you could too! You have the same serum!” “Yeah but mines not exactly like yalls. It just made me strong and relatively fast.” “Yeah but you can retain everything you read and hear.” “Yeah, I’m not entirely sure that’s due to the serum. Other people can do that too. Photographic memory or something.”

“True, but you were able to learn what, four languages in six minutes?”

I laughed, shaking my head as I leaned back against the couch, pulling netflix up and pressing play on a movie.

“Okay, now you’re just buttering me up.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back, the pizza box in his lap.

“Am not.” “Are to.” “Am not!”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“Yes you are!”

He went to say something when my phone went off, causing me to huff. I leaned forward, placing my container on the table, getting up. I walked to the back where my room was, walking over to my nightstand where I had my phone charging. I picked it up, swiping the call.

“Yes?”

“Hey. I need your mission report before tomorrow.”

I huffed, rolling my eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing the recertification with the recruits?” “I was. Then I had to do the agents recertification. I could have used some help. Still could.” “Well, Bucky wanted me to go with him on the mission and we just got back.” “Yeah, an hour ago.”

“And now we’re resting. Besides, you don’t want me helping with the recert. I’ll make them weep.” “I’d like to see that. It’s either that or you have to do the mission report.” “It wasn’t even my mission!” “You helped him.”

I huffed, shaking my head.

“Fine but you can’t complain about anything when I get there.” “I want, promise. Thank you.” “Uh huh.”

I hung up, throwing my phone onto my bed. I walked back to the living room, looking over at Bucky.

“Who was it?” “Your idiot friend.” “What’d he want?”

“I have to go help him with the agent's recert or I have to do your freaking mission report.” “So you’re going?”

I nodded, grabbing my container and closing it, placing it back in the bag. “And you’re coming with.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side  as I wrapped the rest of his pizza up, placing it in the takeout bag.

“Why?” I grinned, looking over at him.

“Cause we’re gonna make Steve regret ruining our day.”

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“I hate you both.” I grinned, waving at Steve.

“Love you to.”

Steve sighed, running his hand down his face.

“You couldn’t have at least dressed appropriately?” I shrugged, looking down at my pajamas.

“Dude, you’re lucky  I didn’t come naked.”

Bucky shook his head, his arm around me tightening as he pulled me closer to him.

“Nope. No one’s allowed to see you naked.” I grinned, looking over at him.

“Except you right?” Bucky nodded, huffing.

“Yes.”

I laughed, shaking my head as Steve’s face grew redder.

“It’s not even that bad Steve. I’m literally wearing a shirt and shorts.”

Bucky nodded, leaning his head on my shoulder.

“Yeah Steve.” I laughed as Steve huffed, shaking his head.

“Can you two please get up and help. It’s time for them to spar. I’d like you two to show them what we’re expecting.”

I huffed, grabbing my drink and drinking some of it as Bucky got up, holding his hand out towards me. I put my drink down, placing my hand in Bucky’s letting him pull me up. We walked over to the mats, both of us standing at opposite ends.

“I promise not to kick your ass, too much at least.”

Bucky laughed, tying his hair back.

“Really?”

I nodded, grinning.

“Uh huh. All these agents are gonna see you get your ass kicked by your girl.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“I’d like to see you try doll.”

I shrugged, tilting my head to the side.

“Alright. But loser sleeps on the couch tonight.” Steve snorted, shaking his head.

“Would you two just start already?” I laughed, turning towards Steve and sticking my tongue out, jumping when arms wrapped around me. I turned, seeing Bucky grinning as he leaned forward, kissing me.

“Love you.”

I smiled, kissing him again before I pushed him back.

“Love you too. But I’m still gonna kick your ass.”

Bucky laughed as Steve stepped forward, yelling out.

“Begin!”

#jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #winter soldier oneshot #avengers oneshot #marvel oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier imagine #avengers imagine #marvel imagine #bucky barnes drabble #winter soldier drabble #avengers drabble #marvel drabble

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Honey Haloed Weakness

Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: Bucky Barnes has a Honey Haloed Weakness- there’s nothing more to add! Warnings: Bad language, fluff, feels…nothing specific Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC Honey, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson

A/N: This was written for @jbbuckybarnes Birthday Challenge. I know she’s on a hiatus after some sucky drama (I’ll keep my opinions to myself but will say that it’s ridiculous the amount of drama this site has at times an I’m really glad I’m not popular enough to be roped into any of it!) Anyway, as I’ve written it, I’m posting it. Congratulations on 900 followers and happy birthday!! My prompt was dialogue: “Did you just shoot two guys  with one bullet?” “Did it look cool?“ Prompt is in bold in the story.

I’m really nervous about this one, as it’s completely different to anything I normally write but I hope you enjoy.

****** One bullet. One pull of the trigger. That was all it took. As Bucky watched the shot flew clean through the shoulder of one hostile, ricocheted off Sam’s shield and then hit a second straight in the hand causing him to drop the knife he was slashing at Sam with. The three of them stooped, Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Silver Shadow. Shield, guns and sparking hands lowered as they glanced around. “Man did you just shoot two guys with one bullet?” Sam turned to Bucky, his tone laced with shock and awe. “Did it look cool?” Bucky quipped back, an air of nonchalance in his voice, despite the level of surprise he himself felt.  James Barnes knew he was a good shot. But that…that was something else. And something that had been down to chance more than anything. Even if he had tried to make that shot, there’s no way of predicting the trajectory of the bullet once it emerged from the guys shoulder or controlling the angle it exited at… 

Unless… He turned to look at Shadow. Her soft honey- coloured halo of wavy hair, splattered with blood and gore from the battle, hung like curtains of scarlet coloured silk round her face from which warm amber eyes glanced back at him. Her pretty features remained passive, adorned with the same expression she had worn when he had first seen her in his rundown apartment in Bucharest when Steve had come looking for him post the Vienna bombings. 

Sam turned away muttering something about retrieving the Intel they had come for off the hard drives in the main office and once his back was turned she caught Bucky’s eyes with her own. They were gold, haloed, just like her hair, and as he allowed himself just a second to indulge in the warmth they exuded over him, one slipped onto a sly wink. And then he knew for certain. She’d done it. She had controlled the shot.  Directed it where it needed to go. And Bucky wasn’t sure whether he felt turned on or slightly emasculated.

