#bucky barnes fanfic funny

[lovelybarnes]

Truth- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: truth serum, ooc (its so hard keeping bucky and a truth serum in the same fic?) About: truth serum, request. (ph1+df31) Forgive for mistakes. why do i kind of hate this now

“Where’s this thing supposed to be again?”

Not missing a beat, you continue to survey the wide lab table in front of you, deft fingers careful when they tilt small vials at an angle so you can squint at the contents. “Things. Where are these things supposed to be.”

“Things, then,” Sam mutters, a fragile clinking noise following.

“Be careful,” you chirp, cocking your head at a thick tube with thick, dark liquid. You hold it up to the light, finally able to read the contents. “Whoa.”

“What?” 

“Did you know Hydra made hair nutrients, essentially? This is, like, the evil solution to baldness.”

“You’re kidding,” Sam crows, stepping closer to examine what you’re holding.

“High amounts of minoxidil, some weird fungus, and something that sounds like finasteride on steroids. Also, probably steroids.”

“Bet they could make a fortune on it.”

“If it works in a way approved by the FDA. Like I said, evil solution.” You grimace and set it back on the desk. “Did you find anything yet?”

“No. There’s slime and weird little liquids everywhere but no big-ass, weirdly-shaped tube marked deadly,” Sam grumbles, nose wrinkling as he catches sight of a limp plant. “Do you think that’s a normal dead plant? Or something freaky and poisonous?”

“Probably the latter,” you hum. “And I really, really doubt Hydra would be so stupid as to have the most cliched image of a toxin representing their mysterious poison.” You pause at a large, bumpy glass. “This one is pretty weird,” you say contrastingly, carefully picking it up with two gloved fingers. “Von innen brennt,” you read.

“What does that mean?” Sam asks.

“Burn from within.” You inhale sharply, and tuck it into your chemical storage container. “I really don’t think we should be leaving this in here,” you reason.

“I don’t think we should be leaving anything in here,” Sam adds, pointing to another bottle. “Weltschmerz,” he recites. “What’s that?”

“It’s… it’s apathy. There’s no good translation but it literally means ‘world pain,’” you frown as you grab it, too, twisting it in your fingers. “Bruce and I are going to have a field day.” You tuck it inside the container and purse your lips. “In a morose way.”

Sam shoots you a quick look. “Right.”

You bring your index to your ear and connect to Bucky’s channel. “Hey, how’re you doing?”

“I fuckin’ hate Hydra.”

“Yeah, it’s not great over here, either. We still have that huge lab to check over; are you done with yours?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you there.”

You confirm, scanning the room once more and sighing softly. “Be careful, okay?”

“I am.”

“Then continue,” you quip, narrowing your eyes at a fat bottle with a tiny opening, translucent candy red sticky inside of it. You poke it to teeter so you can see the label, seeing something unintelligible but missing the necessary ideogram. “We’re not even sure what this stuff is yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out the moment you see it,” Bucky comforts. Your face heats up, lips pulled to one side as you avoid Sam’s raised eyebrow.

“Right,” you mumble, straightening up. “Uh, we should probably head over there now.”

“Right,” Sam parrots, long and curved with a smile.

You shoot him a look over your shoulder as you walk out, disconnecting from Bucky before responding. “Shut up.”

“I’m not doing anything!” he argues, hands up in surrender. He follows you out chuckling.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you murmur, shooting him a final glare as you turn a corner into another dull hall. Grimly, you observe the doors you pass them, perking up when you hear familiar muted footsteps ahead.

Bucky catches your eye, lips turning up a little at the sight of you. You catch his pupils flicker down your figure once you’re closer, snagging on a darkened spot right above your right knee.

“I spilled some water,” you explain, fingers dipping unconsciously to brush against the purported area. “No harm done.”

He moves and the ruby tucked in the crevice of his thumbnail catches your eye. Like an instinct, you reach for his hand, a frown pulling on your lips as you observe the small gash on his thumb. 

“Hangnail,” he responds to your silent question, rubbing small circles into the side of your palm. “M’okay.” 

You’re pleased to affirm so, bumping his shoulder gently after you sneak a glance at Sam. “Okay. How’re you doing, hangnail aside?” 

His eyes constellate among your features and he manages some sort of comfort in his expression. “Bored.”

“Great.” Your voice is soft and pleased. He agrees.

You fall silent once again when the intended lab comes into view, Bucky’s large frame stepping half in front of you to prevent you from getting to it first. He pushes the door open before you can, left hand hovering above his weapon as he scans a room already cleared before letting you in, the same fingers that reached for a gun now grazing the small of your back.

Sam raises an eyebrow but remains silent, watching Bucky’s eyes follow you as you head toward the other side of the room to look through a multitude of vials. They don’t waver even after you spare him a reassuring glance crinkled with a tiny smile.

Quietly, he walks over to Bucky, who’s definitely aware of the movement but startles when he leans in close and taps his shoulder. “Strange man-made horror to find,” he reminds. “You can stare later.”

Bucky squares his jaw, metal fingers moving to graze uselessly along the glasses. “I’m aware, Sam.”

“Uh huh.”

It’s nearly silent then, tinged by brittle clinking and quick glances so heavy they seem loud.

Bucky is tired. Sam is tired. Most importantly, you’re tired—and it makes someone like Bucky a little careless.

He’s very sure he won’t be the one who finds the culprit matching Bruce’s description, which means he isn’t as careful as he should be when he ducks his head and inhales something so pungent it’s startling. He flinches back, making the steel shelf teeter. Both his hands shoot out to steady it, flesh fingers bending close to an undulating liquid that spills little bubbles onto his skin, burning sharply into the broken crevices of his nails.

What follows is worse. Clandestinely, a smudged window closes around his brain. It’s subtle and awful, like his mind processes become blurry and slow while outwardly remaining consistent. He keeps himself from stumbling but is sure his eyes round dismally, blinking owlishly as he struggles to catch up with himself.

It all happens in the quick span of a second before he opens his eyes and everything seems normal again, although something tugs thinly from the back of his mind. Super-soldier sanity, he guesses. He looks down at the cause and sees a match, vial open and a dizzyingly clear liquid stationary inside. A red symbol stamps the label, unnamed.

