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[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

Remember My Name is such a good work of writing. Literally had my heart aching from the second I read it and for a good 30 minutes after.

That is so, SO sweet of you to say! I’m soft!

[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

The One | Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader |Soulmate!AU

Summary: Sometimes, people fall in love when they aren’t soulmates, and that’s fine with Bucky. Inspired by The One by Wild Child

Warnings: fluff, nothing else

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

— — —

They weren’t soulmates, no, his was long gone, probably moved on from him after the war, and hers wasn’t what soulmates were chalked up to be, far from it, too far—everything was forced, nothing was comfortable.

But Bucky and (y/n) fit, she brought out the best in him, and he always got her to smile, even at the most inappropriate times. He would make them breakfast, and she would bring him lunch to make sure he remembered to eat, and it only got better when they began going out.

Of course they fought, over their safety, sometimes trivial things, but they always got over it, it was always easier to apolagize than hold grudges. Plus, what couple didn’t fight.

Bucky wasn’t the one for her, acording to fate, but he was the one she chose. And (y/n) wasn’t meant for him, but they didn’t care, because they were happy as it was.

They were never alone with each other, they never had to hide anything, didn’t have to cover scars or get rid of flaws.

They often sat on there bed late at night, avoiding sleep, talking about nothing. They’d hold each other, tracing gentle shapes on the other’s arms and back.

No string of zeros on her wrist or names on his could tear them apart—no dark side, no insecurity, no fear. It was just them, they could be themselves without worry or concern, because fate didn’t choose them, they chose each other.

They adopted a cat together, and that was them, they surprised people, her family especially.

There love was silent, three squeezes when they held hands, goofy smiles across the kitchen when one came it with extreme bed-head, relaxing in the tub after long days, or a pile of candy hearts that say “I love you” on the nightstand when one had to leave for a mission before the other woke.

Sometimes they’d go out to fancy restaurants and other times they’d order takeout and sit in the compound yard, stargazing.

Sometimes Bucky had bad days or nightmares, and (y/n) would hold him close and talk about the nonsense of the day, distract him for a bit before they talked about what was bothering him. When (y/n) had a bad day, he’d bring some chocolate and cuddle up in bed with her—he would bring poetry and read to her until she fell asleep on his chest.

She was never scared of his metal arm, she’d trace the plates when ever she got to hold his hand, or spoon him. It made him feel a little bit more human every time, more secure—nothing was going to take her away, and she wasn’t planning on leaving.

After stressful missions, when one of them couldn’t relax and sit still, or was having a bout of insomnia, they’d put on one of his records and sway to the music in each other’s warm embrace, even if the other was half asleep.

One morning, they were lying in bed, she was still asleep, their cat sleeping at the foot of the bed. The sun was shining through the window, and Bucky swore it made her glow. Her breathing changed a bit and she moved a bit closer to him.

“Mornin’,” she murmered, smiling. It completely captivated him.

“Hi,” he sighed out. He usually went for runs with Steve in the morning, but today, he couldn’t imagine leaving her in bed to go out and run in the cold.

She opened her eyes for a moment, the sun making her squint.

“I know I don’t say it often enough, but I love you more than anything, and I never want you to doubt that,” he said groggily, placing a kiss on her nose. She scrunched up her nose.

“I’ve never doubted it, you say it all the time,” she said, picking up one of his hands and squeezing it three times before closing her eyes again. “I love you too.”

“You noticed that?”

“‘Course I did, you’ve been doin’ i’ for the last three years,” she mumbled, kissing his knuckles. “I notice everythin’ ya do.”

His heart melted. Most mornings they’d be too tired to talk like this, but on the off occasion, he loved talking to her like this.

“Hey… so I know we aren’t soulmates-”

“-that’s debatable,” she said, letting out a snort.

“Shh, I’m trying to be romanic before I loose this train of thought,” he said with a grin. He reached behind him and dug through his nightstand until he found a black velvet box.

He turned back to her, her eyes were still shut, she was still glowing, and it made him warm inside.

“Um, anyways… I love you, and I know that’ll never change, and I hope that it never does for you… you make my world go ‘round, and make me feel human, and I was wondering if you… would like to marry me?” He asked, his chest tightening a bit, beaming ear to ear.

Her eyes snapped open and she looked him up and down for a moment before rolling to her side of the bed and going through her own nightstand.

“I mean, “no” ’s an answer, I know it’s kinda sudden,” he said, sitting up.

She rolled back to him and put a small box in his hand. “You never make the first move,” she said slowly, with a smile. “I love you so much, and fate gave me the wrong time. I was planning on taking you ice skating, and doing this under the stars—I know how much you love them.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He stared at the box for a moment. “Doll, could you be anymore perfect?” He eventually got out.

She laughed and sat up, shoulders touching his. “So….”

“So,” he smiled, placing a kiss on her cheek, “I guess we’d like to get married than.”

“Yeah, I’d probably guess that too from two rings,” she said, nudging him.