His Honey haloed weakness. “Don’t worry…” she said gently as they made their way back to the jet. “I won’t tell him, on one condition?” “Yeah? What’s that?” Bucky asked, turning to look at her. “You ask me out for that drink Steve’s been telling me you want to take me for.” And with that she left him standing there, slack jawed as he watched her head up the ramp. **** “So…in a word old man, you’re still a punk.”  Bucky finished recapping the tale later the next morning, leaning back in the comfy chair by the bed Steve lay in. The old man laughed and shook his head. “She’s a minx, I’ll give her that. And she always was good at playing the cards she was dealt…” A fond smile spread across Steve’s face at the thought of his other best friend, his sister, the girl he had pulled from that shitty HYDRA base in 2014 when they had been chasing the Sceptre. No one had any idea who she was, what she could do, where she had come from…and that included her. She hadn’t spoken for 3 days other than to thank him or Natasha for the food and clothes she was given, and Tony for his kindness. And then on the 4th day Steve had found her in the kitchen at the Tower and had won her over with an expertly made grilled cheese. “What’s your name?” He asked softly as she sat chewing.

“I…I don’t know.” She shrugged, her eyes wide as she looked down. Steve gently reached out, his hand taking hers softly as she looked at him.

 "Honey, you’re safe now, you know that right?

“Honey…” she said wistfully  "I like that…“ 

And so it had stuck. And suited her.  Where her ability to manipulate metal came from, no one knew. A mutation? Maybe. Human enhancement experiment? Possibly. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact she embraced the responsibility that came with that power. She wanted to help people. She agreed to stay with the Avengers and they were better for it. 

Steve was better for it. She had been like the little sister he never had. Allowing himself another few moments of nostalgia, Steve eventually shook himself free of his memories and, with a sly look turned his head to face Bucky. “In my eyes its normally correct to buy a dame a drink before you roll around on an African Plain…yeah, I know exactly what went down between you two that night in Wakanda…” Bucky blinked before he snorted, shaking his head. “Of course she told you…” When the dust settled after the show down in Leipzig, Bucky hadn’t seen Honey for almost a year until she came to Wakanda with Steve to be there when they brought him out of Stasis. She had been different then, but so had Steve. A year on the run in the shadows had hardened them both. Those amber eyes carried a darkness that hadn’t been there before. But they still exuded all the power and warmth of the sun. And he was on fire. 

His Honey haloed weakness.  “Cant sleep either?” He asked as he emerged from the comfortable farmers hut he had been given to live in. She shrugged “ my mind gets a bit busy sometimes…I find the stars help.” He sat down besides her, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Ever wonder what it’s like just to be normal?” she sighed and he snorted. “What’s normal?” She laughed softly and looked at him, her eyes flashing in the moonlight, deep amber speckled with brown, the soft honey tones in her hair glowing in the lunar rays, a soft ring around her crown

His Honey haloed weakness. 

Under the moonlight sultry cries and gentle whimpers were shared. Skin slid on skin, hands wandered and explored…together they reclaimed their grasp on humanity. What it was to feel something other than fear and death and anger. And then she had to leave and it was another 12 months since he saw her again. On a battle field in Wakanda…with those creatures. This time she was fierce, those amber eyes glowing as she tore metal armour limb from limb, wrenched weapons from hands, made sure shots hit their targets, her daggers flying and returning to her hands. But there was no beating Thanos. 

“I can’t control his gauntlet.” Her voice was desperate, broken as she has realised her powers were of no use.

And then he had been dusted. “Those 5 years were long.” Steve shook Bucky from his reminiscing “For all of us. Trying to forgive ourselves for our failure. And it was that inability to do so that saw us figure it out, a way to bring everyone back…” Bucky looked down. He knew all about that. Seeking redemption, wiping your leger clean. “Don’t keep her waiting another 5 years” Steve locked his eyes onto Bucky’s. A plea, a beg.

So he didn’t he asked her for that drink. He dated her, bought her flowers, made love to her some nights, fucked her into the mattress on others. They ran missions side by side with Sam, walked and danced in the rain. A diamond ring was bought, a yes was said

And one bright April day a year later, his honey haloed weakness became his wife.

***** “Where are my keys?” Bucky asked, frowning as he gently closed the drawer to the sideboard that they normally kept all the sets of keys in. “I wish you’d stop moving my stuff…” He felt a vibration in his pocket and a moment later he heard the keys in question jangling and turned with a soft sigh to see them hovering about a foot away from him in the air. Honey stood at the other side of the room, hand raised lightly as she wriggled her fingers causing them to move higher. “Oh look, they were in your pocket…” she arched an eyebrow “You owe me an apology.” “So what’s new?” He chuckled and she smiled as she shrugged on her jacket and walked towards him as he checked they had everything they needed. Even for a simple trip down the road it seemed like they were prepping for a mission, but then again, maybe they were… They made their way out of the Brownstone into the glorious September sun and Bucky took the lead, as always, his wife gently walking alongside him, hand curled round his arm. He had a knack did Bucky, for steering and making sure everyone moved out if the way, which was why she was happy to let him. They reached their destination and made their way down the familiar little gravel path towards what they were looking for. Their pace slowed a little here, it was always harder on gravel, you sank a little and it took more effort to push through. They stopped in front of a beautiful headstone. White marble with gold writing, and a simple inscription Steven Grant Rogers Much loved husband, father and friend. Below the wording Steve’s symbol, his shield, the star surrounded by rings was etched, along with a simple phrase to remind everyone exactly who he had been. “Captain America is hope, he’s freedom, he’s just a kid from Brooklyn” Bucky’s hand gently ran across the top of the headstone and Honey smiled softly at him, before a noise drew their attention back to why they had come here today specifically. Smiling at one another, Bucky turned and gently lifted his 4 day old baby boy from the buggy as his wife watched, reaching up to smooth a finger down the baby’s soft, rosy cheek. Steve had been so excited when Bucky and Honey had told him that they were pregnant. But they had all known deep down that Steve’s time was coming to an end. The serum wasn’t repairing what was happening to him anymore, and hadn’t been for a while. Steve had noticed its effects had been dwindling for almost 30 years by that point and he was ready to go, to be with Peggy who had left him some 20 years previously. All of them had hoped he would live long enough to see Baby Barnes but things never do work out the way you want them to, and Steve had passed quietly surrounded by his friends, family some 6 weeks before their baby boy bad been born. Bucky had made a vow, a promise to himself that his son would understand exactly who his Uncle Stevie was. Not Captain America, but that little kid from Brooklyn who was always too dumb to run away from a fight. “Had to bring him to meet you one way or another.” Bucky said gently, looking from his son’s face to the stone with a soft smile before he crouched down in front of it. He took a moment, the words he was trying to form sticking in his throat as pure emotion washed over him. He felt grief, he felt loss…but also joy at the fact he was a new father and serenity that he had found his salvation, his second chance. And it was draining to feel it all at once. His wife softly squeezed his shoulder before she crouched by his side, gently wiping her own face as Bucky finally found his voice again. “Yeah, it was a him…so I got to pick the name.” Besides him he heard his wife chuckled as she spoke “I can still see your face Stevie, when we told you about that deal. Girl I picked, boy he picked…” Bucky smiled, he could too. Watery blue eyes that still had that sparkle had widened as Steve had looked at them both, horror on his face as he shook his head on disbelief. “What? You can’t do that…I mean it needs to be a joint decision, no matter what the gender…surely?” In the end Steve had been right. Whilst Bucky had suggested the first name for their little boy, he had struggled with a middle one…and it had been his wife who had quietly suggested it as he stood in the hospital room, gently rocking his new-born baby in his arms. Both had agreed there and then that it was perfect, both filling up with tears at the simplicity and the poignancy and both in love with the fact their son would help keep the memory of their friend, their brother, their Captain, alive. “Punk…” Bucky gently shifted the baby in his arms so he was facing the stone. “Say hello to Steven Roger Barnes” His son. His beautiful son. A life created because two people fell in love.   Because James Buchanan Barnes had a Honey haloed weakness.