“I think I have something,” he says, cringing at how far away he sounds. Just when he feels the prickling of doubt, everything clicks into agonizingly perfect place. “This might be it.” Unthinkingly, he curves a finger around the neck of the bottle and holds it up.

“Whoa, there,” Sam warns.

You’re next to him fast, taking it away carefully.

“It was open when I found it,” Bucky supplies.

You nod at him distractedly, producing a lid from your pocket to close the beaker and observe it, thankfully protected fingers twisting it around in the light. 

“It matches the description,” he adds.

“Yes,” you mumble distractedly, half in response to him and half in thought. “This is it,” you lower it into your transfer box and grin up earnestly at him when you close it, “good job, Bucky.” It’s very sweet.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “S’what is it?”

“I’m not that smart,” you laugh.

Bucky disagrees.

“It’s probably not too dangerous. Not airborne, at least, since it was uncapped like that.” you contemplate a little more, looking back up at Bucky. Your pupils set in a way more calculating. “How close did you get to this? Did you inhale it?”

“No. I don’t think so. I smelled something, but it wasn’t that.” Bucky juts a finger behind him. “Maybe the rotted plant. Probably.” 

“Okay.” You say it rounded, edged with lightly veiled concern. “Tell me if you feel weird at all, okay?”

“Of course.”

Sam comes up from behind you, annoyed. “Okay. Are we done here? Can y’all flirt on the jet? I’m hungry.”

“You get so bitter when you’re jealous,” you bite, shooting Bucky a final, doubtful glance before tugging on his hand to leave.

“Am I so transparent,” Sam deadpans.

Bucky contemplates his strange state as he trudges back to the jet, taking quick notice of how dry his mouth has become, his tongue voluble. What he’s hazed with reminds him of oak bar tables and smoke, drunk confidence summery in his chest. He feels fine, he’s sixty-three percent sure. He thinks.

He’s in front of the jet before he can process the journey over, trying to shake away what feels like a creasing tug to his cling film mind. Your eyes are on him, and it looks like it’s not the first time, lashes kissing anxiously. Sam clambers inside, and you wait for Bucky right next to the doors.

“Are you okay?”

“Tired,” he tells you.

You’re about to respond when Sam shouts for you to hurry. Bucky scowls in his general direction, although it dissolves at your amusement.

“It’s okay, c’mon.” You guide him inside, seemingly unbothered as he follows you around like a puppy. “Do you want to take a nap on the way back?”

“Can I sleep on you?” he asks too rawly. You startle subtly with it, but recover quickly, a pale beam on your features.

“Yeah.” You smile at him, entirely saccharine. “Let me just get everything into the containment units.”

He sits in the seat next to your usual spot and stares after you as you walk away, appreciating the concentrated point of your expression as you fiddle with the storage settings.

“Maybe if you stop staring at her and actually talk to her, you might have a chance,” Sam cuts in, slumping next to him.

“I do talk to her,” Bucky argues. “I talk to her all the time. It’s just… she’s pretty.”

Sam struggles for a response for a second. “Oh-kay.”

“Do you really think I’d have a chance?” Bucky finds himself saying, unsure where his mouth has gotten permission to voice his thoughts. He clutches the suddenly few tendrils of control and tries his best to filter his thoughts. It’s too bad he can’t take things back.

Sam gapes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky forces through his teeth, feeling like he wants to puke. Unexpectedly, words feel so much easier to spill out than silence.

Lovely warmth touches his knees. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you, your presence something deftly familiar.

Up close, you’re even more captivating when he finally meets your gaze. He holds back from reaching for you, digging his fingernails into his palm to restrain them from curling around your wrist. He wants you closer.

Your sweet features furrow, sparkly eyes catching on his heated forehead and dilated pupils. “Bucky, are you okay?”

���Can I touch you?” he asks, a little desperate from gating the inclination.

“What?”

“He’s acting weirder than usual,” Sam provides.

“Bucky, sweetheart,” unauthorized, he softens at the nickname, “did you inhale anything? Do you feel okay?”

“Some of it got on me. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. It got on your skin?” You pull on gloves. “Show me where?”

He raises his right hand for you to examine, inhaling sharply when you take notice of the small gash on his thumb again.

“Okay,” you breathe, slowly and then assured. You grab his hand. He blinks. “Come on.” You say, tugging him to the sink and spraying water up to his elbow. “It might’ve entered your bloodstream, we have to wash it out. Sam, call the team, get Bruce working on exactly what it is.” You push Bucky into an isolation unit. “Probably not contagious, probably not deadly,” you mutter to yourself. “We found it nearly half an hour ago. More severe signs would have started by now.”

“It was a level three at worst,” Bucky says, but stays willingly, watching you. “It’s probably one or two. I feel fine, just… uninhibited. Reminds me of getting drunk back then.”

You shake your head, confused, edging on frantic. “Drunk?”

“It hurts to not tell you things.”

“It hurts?” You’ve never felt more helpless, only able to repeat his symptoms in an attempt to inspire some helpful memory from your research.

“More than usual.”

“Bruce says isolation!” Sam calls. “I quote: ‘There’s probably no need, but better safe than sorry.’”

“She knows!” Bucky shouts, eyes on you.

“He sounds fine. Just as annoying,” Sam chatters away to Bruce, and Bucky tunes him out, concentrating on the concerned lines of your face.

“Sam’s worried,” he thinks out loud. “So are you.”

“I am. You’re sweating, Buck.” You examine his face, fingertips bumping into the panel.

“Don’t worry,” he tries to soothe, his own fingers thumping against the separation barrier when he attempts to touch you. “If anything, this is a little bit of a relief. I don’t need Thor.”

You snort lightly. “You’re insane.”

“A little. Not stable, definitely,” he admits.

You hum lowly, biting your bottom lip, pupils quickly inspecting his features. Before Bucky can comment on it, you voice your thoughts. “Okay. I’m gonna test out a theory. I’ll ask you some questions and you just have to answer. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes,” he answers, then, unnecessarily: “I don’t think it would be if it were anyone else.”

You graciously ignore it, only ducking your chin. “What’s your full name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes. But Steve’s right, that sounds a little snotty, doesn’t it? What do you think?”

You laugh. “I like your name. When were you born?”