He laughed and picked up her hand, putting the ring he had gotten for her on her finger. She pressed her lips to his gently, intertwining their fingers.

“Can we skip everything today?” He asked, pulling away only slightly, their noses still touching.

“Absolutely.”

[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

This means so much to me, thank very you!

The Dude with the Glowing Paint | Artist!Bucky Barnes x Gender-Neutral!Artist!Reader

Summary: art’s great, but spending hours in a small gallery can get very boring, very fast, but meeting another artist makes it better

Warnings: one Titanic reference, lil’ bit faster past than usual, more of a 40’s!Bucky personality than Post-Hydra!Buck, nothing else I don’t think

Word Count: 1.1k

A/n: first off, thank you very much @stardustandbucky for motivating/encouraging me, I started 3 fics and got around to labeling the others

Also, I spent at least one day a month in my grandma’s art gallery since I can remember—sometimes other galleries—so this is all very familiar and if you’re wondering, this is the weird plastic cup I’m talking about in this fic

Keep reading

[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

The Dude with the Glowing Paint | Artist!Bucky Barnes x Gender-Neutral!Artist!Reader

Summary: art’s great, but spending hours in a small gallery can get very boring, very fast, but meeting another artist makes it better

Warnings: one Titanic reference, lil’ bit faster past than usual, more of a 40’s!Bucky personality than Post-Hydra!Buck, nothing else I don’t think

Word Count: 1.1k

A/n: first off, thank you very much @stardustandbucky for motivating/encouraging me, I started 3 fics and got around to labeling the others

Also, I spent at least one day a month in my grandma’s art gallery since I can remember—sometimes other galleries—so this is all very familiar and if you’re wondering, this is the weird plastic cup I’m talking about in this fic

— — —

Standing in front of one of the largest paintings, I frowned—I missed a spot when I went over it with a fine tooth comb.

I had graduated art school a year ago and I was lucky enough to get my art into a gallery via the help of a friend’s friend. It also meant I’d have about ten feet more of space in my apartment for a month.

As it was opening night of my exhibit, I decided to wander around until I had to go to work—lucky it was also the opening night for another artist about thirty paces away from mine, so we had each others friends mixing—not that I knew who the other artist was.

“You’re staring very intensely at that flower.”

I glanced to my right, seeing a guy with smirk—much more casual than literally everyone in the building. He had his hair in a bun and punch in one of those weird shaped plasic cups that were supposed to look like glass.

“Zoned out,” I said, taking a deep breath and looking back at the painting. I hadn’t socialized with straight up strangers since the beginning of art school.

“First honest person tonight,” he commented.

I let out a laugh, covering my mouth. “‘Know what you mean, second honest person,” I said, smiling.

“So which is your favorite?” He asked, making a vague motion towards my exhibit.

“My grandma would say you can’t choose a favorite,” I said slowly. “I’d say I prefer that other dude’s art.”

He chuckled. “Dude,” he started, smiling, “I have to disagree with you.”

“Arguing with you would be like arguing about music,” I sighed out, shaking my head with a grin. “But’cha’re wrong—that dude uses glow-in-the-dark paint, this dude doesn’t.”

“You noticed that?” He asked with a bit of astonishment.

“It’s got that weird green tint,” I shrugged, looking back at him, and studying his face this time—a half smirk half smile, gentel blue eyes and his eyebrows were furrowed, skeptically.

“Glow-in-the-dark paint makes you like that dude more than this one?” He asked.

“Totally, I have no respect for anyone who doesn’t use glow-in-the-dark paint,” I said, half joking.

He hummed, nodding. A blonde guy came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Bucky, Peggy and I are gonna head home,” the blonde guy said. “Have fun with that sarcastic flirting.”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, and it’s a lot better than the flustered flirting you do,” he said. “See ya later, punk.”

When the blonde one left, I leaned towards him. “Bucky as in the dude that uses glow-in-the-dark paint?” I asked, raising my eyebrows mischievously.

“Knew I should’ve used James,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Bucky Barnes, nice to meet you.”

“(Y/n) (y/l/n), pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I said, shaking his hand. He raised his eyebrows and jabbed his thumb towards my painting. I just nodded.

“How does a proper artist like my stuff?” He asked.

“Proper artist? You have an exhibit at the same gallery as I do,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And ya gotta reevaluate your view on my taste, because I really want to go check out the paper mache cat show on the floor below us.”

“There’s a paper mache cat show? Would anyone be angry if we abandoned this and went down there?” He asked, with hopeful wide eyes.

“We don’t technically have to be here, it’s just polite to watch people judge your abilities—let’s go look at paper mache cats,” I said, smiling.

We ran off like children to the lower floor, abandoning the formality of our gallery and stepped into a crazy room full of wild people and colorful paper cats.

“I suddenly feel very over dressed,” I commented as we entered the gallery.

“Considering there’s a lady wearing a bright orange feather scarf, I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said with a smirk.

I let out a laugh. “Dude… that scarf looks fabulous,” I said, playfully punching his shoulder.