Tagging a few of my regulars

@icanfeelastormbrewing @jtargaryen18 @official-and-unstable-satan​ @momobaby227 @jennmurawski13 @marvelfansworld​ @pagesoflauren​ @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @disneylovingal​ @djeniiscorner​

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x original female character #jbbuckybarnesbirthdaychallenge

[fanfictionaries]

A Fine Line Between Lust and Hate - jbbuckybarnes Birthday Challenge

Thank you to @jbbuckybarnes for this fun writing challenge! Congratulations on over 900 followers and also happy 21st birthday! It’s a fun age, enjoy it! 

Prompt 1: Bookstore AU

Prompt 2: “Just gimme the book and fuck off!” 

Pairing: AU Bookstore!Bucky Barnes X female reader

Summary:  If there was one person you hated more than anyone else in the world it was James Buchanan “Call Me Bucky” Barnes. Or at least, you thought you did. As Bucky continues to press your patience, it becomes unclear as to whether it’s hate you feel, or lust. 

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, smut, doggy style, oral (male receiving), NSFW/18+ only

Author’s Note: Man, I do love a good rousing debate over literature. 

***

You stood in one of the long aisles as you worked on putting the store’s most recent influx of donations on the shelves. The endless rows of historical memories stretched high above your head and all around you. However, the large stack in front of you currently sat untouched, a copy of Ernst Jünger’s Storm of Steel held tightly in your grasp, as you watched the events occurring at the front desk. Your coworker, James, was leant casually against the counter, once again ignoring his work duties as he openly and obnoxiously flirted with the woman in front of him.

God, you hated him. You hated his stupid long hair that he pulled up into a stupid bun. You hated his stupid tight jeans that hugged his thick thighs and his stupid red Henley that accentuated his muscular shoulders and arms. You hated his stupid handsome face that only fueled his overall cocky attitude. God, you absolutely hated James Buchanan ‘Call Me Bucky’ Barnes.

You hadn’t set out to hate him of course. Quite the opposite in fact. When your boss informed you of a new employee who wasn’t a billion-year-old woman, you had been ecstatic. Not to say you didn’t love Lucille, but to finally meet a person close to your age that loved books so much they were willing to work at the musty, expansive bookstore was a dream come true. For years now, you’d found yourself spending more time alone, tucked into the rows of books than you did with anyone your own age. You’d think that the kitschy bookstore would be a draw to the younger individuals in town, with the rise of intellectualism or at least the guise of intellectualism within today’s youth. Not to mention, the fact that it was nestled in between the cutest antique store and 50’s style diner. But, alas, it didn’t seem to be on trend for your town. Instead, you got the odd stragglers of older individuals who still enjoyed reading physical books, and local community college students looking to either sell or buy books for classes. That’s why the idea of coming into work every day to a coworker you could relate to was beyond wonderful. However, it hadn’t taken long for James to get so far under your skin, you practically wore him like a pair of itchy long johns.

It had started with his complete disregard for the books and their safety. As a self-proclaimed bibliophile, you took great pride in the care and safety of the books in the store. They were a mix of new and used, the older ones coming into your protective arms the moment you clocked the torn corners and dog-eared pages. You spent hours restoring them before putting them out to be appreciated by the next reader. That’s why, on his third day there when you’d spotted him using his copy of Catcher in the Rye as a coaster for his iced coffee, you’d nearly had an aneurysm. You wished that the situation was a one-time thing, but every time you turned a corner, he was bending spines, creasing pages, WRITING in the margins. He was a book sadist.

Then of course, there was the lackadaisical way in which he approached his job. Not once, not twice, but ten times in the last three months you had stayed late finishing work that had been assigned to him. Why did you do it, instead of letting him take the fall for shoddy work? Well, because it was always things that needed to be done either before the shop could close or before the shop could open. Closing out the till, turning off all the lights, locking the back door, fixing the displays, picking up the giant stack of books that had fallen near the back, changing a burnt-out light using the very old and very rickety ladder.

And lastly, the one thing you absolutely hated the most about him was just how incredibly flirty he was! From the very beginning, he took every opportunity to hit on you. At first it had been flattering, but incredibly jarring and confusing. What could he possibly want with you? He looked like that and you looked like, well people didn’t really want to date the weird bookstore girl that always smelled faintly of old books. Then, it had all come into focus. James flirted with everyone. Not just you. Everyone. The moment a woman under the age of forty walked through those front doors, James was there with his stupid charming ways; “Can I help you with anything today?” “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in here today?” “I knew a woman of your caliber would have good taste in books.” All the while, he’d chance little glances your way, smirking at you and raising his eyebrows slightly. It was all a game to him. Prick.