“March tenth, nineteen-seventeen.” He frowns. “Damn. Just when I was reeling you in with the name thing.”

“Where do you live?” you ask, ignoring his comment.

He prattles off the address to his apartment. “Also you.”

“Me? I’m not…”

“You are,” he interrupts, glancing up at you anxiously. There’s so much he wants to tell you on the tip of his tongue, so much he doesn’t want to be forced to. Not right now. Not like this.

You catch his meaning and move on, eyes thinning accusatorily. “Are you the one who broke my mug?” 

“Yes, I knocked it off the table. But it was Sam’s fault, he pushed me into it.”

“I knew it,” you mutter bitterly, leaning back, limbs less tense. “I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with truth serum.”

“That’s not too bad. Considering the options,” Bucky says. “It makes sense. I feel… I want to tell you everything.”

“Effective.” 

“Thank you for not asking anything too invasive,” he says.

“I wouldn’t,” you respond.

“This shouldn’t be affecting me,” he continues. “The serum stops the effects. They must have made it stronger.”

You pause. “What?” Then, remembering his situation. “Nothing. Never mind. Do you have any pets?”

“A cat. You know Alpine, she loves you. But I know you like dogs.”

You tilt your head, wanting to ask further, but you stop yourself. “I do like dogs.”

“That’s why I’m getting you a dog for your birthday.”

You beam in surprise. “You are? Wait—”

“I keep looking but I can’t find the right one. I was thinking maybe it’d be better for you to come along, but I was supposed to think about that for a little longer.”

“Sam!” you call. “I feel like I shouldn’t be hearing this,” you confess to him, wringing your fingers in wait for the neutral party.

“No, you’re not supposed to know that.”

“I’m sorry. It’s weird it’s affecting you so much, it must be made for enhanced.”

“You figured it out?” Sam asks. 

“Truth serum, I’m pretty sure. Really strong truth serum, from the looks of it.”

“You have to leave,” Sam says immediately.

“What?” you ask, confused for what seems like the millionth time. “No. I want to stay with him.” Your face twists in concern again.

“I want her to stay with me, too,” Bucky adds.

“No, you don’t,” Sam commands. “Who knows… what you might say in front of—” he points at you, enunciating your name with an italic and a gesture. “You should leave,” he turns to you.

“You’re going to take advantage of me,” Bucky accuses.

“Have you been lying to me?” Sam questions. “I am only interested in confirming. Like: did you or did you not break Redwing two months ago—”

“Sam!” you interrupt.

“Come on. Do you know how much food has disappeared? Water bottles dented?”

“I told you that wasn’t me,” Bucky grumbles, leaning against the wall.

“That’s true. That’s what you told me, but what’s true and what you said can be—”

You glare at him. “Stop it.”

He hmphs. “Fine. I’ll settle. He owes me thirty bucks.”

“Whatever. Go make sure everything’s okay up front, I have to give Bucky some meds. Friday, did you activate isolation protocol?” She affirms as you open the door to Bucky’s unit. It’s cold when you step inside, but when you reach Bucky, he’s burning. “Bucky, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He looks up at you, pupils dark and blown. He can’t stop his hand when it lands on you, but you don’t seem to mind, leaning in close enough to his face for him to catch the little details of your face. He clears his throat. “Now I’m a little hot.”

You wipe hair from his sticky forehead, taking a small napkin from your pocket to wipe sweat from his brow. “I can see that. Friday, can you lower the temperature in here?”

“You’re gonna get cold.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you. You can’t ask me to do that.”

You stare down at him worriedly, thumb rubbing gently at his temple. There’s a hiss nearby, and three pills in a little cup stand on the table. You grab them and hand them to Bucky.

“Take these.” You point to the pale tablets, three in a single container. “They’re a precaution and the blue one,” you pinch it to show it to him, “should make this pass a little quicker.”

He takes the blue one first.

“Five minutes ago, we didn’t know what it was,” Bucky says. “You’re amazing.”

“Friday’s amazing. All I do is hand things to you.”

“You’re amazing.” 

You chuckle, observing his eyes. Purely clinical. “Okay. You are, too.”

Bucky bites his lip. “You don’t believe me.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. You’re amusing me.”

You look genuinely offended. “Absolutely not.”

Bucky cracks a smile. “You have a tell.”

“Bucky Barnes.”

“It’s in your lips. You purse them a little. Like even you can’t believe yourself.”

You pinch his lips closed with your index and thumb. He stares up at you with wide, blazing eyes.

“I won’t complain,” he says, muffled.

“You should! Don’t be so nice to me, Barnes.”

“I like it better when you call me Bucky.”

“Really? Everyone on the team calls you Barnes.”

“I said you, not the team.”

You let go of him, eyes sorry. Your thumb bends, the bone tracing along his bottom lip. You’re so close. He wants to echo his realization so badly.

“You’re so close.”

“I’m sorry.” You move to take a step back.

“No,” he protests, reaching for you again.

“What?” You laugh.

“I’m in love with you.”

The very first thing he feels is great, overwhelming relief. Like something had been interfering with his breathing and his feeling and his being and it was removed.

And then came the panic, thickened with fear of the consequences of his honesty and very thinly edged with something nicer.

You haven’t moved since he admitted it, pretty features contorted in neutral shock. He wants to know you so well, he can tell if it’s good or bad.

“I didn’t mean to say that.” He gulps, wanting very badly to let go of you but unable to do so. “Does that blue pill make it a lot worse before it gets better?”

You stare at him.

“Say something, please. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t want to—I never wanted to tell you that.”

“Why?” you ask finally. Your brows are knitted, the edges of your features dipped in pain.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

You don’t say anything, but your lips part, the sorrowful border of your features softening. “I… I really want to kiss you right now.”

Bucky freezes. “What?”

Your face heats, pupils flickering away from him. You clear your throat. “But you’re in a vulnerable position right now and I don’t want to take advantage of that. I want you to tell me because you chose to.”

“You’re saying…”

“Yeah.”

Bucky really wants to kiss you too. “Why?”

“Because I think you deserve honesty.”

Bucky really, really wants to kiss you. He cracks an unfiltered smile, although it’s not entirely because of the serum. “Damn.”

“What?” you ask uneasily.

“I’m really fuckin’ lucky.’