“If I could find one, think I could pull it off?” He asked.

“Oh, if you find one, you find me, and I will a sketch you wearing it and make sure it goes down in history,” I said.

“That a promise or a threat?” He asked. “I think that would be a great way to go down in history.”

We walked around the gallery, joking, laughing and admiring paper cats. He went to put his empty punch cup in the recycling bin and cane back with two bowls of ice cream.

“Wasn’t sure if you wanted chocolate or vanilla, so your pick,” he said, holding them both out.

I carefully picked up one, smiling. “What do I owe you?” I asked.

“A sketch of me in an orange feather scarf,” he said. “Nah, don’t worry about it, it was free.”

“Free ice cream and a causal atmosphere—there doing it wrong up stairs,” I said, smiling happily.

“They are,” he agreed with a mouthful of ice cream.

We continued to wander around till we saw every paper cat twice and all the photos on the walls. We talked about how we got into painting—I was born into it and he picked it up as a hobby, “art therapy, really” he had corrected himself, and his friends persuaded him to try to put it in a show.

He also said he had to be careful about where he put his paintings because having glow-in-the-dark paint stare you down while you tried to sleep was unnerving.

An alarm on my phone went off, interrupting my story about my weird professor who wore kilts and flip-flops to class year-round.

“I’ve got to get to work,” I said, letting out a sigh. I ummed for a moment before pulling my card from my cardigan pocket and held it out to him. “Text me if you find an orange feather scarf—I don’t answer calls if I don’t know the number.”

— — —

Bucky and I texted over a month, a met up with him for lunch a couple times with his friends or mine—the only real difference between his and mine were mine were mostly artists who still ate instant ramen noodles and most of his were over achievers; two of them were engaged, completely over achieving.

One afternoon, after a long nightshift at the diner, I received some texts from him while I made coffee.

Bucky: Dude

Bucky: Dude, guess what

Then a selfie came in of him in a fluffy orange feather scarf, beaming. It looked like he was in a homemade soap and crafts shop.

Bucky: Jake, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls,

Me: Don’t finish that quote

Me: I drew a French girl once, in a baggy sweater and sweatpants

Bucky: Do you still have that drawing?

Bucky: If I take you out to dinner, can I finish that quote?

Me: Did you just ask me out?

Me: I mean yes, to both of those things

[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

Soft Bikers | Artist!Steve Rogers x Model!Gender-Neutral!Reader

Summary: (college/art school AU) a lot of teasing, a very soft Steve and an awkward situation lead to the start of a relationship

Warnings: cursing, non-descriptive nudity (no smut)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/n: this may be one of the only fics I’ve written that does not start or end up in a dinner at midnight.

— — —

I was… a nude model for my art school, which was… something else. The job was fine, aside from shaving in the winter and cold weather, but it helped with my tuition and it was a break three times a week to just—uncomfortably—sit down and think.

It was really nothing like Titanic made it seem, if anything, it was the opposite—no one touched you, and if they did it was a very business-like handshake at the end of class once I had clothes on again.

And dispite what others thought, I was actually pretty shy about my body, which is why I avoid looking at anyone, usually I just stare at the meme poster on the wall.

But then there was this one class with this guy, he was in a couple classes with me, and he drove a motorcycle with a bunch of his friends, and that’s all I knew about him.

He had a very annoyed expression while he erased something. “Hands or face?” I asked, half sarcastically.

He looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Huh…? Oh, face,” he said.

I nodded a bit before moving my head around a bunch before going back to my original pose. “That help?” I asked, glancing at the other people in the room.

“It should, thanks,” he said, shooting me a smile. The rest of the class went on without many words, as soon as people put there sketch pads away, I pulled on my robe and picked up my clothes; I had learned once long ago that you cannot leave stuff—especially clothes—in the bathroom, as it would get stolen, not that crime was really a problem, but we’re all art students without much money.

The guy who was struggling with my face walked up to me with his coat and art supplies and a bit of an awkward expression—most had it, since they just spent over an hour in a room quieter than a library with a naked person.

He held out his coat and said, “you look like you’re freezing.”

“Thank you, I am; I lost my winter coat last year when my roommate borrowed it and lent it to a friend’s sister—haven’t seen it since,” I said as he put it around my shoulders, giving a laugh. “Don’t you need it?”

“My place isn’t that far, I’ve got others,” he said, smiling. “Well, kinda, I dual own them with like three other guys and their S.O.s.”

I let out a laugh. “Well I’ll return this, soon,” I said before properly introducing myself.

“I’m Steve, um, yeah, see you around,” he said before heading towards the door.

— — —

And I didn’t return his jacket, sure, I meant to, but everytime I wore it, I didn’t see him, and when I did, it was either freezing or I didn’t have it.

One day, I saw him with a couple of his friends by their motorcycles and decided, fuck it, I was returning his jacket. I trudged up to them confidently. They all looked quite confused when I stopped in front of them.

“Hey, Steve, just wanted to return your jacket,” I said, handing it over.