“Now, see, that is a fantastic choice. I knew the moment you walked in you had good taste,” stated James pointing down at the copy of The God of Small Things that was currently clutched to the woman’s chest in her perfectly manicured hands. You rolled your eyes. Ridiculous. You glanced over again to see James smirking in your direction before he walked the woman to the front door and waved her goodbye, shutting and locking the door behind her. Last customer of the day. You sighed, turning back to the stacks in front of you and swiftly putting the books back into place. The quicker you got this done, the quicker you would be out of there and away from James’ mocking face and overall itchy personality. You continued to put the books away, probably harsher than you should have, as you listened to the faint sounds of James closing out the till. Well, at least he was doing that today. I knew the moment you walked in you had good taste, you mocked him in your head, huffing and puffing at just how infuriating he was. You winced at a particularly harsh shove of a book into the shelve. Quickly, you pulled it out and inspect the corners and sides of the hard cover.

“Careful there—” a pair of large hands came into your line of site, snatching the book from your hands “—What did Michael Herr ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” you huffed, turning to grab the book back, but coming up unsuccessful. “Although, I really would prefer it if you didn’t allow customers to stay so late past closing.”

“Why? Got somewhere to be? Hot date?” James asked, circling around you to lean against the bookshelves to your right.

You snorted, “As if that’s any of your business.”

“Come on. Lighten up a little bit (Y/N). She needed help finding a good book for her English class,” said James, pulling the book out of reach as you attempted to grab it back from him once again.

“Okay,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and reaching back down to the stack of books remaining on the cart to your left.

“What? You got something against Indian authors writing about caste relations and cultural tensions?”

“No, but I think if Roy tried to squeeze one more literary device into the text, the book would literally explode. Nobody genuinely enjoys a work where the author is intentionally trying to be clever. It’s obnoxious,” you said as you continued to put the books into their correct spaces as quickly as possible.

“Oh, so I guess you don’t care for Shakespeare then? What about Vonnegut, Anne Rice, Tolkien? Every author thinks they’re clever (Y/N). If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be writers,” said James, crossing his arms and leaning towards you condescendingly.

“That’s-that’s just ridiculous,” you responded lamely, placing the last book in your pile away.

“Oh really? Then please, oh smart one, name a single author who didn’t take themselves so seriously that it didn’t bleed through their work in some way,” James challenged, once again pulling the book in his hands away from your reaching hands.

You stood there, glowering at the man in front of you as you tried to come up with some king of answer. “C. S. Lewis,” you blurted out, wanting to kick yourself at the obviously stupid answer.

A barking laugh left James, “Oh come on. The man spent most of his career preaching Christian values and what it means to be moral. He even went so far as to write a short story on what the afterlife looks like and how to get into heaven. Or are we just going to pretend like The Great Divorce didn’t happen? Just because he wrote a bunch of entertaining children’s stories bathed in Christian symbolism with little effort does not mean that he didn’t take himself seriously.”

His astute criticism caught you off guard and peaked your anger, mainly because to a certain extent he was right. That didn’t mean you were going to let him know that though, “Excuse you! I’ll have you know he wrote The Great Divorce after the death of his wife. What else was he supposed to write about? You know what James—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky?”

“Just gimme the book and fuck off!”

Your eyes widened at your outburst. You’d never spoken to anyone like that before in your life. Opening your mouth to apologize, you quickly closed it when James sighed heavily and pushed himself off of the bookshelf. He stared at you, his eyes calculating as he closed the space between you, slamming the good on the shelf behind your head. You jumped, turning so that you faced him head on, your back to the endless rows of books. James placed an intimidatingly large arm on either side of you, bracing himself against oak shelves. You swallowed thickly at the sheer size of him. Your pulse quickened. He had never been this close to you.

“You know what (Y/N)? I think you’re just jealous,” James murmured, tilting his head dangerously low to yours.

“Jealous? Of what?” you asked, your voice embarrassingly breathy, as your head began to swim. He was so close. So close you could smell his cologne, a musky warm scent mixed with the fresh scent of soap and…old books? Subtly, you tried to inhale more of the tantalizing smell without James noticing. But one glance up and you could see that familiar smirk and cocky gleam in his eye.

“Me, and every woman that walks in here ready to fuck me in the encyclopedia section.”

You gasped at his words, “That’s ridiculous. Why would I be jealous of that?”

“Because you want to fuck me in the encyclopedia section.”

“I—I do not—I do not want to—I hate you!”

James leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, “Doesn’t mean you don’t want to fuck me—” His head titled, his lips brushing across your cheek, your jawline, and then to the shell of your ear. “—Just say the word and I’ll take you right there. Right then. Any time. Any day.”

You shivered at the offer. Never had his flirting gone this far. Sure, James had given you a flirtatious smile and charming little comment here and there, but never had he come close to propositioning you. You should say no. You hate him. He’s everything you despise and yet…

“Fuck it.” Rising up on the tips of your toes, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a searing kiss. James’ lips claim yours, never hesitating for a second, as if expecting it. The soft skin of his plush lips a stark contrast to the harsh way in which you both battled for dominance. Every ounce of anger, frustration, and tension that you held towards him fought its way through your body as you nipped, bit, and tugged. James’ hands moved from the bookshelf to your body, gripping your hips and tugging you harshly against him, revealing the same level of pent up aggression. His hands traveled upwards, cupping your breasts through your sweater, roughly massaging them as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Threading your fingers into his hair, you tugged harshly earning you a growl from James. Breaking away from the kiss just long enough to pull your sweater up and over your head, your bodies reconnected, the feel of your bare torso against him feeling oh so right. You continued to hang onto him for dear life, as his kisses left you breathless and needy. Bringing a leg up around his hip, your pelvis rocked against him, searching for any kind of friction as you climbed him like a tree.

“Eager, aren’t we?” James teased, hands moving down to harshly grasp your ass and lift you up. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you allowed him to carry you the brief distance away from the bookshelves and lower you onto the rough carpet floor. Trailing kisses down your neck and towards your breasts, he roughly yanked the cups of your bra down before taking a nipple between his teeth. You arched into his mouth, loving the sting as he bit down.

“God, I knew you’d be a fucking little minx,” panted James, sitting up on his knees. “Look at you all sexy and needy. Just had to get you to let go.”

Pushing up onto your elbows, you stared up at him, “Shut the fuck up and take your shirt off James.”

Swinging his hand down, he swatted the inside of your thigh, “The name’s Bucky, babe.”