[p-taryn-dactyl]

Just Another Name 

a/n: okay i feel like i’ve either seen this prompt before or it was a dream so if this is like another fic you’ve read plz message me so i can take it down, i don’t want to plagiarize someone else's work on accident lol taglist: wordcount: 1.6k prompt: "oh god, has this all been a lie?" warning(s): idk where this would really fall timeline wise; angsty; arguments; use of Y/N; i wrote this in maybe an hour so i apologize for any grammar or just plain mistakes you see - this is probably terrible lol (it's short and rushed) pairing(s): bucky barnes x fem!reader

You knew of the journal he kept, of course you did. He carried it with him at all times, in his bag, his pocket, his jacket. Wherever he could store it, he did. You didn’t mind it, how he sometimes got lost in the pages after disappearing for hours, how he positioned it away from you, how there was an unspoken rule that you weren’t allowed to read it. But you didn’t know the weight it would carry in your relationship. How just one line would change everything. 

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The day everything changed started out like every normal day. Morning light streamed into your bedroom, warming your skin. You rolled over, arms reaching out to cuddle with your boyfriend. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, his laughter rough from just waking up. He rubbed your back, placing his chin on top of your head, pressing gentle kisses on your hairline. 

“Babe, we need to get up.” He whispered gently, twirling strands of your hair between his fingers. You groaned, leaning your head back, shaking it. 

“No we don’t, we can just stay in bed all day and sleep.” He chuckled, shaking his head, sitting up. You followed, grumbling under your breath, once more dragging laughter out of your boyfriend. He got dressed, his metal arm whirring as he pulled on a sweatshirt. You donned sweatpants and an oversized shirt, smirking as Bucky recognized what you were wearing. 

“Is that mine?” He pointed at the shirt, a soft smile spreading on his face. You crossed your arms, innocently looking to the side. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You giggled as Bucky chased you around playfully, catching you as you ran to the kitchen. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. Both of you took a moment to catch your breath, laughter filling your lungs. You smiled as Bucky kissed your neck, releasing you from his grip. You opened the fridge, rummaging for anything that could be eaten as breakfast. You were about to ask Bucky if he wanted some cold orange chicken for a nutritious first meal when his phone went off. You looked over to see him answer the call, his face solemn and stony. He looked at you and mouthed an apology. You nodded, understanding. He sped out the front door, not before pressing a kiss to your cheek, the door locking automatically behind him. You sighed, grabbing a bowl and pouring some cereal along with milk in it. You walked around for a few minutes, bare feet on the cold floor, munching on the Cheerios as you pondered what you were going to do. Maybe read a book or finally start that Netflix show that had been sitting in your watchlist for months. Just as you grabbed the remote, balancing your bowl in one hand, you noticed something on the floor. Scrunching your eyebrows in confusion, you took one more bite of your cereal before setting it down and walking over. Your eyes widened as you realized what it was. 

Bucky’s journal. 

You picked up the notebook, running your finger down its spine as you bit your lip. Thoughts ran through your mind, telling you to read it. You shook your head, placing the journal on the coffee table, making your way back to your cereal. But as the show started, all you could think about were the contents inside that small book. Rolling your eyes and groaning, you got up to grab the notebook. You paused your show, biting the inside of your cheek as you hesitantly opened the journal. What you saw made you collapse on the couch. 

“Oh, Bucky.” You murmured as you read the names. The names of the victims of the Winter Soldier. You knew how he was making amends, how he was trying to atone for actions that weren’t his, how he- wait. Was that-? Your breath started to pick up as you saw your brother’s name, a side note next to it. 

In Progress. 

Tears blurred your vision as you slammed the journal shut, shaking your head. 

“Y/N…” a soft voice made your head shoot up to see Bucky Barnes standing in front of you, a scared look on his face. You hardened your expression, leaning on your knees as the journal hung limp in your hands. 

“Tell me,” you swallowed, fear tightening in your throat, “Tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it does.” Bucky broke his gaze from yours, looking up towards the ceiling. 

“Why did you read it?” he whispered to himself, his voice breaking. You slammed the journal down on the couch beside you, standing up furiously. 

“Tell me!” You yelled, fists clenching and tears welling up in your eyes. Bucky nodded, still not making eye contact. You take a step forward, lips trembling. 

“Buck-” Your broken voice seemed to break something inside of him. He threw his hands up in the air, a pained cry springing from his lips. 

“I killed him! I killed your brother, Y/N and I am trying to-” Your laughter interrupted him, confusion spreading across his face. You shake your head, laughing. 

“You think that’s why I’m angry? My brother’s death I’ve had years to mourn and don’t you even think about blaming yourself for it. You were brainwashed, James.” Bucky flinched at the use of his name, your cold tone indicating how angry you were. 

“I’m mad,” your voice trembled, tears streaming down your face, “because in that journal, that stupid journal, it says ‘in progress’ next to his name. Is that what I am to you? What this is? A way for you to feel better about yourself?” Bucky shook his head rapidly, stepping towards you, his heart breaking as you stepped back. You pointed a finger at him, recalling the first time you met. 

“That day in the library, why did you approach me? Did you know I would be there?” Bucky was silent before he nodded, that simple response made your stomach drop. You let out a sob before you picked up the journal, sniffing as you nodded to yourself. 

“So this,” you gestured to the space between you and Bucky, looking down at the ground, “This is just another way for you to make amends? I’m just another name in your journal to cross out? Oh god, has this all been a lie?” Your hands started to shake, making you drop the journal as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Bucky hurried to stand in front of you, reaching up to cradle your face in his hands. His head was shaking rapidly, tears falling down his cheeks as he spoke. 

“No, no, Y/N, this is real, this has always been real, please-” You pushed him off of you, pushing the journal into his chest as you ran to your room. You grabbed a bag, stuffing any piece of clothing you saw in your closet which was yours. Bucky appeared in the doorway, trembling at what he saw. 

“What, what are you doing? No, please Y/N, come on, please!” He wrapped his arms around you, your back to his chest as you both sobbed. You struggled in his arms, hitting the vibranium in tune with your cries. 

“Let me go!” You cried out, desperate to get out of the house. Bucky shook his head, desperate to keep you in his arms. 