His eyebrows furrowed for a long moment while he held his jacket before his face lit up in realization. “Oh, hey, I didn’t recognize you in clothes,” he said happily.

At that sentence, one of his friends started choking on his coffee and another’s head shot up. “Steven Grant Rogers, what would your mother say?” He exclaimed. I started laughing, as this friend of Steve’s looked severely horrified.

“No, no, they’re a model in one of my classes,” Steve said quickly. “Sam, you okay?”

The guy that had choked on his coffee gave a thumbs up, nodding. “Dude, you gotta think before you say stuff like that,” he, the other guy Sam, said.

“Guys, I go to an art school, I drawn naked people, you’ve been to my exhibits, I’ve seen and drawn more than one of you in less than everyday clothes,” Steve said in a done-with-everything voice before sighing out, “why are you freaking out?”

“Because you’re the Innocent Friend,“ the first friend said.

“Very funny,” Steve said, playfully glaring at his friends before turning back to me. “Sure you won’t need this? ‘Cause I’ve got others, and you said you didn’t have a coat because you roommate gave it to their friend’s sister.”

“You remember that tangent? Yeah, no, I got another one the other day,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“Okay, um, well thank you,” he smiled.

“Y’know, you should come hang out with us,” the first one said quickly. “We’re hanging out at the bowling alley ‘round seven, you should join us.”

“Um, it’s Friday, right?” I asked before checking the date on my phone. Steve had those hopeful puppy eyes that you couldn’t refuse. “Yeah, I’d love to hang out, if I wouldn’t be intruding.”

“Nah, of course you’re welcome to come,” he said.

Steve beamed when I nodded. “The bowling alley with the pizza stand or the one by the cheap theatre?” I asked, smiling.

“The one with the pizza stand; the other place closed down,” Sam said.

“Okay, well I’ve got to get to class, see y’all later,” I said before heading towards the main campus building.

— — —

When I walked into the bowling alley, there were a couple of bikes outside and a cop car. I pushed the door open, slightly worried about who I decided to hang out with.

I saw a large group of friends by the tables opposite to the pizza stand, Sam and the other guy, and than there was Steve, who was standing by a lady and talking to a cop, holding a napkin full of ice to his cheek.

Sam called me over when he saw me and I made my way over to them.

“What’s up with Steve?” I asked, putting my hands on the back of an empty chair.

“He just stopped a guy from mugging that lady, he’ll be over soon,” one woman said casually, shrugging it off.

“You say that like it happens all the time,” I said with a bit of a frown.

“‘Cause it does,” Sam said. “He gets into at least one fight week.”

“And he’s alive?”

“Only because I kept him that way as a kid,” the other friend I saw on campus said. He quickly introduced me to everyone at that table—Natasha, her boyfriend, Clint, Wanda and her brother, Pietro, Loki and his brother Thor, Sam, and he was Bucky—found out Sam and Bucky were boyfriends.

“Hey, doll, glad you could come,” Steve said, walking up to us, ice still pressed to his cheek.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked, scanning the rest of his face for injury.

“Yeah, he only got in one punch,” he said, smiling.

I hummed and gently moved the ice off his cheek, it was pink and purple, and the skin was torn, bleeding enough to obscure the wound. “I can clean up it if you’d like,” I offered, pressing the ice back to it.

He nodded and we went to the bathroom. He sat on the sink counter while I dug through my backpack looking for the mini first aid kit I had.

“What did I get myself into? Bikers that get beat up regularly?” I mumbled, causing him to laugh.

“Don’t tell the others I said so, but we’re all really soft,” he said.

“I could tell by the teddy bear on one of your bikes,” I said, smiling, before grabbing a paper towel and washing his cheek, whispering an apology when he winced.

“It’s Bucky’s bike, it started as a joke,” he said. “Um… thanks for coming, by the way—they were mocking me about what I said to you, it wouldn’t gotten worse if you didn’t show up—Nat’s ruthless.”

I chuckled before putting a large band-aid on the cut. “‘Fraid you’ll be bruised, but the cut isn’t bad,” I said, stepping back from him.

He thanked me before we walked back out into the bowling alley. I pulled a chair up next to the empty one and we sat down next to each other.

“The lady you saved bought you pizza, punk,” Bucky said, sliding the pizza box towards him.

Steve shared his pizza with everyone. Everyone joked around and teased each other—not in an ass-ish way, the kinda way you would with your siblings and friends you grew up with.

And they didn’t make me feel like a third wheel to the fun, soon we were on two teams of five, bowling—Natasha, Clint, Thor, Steve and Bucky, against Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Sam and I. Pietro and Loki were both reluctant to join us, but they proved to be useful in trash talking and cheering when the other’s got a gutter ball.

Steve came and sat next to me, smirking victoriously. “See, not as bad as your cheerleaders said,” he said.

“Well, bowling’s an ancient sport, so you could’ve been training for a while,” I said.

“Oh hell, what did Sam say?” He asked, his smirk falling.

“Mmm, just that you act like you’re a hundred,” I smirked.