Your head fell backwards at the contact and your pussy clenched as you moaned low. Sitting up, you ripped his shirt from his torso and threw it behind you before pushing him down onto the ground. You made quick work of removing your bra, shoes, and pants before reaching for his belt buckle. This time it was his turn to push up onto his elbows as he watched your near naked form, undo his belt and then his pants. You tugged at his pants and then his boxers in a desperate manner, James kicking off his shoes and socks to held aid in their removal. Finally, when he was naked before you, you took a moment to admire the lean curves of his muscular form and the thick cock that sat just below his belly button, nestled in a patch of short brown curls.

Running your nails lightly up and down his thighs, you smirked as he writhed below you, sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth. Lowering yourself slowly, you positioned yourself between his thick thighs and grasped the base of his cock in your hand, wasting no time in wrapping your lips around the head and swirling your tongue around him. Bucky cursed, low and sexy as you took him in your mouth. You worked him with your lips and tongue as your moved lower and lower. Spit gathered in your mouth as you breathed through your nose, giving your all into pleasuring the man below you. You wanted to once and for all wipe the smirk off of James “Bucky” Barnes’ face. When you made it almost all the way to the base, you hollowed your cheeks, sucking as you massaged the vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue. His hands flew to the back of your head, fingers lacing in your hair and gripping tight. He held onto you for dear life as you attempted to suck the soul out of him through his dick alone.

“Jesus Christ! Fuck! (Y/N),” he yelled, his body shuddering. When you slipped down the last few inches, allowing his cock to slip easily down your throat, he stilled, body rigid before he pulled you off of him with a curse.

You fell backwards onto your hands, spit coating your lips and drool falling down your chin as you breathed in deeply. A low growl escaped James’ throat as he launched himself at you, flipping you onto your stomach, and ripping your panties down your legs. His hands found your center in no time, his fingers delving deep into your core easily, aided by the embarrassing amount of arousal there. James fingered you, curving and finding that special spot inside of you that made your see stars. You yelped, bucking your hips back against him. His teeth sunk into the supple flesh of your ass.

“You’re god damn dripping down my arm (Y/N). Did sucking my cock turn you on that much?”

“Yes!” you admitted, continuing to rock your hips against him. Pulling his fingers from you, you whimpered at the loss of contact. The loss was only temporary though, as soon James was pulling your hips up, placing you back on your knees, face still pressed against the carpet as he lined his cock up with your entrance. There was no slow and delicate start. No, in one swift thrust, he was seated fully inside of you, hands firmly grasping your ass as he began to fuck you at a punishing pace.

“Fucking hell baby. Your pussy is like a vice-grip. I don’t think I’m going to last long,” he admitted, continuing to pound into you, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. He reached down, finding your clit and rubbing light, fast circles around it until you began to feel the familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen.

“Yes! Bucky! Fuck. Just like that, don’t stop!” you cried, desperate to reach your climax. The carpet scraped against your skin, sure to leave burns after. But you didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was the delicious stretch of your cunt around Bucky’s cock and your imminent orgasm.

“That’s it, baby. Say my fucking name again. Say my name as you cum all around me.”

You chanted his name over and over again, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, until finally you were approaching the edge and falling over. Your body shuddered and hips bucked as you came, loving the feeling of every hard ridge of Bucky’s thick cock inside of you. A few seconds late, he was pulling out of you and then you felt the warm streams of cum splashing across your ass. You collapsed fully onto the carpet below you, Bucky falling after you and rolling to lay beside you. You laid there, in post-orgasmic bliss. The feeling of Bucky’s fingertips trailing up and down your spine soothing you down from your high. After a little while, the two of your stood up and began to redress. Bucky, ever the gentleman, told you to wait as he ran to the front counter and came back with some tissues before wiping up the mess he had made on your ass.

Once you were both dressed, you finished closing up the store. Neither of you spoke, instead choosing to spare the other furtive little glances as you turned out the lights and locked the door behind you both.

“Looks like the diner is still open. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Bucky asked, looking down at you giving you a small, shy smile that you’d never seen on him before.

His question caught you off guard. He wanted to buy you coffee. “Oh, Bucky. You don’t have to feel obligated to—”

“—I don’t feel obligated. I, um, I want to.” He swallowed thickly, almost as if he was nervous. Was he nervous? “I know we just, well, I know we skipped a few steps, but I actually do want to take you out. I’ve been trying to hint it to you for the past three months.”

“So, all the flirting with the customers…?”

“Was me stupidly trying to make you jealous,” laughed Bucky, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.  

“Ah,” you said, a smiling spreading across your face, “How about you buy me a coffee and tell me all your thoughts on Brontë.”

“How much time do you have?” asked Bucky with an exaggerated groan.

Holding your hand out to him, you reveled in the feel of his warm palm connecting with yours, “All the time in the world.”

Marvel Taglist:

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

#jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge #fanfic #fanfiction #bookstoreau #smut #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #marvel

[nekoannie-chan]

Unexpected jealousy

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 1111 words.

Summary: The mission was perfect until Steve didn’t follow the orders.

Warnings: some smut references, nothing explicit, jealous.

A/N: This is my entry to the @jbbuckybarnes ‘ Writing Challenge with prompt #12:

“All you had to do was NOT start a fight on an UNDERCOVER mission”

Also is my entry to the @hopingforbarnes ‘s Lucy’s 250 Writing Challenge with the dialogue prompt #2:

“You’re gonna do what?”

“I SAID if he opens his mouth one more time I’m gonna shove my gun up so far up his as-”

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English, if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog. 

You had achieved the objective of the mission, however, the plan you had could not be carried out, thanks to the jealousy of your boyfriend Steve; which was completely unexpected for everyone, and he never acted like this.

The mission was simple, something routine, you had planned it so well that there was no way that something could go wrong or you could not achieve the objective, it was practically the perfect plan ... or at least that was what you believed.

An undercover mission to obtain information and a few resources that were useful to S.H.I.E.L.D. on other missions or to stop more enemies, however, it was something you had already done hundreds or thousands of times in the past.

Being the only girl on the team, usually, in those types of missions, you had to be the “partner” of your companions, sometimes you had to use your charms, the advantage was that you always took care of you and protected you.

This time, the plan you made included that you and Brock had to pretend you were a couple in order to get closer to the head of the organization and get what you needed.

At the time of planning, Steve showed no objection or resistance, so the way he had acted took everyone by surprise.

You enter easily sneak into the club and strike up a friendly conversation, everything seemed to go according to plan.

"I have a proposal for you," the chief said.

"What is?" You asked curiously.

The man smiled and put a hand on your shoulder.