“No, baby, please, this is real, please believe me.” He whispered into your hair, his tears dampening your head. Softly, you pushed yourself out of his arms, turning to face him. You saw the smallest flicker of hope flash inside his eyes. You let out a laugh stained with tears. 

“You know, I thought I was so lucky. Bucky Barnes actually wanted me, me, a washed up history major with little to no future. I mean, what are the odds of running into an Avenger while browsing for books?” As you continued, you saw Bucky’s face drop as he realized what you were saying. 

“I’ve loved you since the beginning James. I almost had a heart attack when you asked me out to a movie. I thought I was so special but I guess,” you choked on your tears, biting down on your lip, “I guess I never was. This can’t be real, James, you obviously don’t go around dating relatives of victims, so you never meant for this to happen.” You grabbed your bag, sobbing as you remembered how this morning started and now how it ended. Bucky stood still, his chest heaving as he quietly sobbed. 

“Please.” he whispered, the sound enough to further break your heart. You stood on your toes, pressing a tear stained kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky, but I can’t be with someone just because they feel guilty about something in the past.” You start to walk away, pausing in the doorframe, looking over your shoulder. 

“I, I love you James.” You whispered quietly, unaware if he heard you or not. After that, you sped out of the house, not paying attention to where you were going but only focusing on the fact you had to get away. 

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Bucky stood in the bedroom for what felt like hours. He held his journal in his hand, trembling as the weight of what transpired hit him. He grabbed a pen and roughly opened the journal. With dark, heavy, and messy strokes he crossed out your brother’s name, tears falling and mixing with the ink. He threw the journal down, collapsing against the edge of the bed, head falling between his knees as he sobbed. It was real, he kept reminding himself. It was real, it was real, it was real. He took deep breaths, leaning his head back against the mattress before quickly standing up and running out of the house. 

You weren’t just a way to make amends for his past and he was going to make sure you knew that.

[haltnook]

It had actually been a gift from Tony. He had tried to refuse at first, but Tony had insisted. Apparently “Everyone has a damn phone, Jackson.” and Tony had “no other way to contact you” and didn't “feel like learning the language of smoke signals.”

The File

denimbeans

[punkyarabella]

You Little Minx (part two)

Summary: Mischievous (adj.): causing or showing a fondness for causing trouble in a playful way.

Warnings: obscenities

470 words

Part one

Masterlist

Bucky frowns at the frenetic knocking on his bedroom door. He is less surprised by the mischevious grin on your face when he opens the door. He's getting used to it.

"What's going on?" He has no idea about what you have planned, but he is already smiling about it.

"I found a bunch of chalk when I went grocery shopping with Natasha," you explain, your smile never faltering. As a proof, you pull out the colorful little box you were hiding behind your back. "I thought maybe you'd want to draw too?"

He squints at you. That's too tame, there has to be a twist.

"I was thinking of drawing something obscene on the parking lot ground, right outside Sam's window," you admit, your teeth biting into your bottom lip.

"There it is," he lets out a chuckle. "I'm in."

You cheer and he picks up his jacket, a small smile still stuck to his lips. He follows you outside, and you both sit on the cold asphalt. The air is nippy and smells humid, but you seem to be on a mission. Exchanging the different colors between you two, you draw a bunch of penises, some colorful insults, and Bucky signs the bottom with a "you're a bitch, Wilson".

You lean back on your knees, chuckling at the Falcon wings you just added to one of the penises. Bucky stands up, happy with his own work. Taking your hand, he pulls you up, just as a window opens two floors above you.

"You're children, guys," Sam shouts.

"You like it?" You yell with a smile.

"It's beautiful," he shrugs, "except for the parts that Barnes drew."

"Hey, fuck you," Bucky frowns.

"Anyway, it's gonna rain, so it won't stay long," Sam adds as he closes the window.

Right on cue, a drop lands on Bucky's forehead. He glances at you, but you are still smiling. You turned from the building to look at your artwork. More drops start to fall, and the colors mix in the little puddles.

"You knew it was going to rain?" he raises an eyebrow.

You glance at him and nod, "It's really pretty when the rain washes the colors away."

Bucky struggles to tear his eyes away from you, to look at the ground again. The chalk creates swirls of colors, turning the penises into shapeless blobs of rainbow. You keep watching, standing in the rain, until most of the colors are either gone or turned to brown.

"Let's get inside, you're gonna get soaked," he chuckles at the wet strands of hair falling in front of your face.

"I'm already soaked," you laugh, but follow him towards the door. "I've got some confetti to put inside the air vents of Tony's new car. Wanna help me?"

How could he say no to that?

[thewintersoldier111]

Lmfao 😂

[hunterbunter3000]

Y/n: ...Bucky are you wearing a bra.

Bucky: uuhhh yes

Y/n: Are you wearing... my bra?

Bucky: What?! No! I'm just-

Y/n: is it the black lacy one?

Bucky:

Bucky: Baby, I can explain--

Y/n: TAKE IT OFF

Bucky: NO I WANNA WEAR IT

[16woodsequ]

"Give me two characters and a word and I will write a <100 word drabble" - Tony and Bucky.

I got this ask a long time ago and finally sat down to do it! 276 words...close enough!

.

The first note Tony gets goes like this: Steve needs a scarf. It shows up in his SI mailbox and he basically raises on eyebrow at it and then discards it.

The next one is underlined. Steve doesn't like cold missions.

That gives him pause, because that means someone is paying attention to their missions. He asks around, even brings the note to Steve, but no one knows where it came from. It's correct though, Tony discovers. Which is interesting.

Notes continue like that, showing up in his office or under SI lobby doors. Eventually he gets JARVIS on the case, and the perpetrator becomes clear. A shaggy dark haired man with a bulky enough winter coat to hide the metal arm he's sporting.

Tony's first reaction is unease. He's still not okay with what happened to his parents. But he also knows that Steve is currently searching for this persistent shadow, and having no luck. Apparently, Barnes is just as concerned with Steve, even if he's more subtle about it.

After another month of tips and hints being snuck in through notes and memos, Tony makes his decision.

The media has a field day, trying to interpret what the skywriting above Avengers Tower could mean, but Tony couldn't be happier with it. COME AND TAKE CARE OF HIM YOURSELF.