“Of course he did. Well let me tell you, I’m a perfectly average college aged guy,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his. I bumped his shoulder back before laying my head on his shoulder and yawning.

“You better not be fraternizing with the enemy, Printsessa,” Pietro shouted at us.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me, you spongy pigeon-egg,” I said, sitting up. Steve burst out laughing at my insult.

“Was that English?” Pietro asked. “Can I use that? That was great.”

“Stevie, can you breathe?” I asked as he clutched his sides. He nodded, getting his laughing under control and catching his breath. I yawned again before checking the time on my phone. Several hours had passed and I decided I should get home before it got much later. “I’m gonna head home, see y’all later.”

There was a groan of disappointment from Steve but Wanda was the one to verbally protest, “but what about the game?” She held up the note pad she was keeping score on.

“Text me the winner tomorrow,” I shrugged. “I’ve gotta work in the morning.”

“Okay, cool, give Stevie your number, he’ll text you,” Bucky said quickly.

“Did- did you just hit on them for me?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows at Bucky.

“Yes, ‘cause you’re not,” he said, nodding.

Steve sighed. “Um, would you like me to walk you home—or to your car—?” He asked me as I pulled on my coat.

“Please, if you don’t mind,” I said, smiling softly. “I only live a couple blocks from here.”

We left the bowling alley, heading towards my apartment building. It was a very pleasant walk, there were a lot of early Christmas lights up and it was snowing a bit.

I glanced sideways at Steve, he was smiling, and his cheeks were red from the cold, plain out cute. I bit my lip before taking his hand in mine—his friends had made it obvious that he wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move.

He looked at me and beamed brightly, intertwining our fingers and swinging our hands between us. “Y’know, if you want to hit on me, you can do it directly,” I said, squeezing his hand.

“Really? Isn’t that a bit straightforward?” He asked.

“I mean, if you want to dance around it, I can’t stop you, but uh, if I’m not misreading everything, I think… it might be easier not to,” I said.

“So… if we’re not gonna dance around everything… can I take you out dancing?” He asked shyly.

“Yeah, of course,” I smiled. “This is my building.”

“Do you have a pen?” He asked.

I dug through my backpack until I found a marker. “Y’know, as someone who goes to an art school, I can never find proper writing utensils,” I said, handing it to him. “You should see my kitchen, more art supplies than food and you can’t write with any of it.”

“Oh it’s bad living with non-artists too, they steal your nice drawing pencils,” he said, taking my hand and writing something on it.

“I’d keep my pencils under lock and key if I was living with non-artists,” I smiled, reading his phone number, signed with a heart. I kissed his cheek, holding both his hands in mine. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He hummed and nodded, letting go of my hands and handing me the marker. “See you later,” he said as I walked into my apartment building. I waved over my shoulder.

— — —

The phone rung while I wrote another sequence of numbers on the paper in front of me.

“Hello?” Steve answered.

“Steven Grant Rogers, your hand writing is awful,” I stated bluntly, crumpling up the paper.

“What?” He asked, laughing.

“Dude, I’ve called three other people trying to figure out your number,” I said. “Turns out that that heart was actually numbers—who writes six seven like a heart?”

[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

Graphic T’s | Bucky Barnes x Gender-Neutral!Reader

Summary: just a fluffy morning conversation in the compound kitchen with Bucky

Warnings: none, possible a curse, I don’t think so though

Word Count: 582

A/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Wrote this very quickly in the search bar of YouTube this s’morning, hope it’s okay!

“I swear, I learn more from your shirts than I do from the internets,” Bucky said when I walked into the kitchen. He was probably right, he couldn’t use the laptop I got him to save his life, but for some reason, my graphic T’s caught his interest. The day before, I had worn a NASA shirt and we ended up watching space documentaries and the moon landing. Before that, it was a band tee and we went through my playlist before going out to a record shop for the fun of it. “What’s this one mean?”

“Ghostbusters, an 80’s movie,” I said, making tea while he made pancakes. “They remade it with women recently. Y’know, that’s what we should do today, catch you up on 80’s and 90’s culture.”

“But… it’s not… the 80’s?” Bucky tried to find my reasoning.

“Doesn’t matter,” I shrugged.

“Fine, but we’re not watching Star Wars, that stuff goes over my head,” he said.

“First off, that’s slightly 70’s”—he scoffed—“and second, you weren’t watching them in order,” I stated, walking up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist.

“But Sam said we were watching them in chronological order,” he said, confused.

“Aw, sweetie, he was messing with you, you see, they made the movies out of order, so you can’t watch them in chronological order and in the actual order,” I said, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “Thank you for breakfast, by the way.”

“Why would they make the movies out of order?” He asked.

“‘Cause they thought they’d flop so they made what they thought would be the most interesting of them—and then they didn’t flop,” I explained. “Anyway, Ghostbusters marathon in the movie room tonight, that way we can avoid Tony’s Halloween party,” I said.

“Explain why we’re avoiding this party like the plague?” He asked.