"I will give you a little of my secret as long as the three of us go to one of the rooms to have fun," he suggested as he stroked your arm.

You and Brock looked like you were trying to decide whether or not it was time to talk to the rest of the team.

"I think you need a moment," he said before retiring for a few minutes.

"We'll have to use the alternative plan," Brock said.

"If we don't accept we won't get anything, we just have to follow the plan, you have everything, right?"

“Of course.”

"We have no other choice."

“I agree”

Brock went to talk to the boss, then you approached, you went to the room, you managed to get everything under control, in fact, Brock was about to gag the guy when the door opened and Steve entered.

“But what…?

Out of nowhere, Steve knocked the guy unconscious, causing you and Brock to look confused.

“What are you doing here? You had to wait for our signal, everything was under control, and we already got almost everything we needed “Brock demanded.

Steve ignored it, so you proceeded to take things and took the guy with you, the rest of the team kept the rest of the place under control when you saw that Steve had entered.

You were silent on the return trip until you decided to speak.

“How will we explain what happened?”

"It's all Rumlow’s fault," Steve attacked.

"No, it's all your fault Rogers, we had it under control" Brock replied.

The two men started arguing again, you were already getting tired, you needed them to shut up in order to think, you couldn't believe you were acting like little children fighting over candy.

“All you had to do was NOT start a fight on an UNDERCOVER mission!”

The two fell silent and turned to see you, not knowing exactly what to say to defend themselves.

“We are no longer in high school to make these scenes, mature! You continued.

"Rumlow just wants to sleep with you," Steve complained.

You let out a groan stifled by despair, you had started fighting again, and you were already frustrated.

"If he opens his mouth one more time I'm going to shove my gun up his ass to shut him up," Brock threatened.

"You're gonna do what?" You asked.

“I SAID if he opens his mouth one more time I'm gonna shove my gun up so far up his as-”

You slapped the two of them to shut up already, causing the rest of the team to startle and the two of them looking confused.

"I’m tired, you are supposed to be adults, I will make the report and all of you are going to read it and that is what officially happened during this mission and I don’t want any complaints or anything else, understood?".

Everyone around you nodded without daring to contradict you, you had never seen you angry.

"And if you don't like it next time you two were a couple or go on a mission just the two of you," you threatened.

With that, the fight ended, as soon as you and Steve arrived at the house you started working on the report.

"Honey, I'm sorry about what happened, it's that I can't tolerate him being around you," Steve apologized.

"You know I love you," you replied without taking your eyes off the computer.

“I know but...”

"But Steve nothing, the mission could end badly" you interrupted him.

In one movement you closed the computer, the report was already finished and you had sent it to everyone on the team. You turned to face Steve, who was looking at you with his typical puppy look, he never liked that you got mad at him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

You saw him without changing the expression on your face, in fact, it seemed to him that he was trying to look completely like a scolded puppy to try to soften you.

"Jealous," you murmured.

His attitude was beginning to take effect on you, you were beginning to make an effort not to kiss him.

"Truly love, I'm sorry, you're the only one that matters to me and I'm worried that something bad could happen to you," she said.

“What would have happened if the mission had gone wrong because of your interference?”

"I would have protected you, seriously," he replied.

You made a gesture of exasperation, you got up to leave when he stopped you.

"Forgive me, I don't like that you're angry," she said, starting to fill your face with little kisses.

You couldn't resist anymore and you kissed him.

"You are so beautiful," he said, pulling apart a little.

"You are the only one I love," you assured him.

“Me too, I would do anything to remedy it," he said, giving you small kisses on the lips.

"Anything?" You asked maliciously.

He understood, he carried you to the room you shared and closed the door, he had a lot of work to do to fix his mistake.

#jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge #hopingforbarnes250writtingchallenge #writing challenge #Steve Rogers #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve x you #captain america #captain america fic #captain america fanfiction #captain america x you #captain america one shot #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel one shot

[jbbuckybarnes]

jbbuckybarnes’ Writing Challenge

I recently reached 900 followers AND it's my 21st birthday today. And maybe I had this challenge in my drafts for months. So I'm finally posting in celebration of my milestone AND getting older. People on the Tumblr Creators Community Discord got early access to the prompts. If you wanna join that great community and get some writing help and motivation you can join HERE.

Rules:

You don’t have to follow me, but it would definitely be appreciated.

Send an ask with the Headline and Number (or song) and your blog name! Just numbers aren’t enough!

1-2 prompts per person - Choose two if one is an AU!!!

1 person per prompt, 2 people per AU.

You CAN write multiple stories/ask for another prompt.

No non-con, inc*st or smut including minors.

General smut is absolutely okay, but please put warnings. That also goes for potential triggers.

MCU, Marvel comics & Marvel actors (MCU, NMCU, Sony & others). If you write real people fiction please *No RPF smut*

Can be character x character, but reader inserts are generally preferred. OC’s are very welcome.

Send me an ask with your desired prompt and I’ll tell you if it’s still up for grabs.

Feel free to ask me any other questions. I'm happy to help with anything.

Tag me and #jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge when you post it

Post until: June 1st, 2020

AU’s / Tropes (2 per AU)

Apocalypse AU - @overlordintraining​

Assassin AU - @capsheadquaters​

Book Store AU - @fanfictionaries​

Hunger Games AU

Enemies to Lovers AU - @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

Friends to Lovers AU - @nasarogers​

Neighbor AU - @bluehenley​

Nurse AU

Parallel Universe AU - @crushedbyhyperbole​

Road Trip AU - @idjitmonkey​

Roommate AU - @elsatxx​ & @romaxnogersav​

Spy AU - @corneliabarnes​

War AU

Soulmate AU - @sagechanoafterdark​

red string

matching tattoos - @trillian-anders​

lost items turn up in soulmates apartment 

flowers where soulmate is injured - @sassy-pelican​

no aging after finding each other - @arawynn​

Sentence Prompts

“What the hell just happened? Why the hell did I need to witness this?”

“You make me feel like I don’t matter!” - @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

“Stop yelling at me!” - @candy-and-writing​

“Did you steal all my cookies?”

“I didn’t choose to be hyper-empathetic!”

“Why is your cat such an assh*le!?” - @elita1​

“There is a stack of magazines and letters in front of your door and I just wanted to check if you’re okay.”

“How the hell did I get here and who are you?”

“I need you to calm down, sir.”

“I’m pretty sure what we just saw was a skinwalker.”