Months later, after Barnes is more rehabilitated and less feral street cat-like as he'd been when he'd showed up after the message, he approaches Tony. "Thank you," he says simply. "At the time…with those notes, I didn't think you'd be comfortable with me here."

Tony sips a coffee mug noncommittally. "Yeah well, this is less annoying."

[yamirexic]

lifeguard!bucky x reader: motel 6

my inspiration for this imagine:

dare short film

overall motel aesthetic

a oneshot that got taken down (I was quite sad so I needed to fill that void)

american dad season 10, ep. 6: this indie movie episode

the last days have been quite chaotic: you stranding in a random city cause your car broke down. luckily there was a motel close by so you checked in. it was a really nice motel, the indie summer vibes not fading away. you car still is somewhere to get fixed so you need to wait in this city till it's done. but not everything is entirely bad: you've started liking the lifeguard at the motel's pool. you went to the pool everyday, enjoying the sun and maybe also the tall man with brown shoulder length hair and azure eyes, roaming over the pool's surface to be sure that nobody drowns.

you also went to the pool at night cause it was empty, quiet and peaceful. this night though, you weren't left alone. you were currently sitting at the edge of the pool, legs in the water. you have your dirty pj on since you're a bit self conscious and also just to lazy to change or care. you actually didn't notice him at the beginning since you were caught up with your thoughts and the water moving.

"can't sleep or do you just wanna relax?", you hear a smooth, yet husky voice saying. you flinch a bit and turn around to see him. "I just like the peacefulness when no ones there", you answer with a flutter in your heart. "why are you here?" "same reason. and also cause it's nice to just go for a swim without needing to take care that no one drowns." he dives into the water smoothly. he resurfaces and drags his hand through his hair. you look at him in a somewhat dreamy gaze as you breathe in the summer night air deeply. "I never got to know your name since I got here some days ago", you say after awhile. "my name is James but call me Bucky", he answers as he swooshes around the water to stay afloat. "I'm Yami", you smile at him as you can't seem to get your eyes off of him.

you two stay quiet as you exchange smiles and laughs. he dives in the pool as you watch his every move, his muscles moving, stretching, tensing and relaxing. coming back up for air, he notices that you still look at him but you don't seem to really "be there", your head in the clouds. "something on your mind Yami?", he asks as he gets closer to investigate your face. you fall out of your dreamy trance, looking away for the first time. "actually yes, I have a lot of things on my mind currently but only one thing sticks out right now", you tell him with a bit of sadness in your eyes but also bliss and peace, the motel feeling like an escape from reality, a little break that wasn't planned. "would you mind to tell me?" he is quite close to you now, looking through wet strands of brunette hair with cerulean eyes. "do you promise me not to judge?" "I won't judge you, you can trust me doll." you grin at the nickname and take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "I have a liking for someone but they don't know. it's also quite tough since I've broken up with my boyfriend recently, sorry for getting so dark and deep." you look at the water surface as the water carefully moves around in small waves. "a boy or a girl?" he asks, interested in your problems, looking at you with soft features. "it's a boy this time. I don't know him but I would like to get to know him but I'm worried he might find me weird and creepy since one did in my past." "I understand you completely and I know what it feels like to be humiliated or feel rejected." he said with a caring face, flashing you a soft smile. you slip into the water carefully and you both swim more into the middle of the pool. "thanks for understanding and listening." you smile as you look at him. he inches closer to you.

"I noticed you sparing me glances in the course of the last days, don't think I haven't seen you daydreaming while looking at me." he smirks a bit as you look shocked, feeling embarassed by actually getting caught. you accept it though, cause you were quite bad at hiding it. "I'm sorry for that it's just...that you're quite attractive. I'm really sorry if you felt uncomfortable by that." he pulls you closer, mere inches apart, your skin touching his. "don't worry, I don't mind.", he answers as he does something you wouldn’t have expected but have dreamed of the last nights and days: he carefully leaned in and kissed you softly, his lips slightly wet. the kiss was passionate but ended to soon. he pulled away slowly, opening his eyes, his wet lashes sticking together in little traingles. you smile at him and lean your head on his shoulder. "you feel the same or was it just to make me feel better? whatever you say, it made me happier. thank you, Bucky." he chuckles and smiles at you, caressing your wet hair. "it's both" you chuckle as well, feeling hopeful for the first time in ages, the night endulging you in it's cooler (but still hot) air.

I haven't proof-read this so sorry if I have some typos in there

[builder051]

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies

—————-

Chasing Ghosts. Warning for drug mentions/implied drug use. Meant to be stupid and funny.

—————-

James sits at the table. He presses his cheek to its cool surface and wraps his arm around his head. He should go, he thinks. Somewhere. Not here. Or at least turn off the light.

The logical thing to do is plant himself in the bathroom and wait out his seasick headache. The thought of the bathroom sends James’s throat up to throb behind his clenched teeth. He won’t be turning off the light. He won’t be moving at all.

“It’s bad?”

Steve seems to have materialized in the kitchen. James doesn’t know how long he’s had an audience. He’d taken his hearing aids out a while ago. With his echolocation gone and his eyes hidden, James knows he’s a sitting duck. Not that Steve would ever hurt him. Well, not on purpose. He sometimes gets a little rough when administering first aid.

“Eh,” James says to the inside of his elbow. “You probably know better than I do.”

“Mm,” Steve muses. James imagines him stroking his chin in contemplation. “You have a headache and feel like you want to hurl?”

“Yeah…” James pauses to draw in a shaky breath. “I don’t know. When, I mean. If.”

“You never do know.”

There’s a scraping sound and a vibrating sensation as Steve pulls up a seat. James bites his lip. He’d rather taste blood than bile.

“I mean, I can guess. I can try to help. Hold your hair. Or a mop.” Now that he’s close, James hears the uncertainty in Steve’s voice.

“Yeah. Try consulting your magic 8 ball or something. ‘S as good as anything else.”

Steve gives a quiet laugh. “I would if I could.”

“Wait, what?” Tasha’s running up the hallway, her words going from muffled to sonorous. James pretends he doesn’t suppress an instinctive swallow. He can’t acknowledge what doesn’t exist. Logic bends as James’s head makes a particularly strong throb. He’s losing his grip on reality. He must be. Tasha awake and moving at this hour on a Saturday morning? James assumes it’s still morning. It was morning when his mild headache turned to extreme vertigo and sent him tilting toward a chair.