“It’s a costume party, and Tony picked the costumes,” I said, pushing away from him and picking up my mug of tea.

“If Steve finds out we’re watching movies, he’s gonna be a shameless third wheel,” Bucky said.

“But when is he not?” I asked, titling my head to the side. He shrugged. “I need to find him someone to date and then instead of third wheeling, it would be awkward double dating.”

“I’ve tried that back in the 40’s, good luck,” he commented, putting pancakes on a plate and handing them to me.

“Oh, but you see, his dating pool isn’t limited to women anymore, and he’s not skinny,” I said. “He can probably open jars now.”

“Is that what people look for in boyfriends now days?” He asked. “It’s a marical you’re with me.”

“Nah, not a marical, you’re perfect, at least you are to me,” I smiled. He got flustered and opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

“I love you,” he sighed out, than happily laughed, “you and all your graphic T’s.”

“Love you too,” I beamed, putting the pancakes down and moved over to him. I held his face in my hands and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I placed kisses along his cheeks and nose until he was giggling before I pressed my lips to his. He held me tighter with his flesh arm—he was always extra cautious with his metal arm, despite he’s total control over it.

“Guys, not in the kitchen,” I heard Sam complain as he walked in. I flipped him off over Bucky’s back, making Sam sigh and Bucky laugh.

[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

Masterlist

Bucky Barnes:

Remember My Name (x Fem!Reader)

The Run Aways (x Gender-Neutral!Reader)

Graphic T’s (x Gender-Neutral!Reader)

The Dude with the Glowing Paint (X Gender-Neutral!Artist!Reader)

The One (X Fem!Reader)

•••

Steve Rogers:

Soft Bikers (x Gender-Neutral!Reader)

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Harry Potter Imagines

[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

Remember My Name | 40’s!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky’s bad with names, so he uses pet names till he can remember her name

Warnings: Cursing, vague talk of war, probably historical inaccuracies, little bit of angst, mostly fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

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“If it ain’t James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky glanced up from an old letter of Steve’s to see a Red Cross girl carrying a box of food towards the makeshift kitchen. He had been sitting by himself in the mess hall, some guys sitting down the table from him, some others trying to chat the other Red Cross girls up.

“Hey, doll,” he shot her an award winning smile. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t put a name to her. “What made you think joining the army was a good idea?”

“I don’t have a gun and this isn’t the army. And a little… petite, definitely skinny, birdie told me you’d got yourself drafted and I figured I should come save your… outrageously cute ass,” she said, putting the box on the table and leaning her hip on it.

“So how’s Steve doing?” He asked

“He’s doing good,” she nodded. “Or at least to my knowledge, I left not long after y’all did and I only saw him once during that time. I’ve gotta get back to work, see ya later, Buck.”

“See ya, doll,” he said, smiling again.

She glared for a moment, picking up the box. “You don’t even remember my name, do ya?” She asked, smirking.

“Of course I do… sugar,” he said slowly.

“Try again, Barnes.”

“…sunshine… honey…? Sweetheart….”

“Those aren’t names, Sarge,” she laughed, playfully punching his shoulder.

“I’m bad with names, please tell me?” He asked. She shook her head. “How about a memory aid?”

“You’d be the laughing stock of the camp if I did that,” she smiled.

He nodded towards two people by the door making out. “And no one’s sayin’ a word,” he said.

She laughed. “You’re assumption of what that memory aid would look like blows my mind,” she smiled. “Remind me to warn that poor guy she’s gonna break his heart. Bye, James.”

She continued on her way to the kitchen. He turned on the bench and called after her, “how long will you be here?”

“We leave in the mornin’ after tomorrow,” she said, walking backwards.

“Than I have two days to remember you’re name.”

---

Bucky ran up to her as she head to the VIP’s tent with the other Red Cross girls were staying.

“Hey, puddin’,” he said, stopping her.

“Hey, Barnes,” she smiled, hiking her bag up on her shoulder.

“You’re Evelyne from the farmers’ market, you sold peach jam and fresh peaches when they were nice,” he stated proudly.

“Wow,” she smiled. “Not even close, though, I believe I have bought jam from her, it’s amazing.”

“I know, right,” he smiled. “I saw you with the food and my mind jumped to the farmers’ market. Well if you’re not Evelyne, that means you’re miss Allen from the library, you would always be so kind as to give Steve the step ladder before he had to ask.”

“Try again,” she sang teasingly as she turned and continued walking towards the VIP’s tent.

“I sure will, princess,” he said, smiling to himself. Honestly, he had been miserable before she appeared, giving him a bit of normalcy, and he was determined to know what bit of his Brooklyn life came knocking.

---

“Hey, sarge, this seat taken?”

He glanced up at the girl whose name evaded him. She was holding a tray of food and she was bundled up more now, as the weather had gotten cold over night. “Nope, pumpkin,” he said, the corners of his lips turning up.

“Still don’t remember my name?” She asked.

“I think… you’re the girl from the bakery next to the movie theatre, and everyone calls you Pate,” he said, pointing his fork at her.