“I really don’t want to carry your dead body for 5 miles, so please do me a favor and don’t fuck up.” - @capsheadquaters​

“All you had to do was NOT start a fight on an UNDERCOVER mission!” - @nekoannie-chan​

“You can be grateful I love you enough to not eat you alive!”

“Rise and shine, hoe!” - @elsatxx​

“We are NOT setting the kitchen on fire again!”

“You won’t ever see that jacket again.” - @justkending​

“Lightsaber fight in the living room?”

“Just gimme the book and fuck off!” - @fanfictionaries​

“You like what you see?”

“Out of all the places, why does it need to be in a car?”

“That’s not how soulmates are supposed to react to each other!” - @trillian-anders​

“Who did this to you?” - @romaxnogersav​

“No, I’m not staying in bed. Food is more important than you!”

“Go and read a book, dumbass.”

“Why are we fighting again?”

“I saved you some food.”

“Why is he tied to a tree?”

“If you don’t stop annoying me I’ll shoot you instead of the enemy!”

“In the case of me dying, I just wanted you to know that I love you.”

“Could you turn down this awful music?” - @idjitmonkey​

“Where does it hurt, soldier?” - @justkending​

“Why? Why are you being…so nice to me?” - @arawynn​

“He shouldn’t be allowed to look this good.” - @eurynome827​

“I think about you a lot. Like a lot lot.”

“Who loses that many ___?”

“You have flowers all over you all the time. What the hell is your soulmate even doing!” - @sassy-pelican​

“You have ____ in this universe?” - @crushedbyhyperbole​

Dialogue Prompts

“Fight me!” - “Learn how to fight first.” - @fandomwritings-cm13​

“I can’t live without you.” - “You just never learned that happiness comes from within.”

“Why would you do this?” - “Cause I wanted to.” @lookalivefrosty​

“Did you just shoot two guys with the same bullet?” - “Did it look cool?” - @what-is-your-plan-today​

“We’re roommates.” - “Oh my god, they are roommates!”

“Could you concentrate on the mission?” - “Not with that ass right in front of me.” - @softbiker​

“Do we turn left or right?” - “How am I supposed to know, you took away my navigation privileges!” - @overlordintraining​

“I was so concerned. Why didn’t you- What are you doing?” - “Do you...wanna marry me?”

“Isn’t this, like, illegal?” - “Probably.”

"Can we please pretend I never said that?" - “Never, cause I love you too.” - @shakespeareanqueer​

“Hold still! I’m not finished with the wounds.” - “It’s a bit hard if you’re so close to me.” - @hopingforbarnes​

“Stop looking at me like you want to fuck me against the next wall.” - “But I want exactly THAT!”

“Can you eat blueberries?” - “OF COURSE! What kind of question is that? Wait...you didn’t know that?”

“From a scale of 1 to 10, how fucked up are you?” - “Somewhere in the apocalypse range.” - @sagechanoafterdark

“You know that kiss was just for the mission.” - “I know, stop making it awkward.” - @corneliabarnes​

“Stop quoting pop songs before you walk into a place full of enemies!” - “First my Miami Vice references and now you take THIS from me?” - @spiderrpcrker​  & @the-omni-princess​

“You can paint?” - “A little bit” - *holds up realistic oil painting* “A LITTLE BIT?” - @lucky-bucky-boy​

“That skirt is short.” - “Wanna do something about it?” - @yunawrites​

“Who even are you?” - “A bunch of idiots trying to save the planet.” - “We’re still trying names.” - @fatbottombarnes​

“Take me out.” - “On a date or as an assassin?” - @littledarlinwrites​

Song Prompts

American Boy - Estelle - @imanuglywombat​

Watch - Billie Eilish

Lucky Strike - Troye Sivan

Take me back to London -  Ed Sheeran

Touch it  - Ariana Grande

Like that -  Bea Miller

Don’t Play - Halsey

London Bridge - Fergie

Shivering Gold - Tove Lo

Dancing‘s not a Crime - P!ATD

Speed of Sound - Coldplay - @nasarogers​

Confident - Demi Lovato

Guys my Age - Hey Violet - @bluehenley​

Desire - Years & Years

Everyone that might be interested / Signal Boost:

@hey-its-grey​ @jbbarnesnnoble​ @softbiker​ @stan-by-me​ @avintagekiss24​ @blackwidowballet​ @brooksaza​ @buckyland​ @cake-writes​ @captain-kelli​ @wxnterxsxldier​ @free-2bmee​ @crispychrissy​ @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ @evanstanwrites​ @samsgoddess​ @heli0s-writes​ @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​ @idjitmonkey​ @hysteria87​ @yaynewton​ @justkending​ @quiquimora​ @marquis1305​ @rubberbucky​ @sagechanoafterdark​ @sassy-pelican​ @sapphirescrolls​ @tim-thefrog​ @sunlightdances​ @the-omni-princess​ @ussgallifreyfics​ @xetoilerouge​ @nasarogers​ @renxzs​ @lucky-bucky-boy​ @harley-is-a-spiderstan​ @imanuglywombat​ @sinceimetyou​ @eurynome827​ @violetmrkey​ @trillian-anders​ @honeyhan-123​ @overlordintraining​ @yunawrites​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @bucksbullets​ @suz-123​ @nacho-bucky​ 

#mine #writing challenge #jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #james barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #the winter soldier #captain america #bucky fanfic #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers x You #Steven Grant Rogers #Reader x Steve Rogers #You x Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfic

[just-a-belgian-girl]

Catty

The beautiful moodboard is by the talented @heloisedaphnebrightmore, and she’s a brilliant writer too, so go check her out!

This is my entry for @jbbuckybarnes writing challenge. Happy birthday and congratulations on 900!

Prompt: ‘Why is your cat such an assh*le?’

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: ca. 1400

Warnings: fluff, language?

Summary: basically a cute, ‘domestic’ moment with your lovely super soldier!

A/N: this is my first time writing Bucky, and I really enjoyed it! Feedback is welcome and appreciated!

I hope you enjoy it!

PS: I changed the title

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stairs. Stairs. And more stairs. Why did you choose an apartment on such a high floor? Right, the view. However, in hindsight, you were wondering if it was worth the five flights of stairs after a long day of work.

Sighing heavily, you dragged yourself up the last few steps and to your apartment door. Your fingers rifled through your bag, searching for the familiar key, a sappy Valentine's keychain from Bucky hanging from it.