“Oh, hey, Tasha.” Steve says.

James forces out his own sound of greeting.

“Who has an 8 ball?” Tasha speaks quickly, tripping over her words. She’s probably on an upper already. Hopefully her very own, very legal Adderall. She has absolutely no need for cocaine.

“Nobody,” James groans. He lifts his head just enough to give his sister a scathing look. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a bathrobe that hangs far to low in the front.

“I heard you—“ Tasha starts.

“No.” James shuts his eyes and bows flat to the table again, this time cooling his aching forehead.

“It was, you know.” Steve sounds slightly embarrassed. Maybe because he won’t leave the bedroom in just boxers. Whose dignity he’s still pretending to protect, James will never ask.

Steve clears his throat and goes on. “Like, the toy kind? Where you ask it a question and shake it?”

“Oh.” Tasha’s disappointed. She recovers in a beat and says, “I had one of those once. As a kid. It was dumb. It wasn’t right about anything.”

“I was thinking about ordering one on Amazon.” Steve puts too much positivity into his tone. The man will do anything to avoid a confrontation.

“If you really want one, just give me a few bucks. I can have it by tonight.” James sincerely hopes she’s joking. Well, not joking, exactly. He hopes she won’t do it, whether to spite him or any other reason.

“That won’t be necessary.” James sees Steve’s gluey smile projected onto the backs of his eyelids.

“Might help your headache.” Tasha pokes James in the shoulder. He grunts and swallows frenetically, determined not to lose control.

“Tash…” James sighs. “Just leave it.”

“If you say so.”

Silence briefly ensues, then a cabinet opens and the sink starts running. Then the table jiggles again as Tasha joins them. She sips her water, then casually asks, “What question were you going to ask, anyway? The 8 ball?”

“Oh.” Steve laughs.

“You can tell her,” James says, then breathes deeply and focuses on the feeling of his nose squashing as he rests his forehead directly against the hardwood.

“It was, um,” Steve warms himself up. “We were going to ask, uh, whether or not James is going to puke.”

“Hm.” Tasha sets down her glass. “Well, duh. You could’ve just asked me.”

“What sayest you?” Steve gives James the floor. Which he may or may not be about to soil.

James has reached his limit. If he speaks, if he so much as acknowledges his turn in the conversation, his jaw will unhinge and everything will fall to pieces. He steels himself and clenches his abdominal muscles as much as he can. “Yeah.” It comes out in a gasp that’s probably inaudible as he takes off in a rush toward the bathroom.

[rissararity]

Me- at work:

*painters tape on closet doors out front. Maintenance said he'd be by Monday to take it off.

"That would drive me UP THE WALL, I'd have to take it down before then." I comment.

*WINTER SOLDIER THOUGHTS INTENSIFY*

"...That's not the ONLY thing that could drive me up a wall." I say quietly to myself.

[lovelybarnes]

The Thing- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: best friend bucky, i do not think it’s an au but honestly i dont know? I wrote this for fun so i made details fuzzy, innuendos. Did i check over this right im so tired About: new girl inspired. I was watching the episode with the trench coat and that fucking scen got to me like??? I had to. I started crying.

Bucky thumps around in your closet, too-long limbs making the doors shake when vibranium fingers slam against them. He grunts, followed by a disconcerting silence, only charcoaled by the metal clinking of steel hangers and heavy breaths. You purse your lips, looking up from your phone to stare at the shut doors. You can imagine him standing frozen for a glimpse of peace. Or staring at your favorite sweater, metal-finger-torn. You frown.

“Are you okay? Did you pass out?”

He huffs, more shuffling noises ensuing. “No.” Something drops to the floor.

“Pick that up!” you call when it doesn’t sound like he does.

“Why couldn’t I change in the same room? It’s cramped in here. And you’ve seen more.” He pauses and you can hear his smirk. “So have I,” he mutters pleasedly.

Your fingers reach for the closest thing and launch it at the closet. “Because the last time you did, Wanda walked in, and then Sam did, and we ended up with half of our friends staring at you half-naked on my bed.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Bucky argues.

“And my closet isn’t that small,” you quip.

Your closet doors roll open, light defining Bucky’s features and catching the blue in his irises. His sweater compliments the color too nicely than should be possible. Along with it, he wears a grimace.

“What’s wrong? You look great.”

“I’m starting to regret agreeing to this,” he admits, pulling at a thread.

“Starting to?” you parrot. “Agreeing?” You shove your legs to the side of the bed and stand, heading toward him. “Bucky, they had to bribe you into saying maybe. And then you insisted on staying anyway the entire time up to now.”

“I would really rather stay here with you.” Bucky leans into your touch when you settle your hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently.

“That’s all you’ve been doing for months,” you point out.

“And I’ve really enjoyed it,” he allays.

You laugh, fingers coming to a frustrated rest on his face. You try to come up with an argument but fail, deflating. “Me too.”

He grins. “See? I’m gonna go tell them I’m just gonna stay here to watch more horror movies with you.”

You loop your index and middle around his wrist before he can leave your room. “You know how much I love you. And how much I love spending time with you. Which is why I think you should go.” You continue before he can begin to argue. “This’ll be good for you. And me. You’re kind of annoying, you know?” you tease, wrinkling your nose.

He rolls his eyes but relents, inhaling deeply. “Fine.”

“If you absolutely hate it—”

“I will.” You glare at him.

“Then I will fully support you in never going out again.”

He perks up. “You’re my best friend. You should support me before that,” he jibs.

Exasperated, you wag a lazy finger in the air. “You’re so annoying.”

The door to your room bangs open to Sam and a slightly begrudging Steve both very dressed up. Sam has a hand over his eyes, other arm extended dramatically to search around him. “Everyone decent this time?”

You glance at Bucky.

“Yes, Sam,” Bucky groans.

He grins and claps. “So we can finally go out? Do I have to drag you out kicking? ‘Cuz I will.”

“He did,” Steve remarks further.

“No,” Bucky glowers, then gestures to you. “‘Convinced me.”

“Of course,” Sam says, turning to you with a smile. “Now, you. I love you, you know that, but tonight we’re going out to have fun. Which means,” he begins to count off on his fingers, “none of the girlfriend texts or calls you send all the time.”