“They call her Patsy, and no, we are complete opposites,” she said.

“I got the first letter of your name correct, though, right?” He asked hopefully. She gave him a blank stare that gave him no answer. “Can I get a hint, at least, darlin’?”

“How many pet names do you have up your sleeve?” She asked.

“All the good ones, angel,” he smirked, leaning towards her across the table. She scoffed. “But seriously, can I have a hint?”

“You’re gonna have to think a lot farther back than the last time you bought bread,” she shrugged. “Dear.”

He started blushing. “No! No, no, you’re not allowed to use pet names on me,” he said quickly.

“It’s making you very flustered, I think I’ll continue,” she smirked, shrugging innocently. “Or at least until you remember my name.”

He scanned her face, than it hit him—she was the girl who beat every boy in his school at arm wrestling with a bet of never underestimating her again if she won. He and Steve never challenged her, knowing better than being one of the fools who thought they could win.

“Hmm… well hopefully I remember, buttercup,” he said slowly, deciding to keep her rolling her eyes.

“So I heard that this guy called Captain America is gonna be stopping by in a week or so, him and a bunch of show girls,” she said.

“Sounds like something Steve would like to see,” he smiled.

---

They hung out for the remainder of her stay at the camp, or at least when they weren’t busy—she had to look after her girls, as she referred to them as, and he was soon to be back on the battlefield.

In the morning, before the sun rose but lit the underside of the clouds, morning fog rolling around.

The girls packed up in their truck, and Bucky went to bid her goodbye. She had a small notepad and was reading through it, her bag on the ground next to her boots.

“Hey, peaches,” he said quietly, walking up next to her and nudging her shoulder.

“Peaches? I think you’re stealing Evelyne‘s name,” she said just as quietly, not looking up.

“Sweet potato?” He tried. She gave him a look that said ‘no’ sassily. “So… I guess I probably won’t be seeing you till we’re both back in Brooklyn, think you could save me a dance? Do you dance? I could, I dunno, show you how if you’d like….”

“If you can manage to find me after this all, I’ll dance with you, James,” she smiled.

“Oh, well than, you better polish up your dress shoes, dove,” he smirked.

“You’re mighty confident for a guy who can’t even remember a name,” she said, elbowing his ribs.

“Mmm… actually, I did, and you’ve got to give me some credits, you look a lot different than you did when you were a kid,” he said, casually. He leaned over and whispered her name in her ear. “You were the strongest girl, strongest kid probably, in our school, but also kind—Steve looked up to you—literally, you were taller than him.”

She smiled, biting the inside of her lip to keep her from beaming. “When did you figure it out?” She asked, closing the notebook.

“Lunch, yesterday,” he said.

“You ass,” she laughed, playfully punching his shoulder.

“Apparently an outrageously cute one,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Can I disassociate myself with that quote?” She asked.

“Only if I’m allowed to write you… Steve hasn’t been responding—maybe not even getting—my letters, and I’d kinda like someone who isn’t a bulky man to talk to,” he said.

“Mmm, I suppose, but only if you promise that dance you offered earlier,” she said, watching her girls put their bags in the truck. “Looks like I’ve got to go. And I’m not saying bye, you owe me a dance.”

“Okay, doll… than… see you later,” he said, nodding.

She walked towards the truck before stopping and turning around. She quickly pulled him into a tight hug.

“In case we don’t get to talk again-“

“Don’t even, I’m taking you dancing—somewhere fancy, like that-“

“Shut up and listen,” she whispered. He nodded slightly. “If we don’t get to talk again, I want you to know… I could still beat you in an arm wrestle.”

He started laughing. “I thought you’d say something a little different,” he said. “Like ‘I really like you,’ or ‘even though you smell like sweat and dirt I’m gonna miss you.’”

“Both of those statements are true, but mine was on the top of the list of stuff I had to tell you,” she said, pushing herself away from him. “See you later, preferably in one piece and with a heart beat.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” he smiled.

---

Bucky was back in new york, over seventy years too late for their promised dance. But he kept his word, he’d find her. And it took a while, longer than it would’ve if he accepted Vision’s help. But he wanted to do it himself.

After going through tons of records to find her, it lead him to a large green yard, to the older side, the part that only the gardener see.

Only a couple of the stones had flowers, the war veterans. But hers was abandoned long ago, just grass and a simple headstone, just her initials and last name. No dates, no story, no first name.

He frowned, pulling a paper from his back pocket. The groundskeeper had given it to him, saying it would probably have more information than the actual grave. Bucky had wanted that to be a lie, but it unfortunately wasn’t.

He scanned the list for her name, next to it were three dates, when she was born, when she was berried, and when she died, only two days after she left the 107th.

She’d died before he got a chance to even write her. She never got a chance to get back to Brooklyn, no chance to know Steve was Captain America, or that he was no longer skinny, no chance to live her life out. He wasn’t as sad that she died—everyone died—as he was angry at the world for taking her so young.