For a moment you panicked. What if you had lost it? You'd never forgive yourself. You'd have to change the lock, which you frankly couldn't afford at the moment, and... and the precious keychain Bucky had given you on your first Valentine's Day together. No, you couldn't have lost it.

You dug through your bag frantically. Bucky had a spare key, so you could always call him to come over and open your apartment for you, but you didn't want to trouble him with that.

'Yes!' You exclaimed in triumph, producing the keys from the bag you would now be more inclined to call 'a container for absolute chaos.'

You slipped the key into the lock, taking your time so as not to startle anyone. You wanted to surprise Luka, your cat.

Upon opening the door, you heard a voice and remembered you weren't the only one home. Rather than being a cause for alarm, it relaxed you, for the voice belonged to none other than your beloved boyfriend, Bucky Barnes.

'No. I fed you recently, you're not getting any more.' His voice was firm, his tone similar to the one he used when training new recruits at the Avengers compound.

As you slipped your coat and shoes off, slowly and silently, you recognized the answering meow to be Luka. A smirk crept onto your face. Oh, this was bound to be good.

Bucky only groaned in reply. You could already picture him in the middle of an intense glaring contest with your cat. 'No, Y/N will kill me if I over-feed you. Have you seen her when she's mad?'

He waited for the cat's response, continuing when none came. 'No, right? Well, I have and I'm staying on her good side.'

Luka meowed again, the same meow that he used to beg you for whatever he desired. You had to admit, maybe, just maybe, maybe you spoiled your cat a little. Hey, in your defense, he had been your only companion until you met the Avengers, and Bucky.

You took a couple of tentative steps forward, halting in the doorway as you watched the scene unfold in front of you. Luka was using the same tactic he always used on you, which basically consisted of meowing in a whiny tone, purring, and rubbing up against your legs, but it didn't work so well on Bucky.

Bucky heaved a heavy sigh and ran his hand through his long, soft, brown locks. For a split second, he resembled a parent with a child he had no idea what to do with.

'Do you want me to put you outside?'

Luka trotted over to the couch where plopped down on his behind. He was clearly going to be as difficult as possible.

'I thought not. You're not getting any treats and that's final.' Bucky crossed his arms like a defiant child, except in this scenario, he was playing the role of parent.

Apparently he got a little too close. Luka shot out a paw, letting out a hiss as his claws pierced Bucky's skin, the latter crying out not in pain or shock, but indignation.

'Seriously? I've been nothing but nice to you, but the moment I say no, this is how you treat me? Nope, now you're definitely going outside.'

You attempted to stifle your laughs as he scooped Luka up in one swift move, carrying him to the balcony as if the cat were an infant. Luka meowed in protest.

'Oh, now you're sorry? Too bad, you're still in timeout.'

He plopped your beloved pet on his behind on the balcony (which had, of course, been made pet-proof). He closed the door behind him, glaring daggers at Luka, who in turn struck an aloof model-like pose with his head high in the air, turning around and sitting down with his back to Bucky.

You called his name, alerting your dorky super-soldier boyfriend to your presence, who only offered you a sheepish chuckle as he approached you.

'Y/N, doll, how long have you been home?'

You smiled, snuggling into his warm embrace. 'Long enough to know you and my cat don't get along.'

'In my defense, I tried to befriend him. Not my fault he's a bitch.'

You chuckled, despite your efforts not to.

'Y/N, this is serious! Your cat attacked me!' He exclaimed, your reaction clearly not what he expected.

You looked up at him, still grinning. 'It's just a couple of scratches, Buck, you've had worse.'

'Yeah, but none of them were caused by such betrayal! Why is your cat such an asshole?'

You burst out laughing again, deciding to play along and dragging him to your small but cozy kitchen. He followed without any form of resistance, a wide, loving smile gracing his handsome features.

'Alright, hero, let's go take a look at your wounds.'

He seated himself on one of your wooden kitchen chairs, each of which you had sewn a pillow for. His eyes followed your movements as you placed your kitchen stool in front of the cabinet, proceeding to stand on it to retrieve the band-aids from the highest shelf. Why did you put them up there? You really weren't tall enough to reach without the stool.

'Show me where it hurts, soldier.' You teased.

'Everywhere. Doll, I'm not sure if I'm gonna make it.'

Bucky let out a groan, leaning back in the chair as if in pain.

You played along, adopting a very feminine, theatrical voice and kneeling by his side, pretending to be concerned for your injured partner's life. 'No, Bucky, you must! I can't live without you, you can't leave me! Not after all we've been through!'

'I'm sorry Y/N. I think... it's too late for me.'

Bucky closed his eyes for what you assumed to be dramatic effect. You latched on to him, pretending to sob like a princess from the early Disney movies.

'No, no, I can't lose you too!'

Bucky spoke one last sentence, his voice dramatic and emotional, like you'd expect from a dying character in a play. 'Goodbye, Y/N. I love you.'

You both burst into laughter simultaneously, laughing at how silly this was. But you knew you would treasure this memory, and those like it, while Bucky was out on his missions. Moments like these, calm, relaxed, peaceful, just the two of you, were rare, given your jobs, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

Bucky pulled you into his lap as your laughter died down, his arms around you to prevent you from losing your balance. You noticed his face turn serious as he gazed at you and you couldn't prevent the wave of unease washing over you.

'Doll, you know I'd never leave you, right?'

Relief flooded you as you smiled. This was Bucky we were talking about, your Bucky, who loved you so much the thought of breaking up with you would never even cross his mind, who loved you so much he'd do anything to see you happy.

'Of course, Buck.'

Your both leaned in, your eyes fluttering closed as your lips brushed his unbelievably soft ones. Arms wrapping around his neck, you deepened the kiss as Bucky flooded your senses and your thoughts, the scent of his cologne and his warmth enveloping you like a soft, fluffy blanket.

You finally parted for air, your cheeks flushing when you saw the sheer amount of love on Bucky's face as he gazed at you. He kind of resembled a lovesick puppy at times like this.

He leaned in again, pecking your nose gently, an action you mirrored immediately. You sat together in comfortable silence for a few moments, a silence you were the first to break, what you said eliciting a laugh from Bucky.

'As lovely as that was, do you have any food for me? I'm starving.'

#jbbuckybarnesbirthdaychallenge #writingchallenge #buckyxreader #buckybarnes #jamesbarnes #jamesbarnesxreader #bucky fluff #bucky x you