He knew that this was where he was going this morning, and he had steeled his nerves, or at least tried to. He hastily rubbed his eyes before putting a mixed bunch of flowers on the grave.

“I… I’m so sorry,” he choked out, tracing the letters of her name. “I never got to take you dancing, or write you letters while you were alive… didn’t exactly come back in one piece either, didn’t have a heart beat for awhile… but I found you… found you like I said I would…. I remember you, your smile, your independence… you’d challenge me at that, know you would, but you were… one of the most clear things I remember…. I’m sorry….”

[possiblyamarvelousavenger]

The Run Aways | Bucky Barnes x Gender-Neutral!Reader

Summary: Bucky’s significant other wakes him up in the middle of the night ready to leave, and invites him along. Slightly inspired by Sleep On The Floor by The Lumineers

Warnings: none, it’s just fluff

Word Count: 870+

A/n: I wrote the start to this in the search bar of YouTube so I apologize if there are any misspellings I missed when I proof read.

I stood above Bucky as he slept, a bag slung over my shoulder. He looked grumpy, brows forrowed, he had been so peaceful when I laid next to him, a slight smile on his lips, a soft expression, but now he had an intense look. I crouched down next to the bed and shook his shoulder gently. He groaned and tried to hold my hand still with his metle hand. I smiled and kissed his forehead.

“Come on, sugar, get up,” I whispered. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at me like a lost puppy.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He asked, sitting up and supporting himself with his metle arm.

“I wanna leave,” I smiled, biting my lip.

His face contorted into panic and he turned on the lamp, both of us squinting when it came on. I stood back up, waiting for him to say something.

He looked me up and down, from my half laced hiking boots to the jean jacket I stored pins on, my bag and beanie. I was ready to leave once and for all, and no one could talk me out of it, and I wanted to scream in joy.

“You want to leave? Leave what… me? Here?” He asked, I could tell he feared the answer.

I shook my head. “I want to leave with you, I don’t have a plan, and if you… don’t want to go… I’m afraid, I’ll still go, because for the first time in my life I don’t have a plan and I’m freaking thrilled! I… have the freedom to drop everything and run away, well run towards what I want,” I said, my smile fading mid sentence before coming back. “Please grab your toothbrush and come with me.”

He stared at me wide eyed, trying to process what I was saying. “It’s three in the morning,” he mumbled.

“Exactly; knowing Steve and Tony, they’d stop me before I could put on my boots,” I said. “There’s a reason I haven’t went before.”

“Would you ever come back?” He asked slowly.

“I don’t know—if the Avengers ever needed me again, I guess Tony could probably find me, I’d come back, or if I needed to,” I shrugged.

“So it’s not like a year trip, it’s permanent,” his voice wary. I shrugged. “So you’re just leaving, no plan, no time line, and… you probably won’t come back. Why?”

“Because I’ve always wanted to, because I feel trapped here and I felt trapped as a kid, the only difference is now I’m an adult and I’m allowed to leave, that and I have someone I want to come with me,” I said, gently taking his hand in mine. “If you don’t want to go, I could give you some addresses of friends you could send letters to if you need to contact me.”

“You’re crazy,” he sighed before climbing out of bed. He walked over to the closet and pulled another bag from it. He went over to the dresser and put the bag on top.

I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. I could feel his heart beating faster than usual. “What’re you doing?” I mumbled into his neck.

“What? You think I’m letting you go like that? You’d get in more trouble than Steve,” he said, smiling. “Plus… I don’t want you to feel trapped, I know what that feels like, it makes life feel hopeless, horrible, doomed—“

“—There’re too many awful synonyms, in my opinion, not enough happy ones, or ones of the word ‘said’—“

“—and,” he continued, “you’re too good ‘a person to feel like that.”

“You’re too sweet,” I smiled, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “You pack, I’m gonna grab some snacks from the kitchen and write everybody a note.”

“Okay, I’ll write Steve one too, reassure him you didn’t kidnap me,” he joked.

I let go of his waist and pushed away from him. “You’re awful,” I laughed, punching his shoulder playfully. “Meet me in the garage, by my old car.”

“Does that thing still run?” He asked. “I think it may be older than me.”

“You think Tony would let a machine die in his garage?” I asked, hiking my bag up on my shoulder.

Soon we raided the kitchen and were in my car, eating granola bars as we left the compound. After half an hour, Bucky was sleeping on my shoulder like a baby. His hand resting on mine on the gear shifter.

After an a couple hours, the sun started to rise to our backs, the light waking up Bucky. He lifted his head off my shoulder as I pulled into a small gas station on the edge of a town. I turned off the car, the radio with it while he stretched, accidentally hitting the ceiling with his hand.

“So where are we?” He asked, groggily.

“Edge of Pennsylvania,” I said, grabbing my wallet and jumping out of the car. Soon as I got the gas jumping, I leaned on my open window and looked at Bucky, who was putting his hair in a bun.

“Have you ever been to the West Coast?” I as, smiling. He shook his head. “Than that’ll be where we’re heading.”