“They’re not girlfriend,” you argue.

“And she can call me if she needs anything,” Bucky adds.

“But try not to,” Sam insists. “Now, let’s go.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, lamely watching his friends go out the door again. He turns to you and pecks your forehead. “Call me for whatever. I’ll probably thank you if I’m not the one insinuating.”

You shove him lightly. “Have fun.”

“Love you too!” he laughs, waving once more at you before he disappears past your doorframe. It’s only a few more seconds of the guys chatting before the apartment door closes and steals away the noise with it.

You deflate, sagging onto your bed. Dazedly, your fingertips drift to your forehead, where the shadow of a kiss still warms your skin. Frustration digs its nails into your arm and your hand fists, eyes squeezing closed. There’s the sticky rush of tears in the back of your throat and you groan loudly, but it’s obstructed and thin.

You pop an eyelid open when something else catches your attention, squeezing your lips closed to focus on the thin, chalkboard scratches further away. You sit up and stare out your door for a second, before realizing it’s coming from the front door.

“Bucky couldn’t have backed out by now,” you mutter, reasoning that he could’ve forgotten something when the noise suddenly stops. “Huh,” you quip. He must’ve found it.

You sigh again, at least satisfied that the sudden burst of emotion had passed. Deciding not to dwell on it, you pull your laptop onto your bed and search for a show to watch until you come up with something better to do.

It’s an episode and a half past when the noise returns, a little louder and accompanied by a faint tapping. Hopeful, you pause the episode, expecting for it to disappear with the click of your touchpad. When it doesn’t, you tense and think, calling out your friends’ names and listening to the responding quiet.

You pull at your fingers nervously, debating stilling to will it to go away or going to investigate. Clips from yours and Bucky’s horror movie night the previous day flash in your mind, making you cringe and stay put. Silence falls after a minute, but you remain unsettled, uneasily dragging yourself off your bed, poking your head out from your room to observe the hall up to the living room. “Bucky? Sam?”

No response.

You stare at the door, expecting some tangible inference of yours to appear in the shadowed crooks of the weathered red thing. When it doesn’t, you force yourself to be brave and head down to the living room, wrapping yourself in blankets with your front facing the entrance.

You resume your show but pay only half attention to it, jumping when there’s a loud crash in a scene. Hand to your heart, you pant at the scare, dissolving into a disbelieving laugh.

“I’m an idiot,” you state to no one. “I’m scaring myself.”

You splay yourself on the couch and breathe, rationalizing.

“This is Bucky’s fault,” you say matter-of-factedly. “He’s the one who chose home invasion horror when he was leaving me home alone the night after.”

You stare at your keyboard, rubbing off a smudge on the space key.

“I hate home invasion horror,” you mutter, running a hand down your face.

“This is pathetic,” you lecture. “What am I reduced to?”

Bravely, you stand, taking your computer with you to the kitchen.

You’re gathering a ridiculous amount of oily cookie cutters in your oven-warmed apartment when you hear it again, louder and more startling than the previous times. You flinch, a multitude of colorful molds tumbling to the floor in your startlement.

You leave them in exchange for paying attention. Slowly, you slink over to the door, peeking through the peephole to see nothing. Now confused, you pull the door open, greeted with silence and an empty hallway.

You walk away once you shut the door with heavy hesitation, shoving warm cookies into your mouth, unsure.

Trying to be rational, you type out a short text contorting your panic into something a little more playful, your thumb hovering above the send button just as you remember Sam’s warning. Isn’t this what he meant? Silly requests that interrupt Bucky’s good time?

You stop, deleting everything you’d written and flipping your phone screen down on the kitchen island. Everything was fine, you were sure.

It’s juxtaposingly pleasing and frightening to hear it the next time; both disappointing and reassuring that your mind wasn’t making things up. The intervals between the noise get shorter, too, until it’s less than a half hour after the last, and you’re buzzing with paranoia.

You text your scariest friend first, anxiously waiting for Sent to turn Read below your message to Natasha, but it never does.

It takes half an hour and the noise to come back before you give up on her, instead watching Wanda’s three little dots pulse before they settle on an apology because she’s on a date.

Tony and Bruce are out of town for some convention and Thor is on vacation, meaning you’ve officially run out of friends to call for help.

Your fear builds until you can’t help yourself, powered by thorough panic when you click on your first contact number. It’s only a couple tones before Bucky answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, so, no big deal, but there’s something scratching at the door and I’m worried for my life.”

“What?”

“This is your fault,” you cry. “It’s the movies, I—”

“It’s probably the neighbor’s kids playing tricks on you. You know they’re assholes.”

“But I’ve gone outside and there’s no one there. There’s no way they can run that fast, right?”

“Maybe?”

“Look, I’m really freaked out,” you admit. “I really don’t want to bother you but Nat isn’t answering and Wanda’s out on a date and it keeps coming back and—”

“Okay, hey,” Bucky’s voice comes through a little clearer, paying more attention. “It’s okay. I’ll come back, okay?”

“I’m sorry.” You feel bad. You feel so bad your skin prickles with regret, suddenly willing to stand out in the hallway and let your monster eat you alive.

“Don’t be.” You can feel the comforting nudge he gives you when he’s reassuring. “I was about to call you anyway, this is as bad as I remembered it being.”

You manage a weak laugh. “Thank you,” you say genuinely.

“Thank me by not asking questions when I somehow get there in three minutes, okay?”

You furrow your brows. “What? How would you—”

“I think that’s a question,” Bucky interrupts.

“You left already,” you conclude. “Why did you leave early?”

“I think it’s unfair you can do that.”

“I think it’s hypocritical of you to say that.” Your near peace dissipates when something scrapes down the length of your door. Uselessly, you duck down behind the kitchen island. “Are you here yet?” It’s more of a beg than anything, a longing for the sound to be his clumsy fingers with a dodging key.

“Elevator. Which means—” His voice fizzles predictably, inspiring a fresh surge of hate for the machine. A few expected seconds tick by, a click cutting them off.

“What—” You tap your phone angrily. “I hate this stupid building—”

The noise returns, sharp and close and angrier than you’d heard it. You’re only slightly comforted by the thought that Bucky should be nearby, mainly in vehement disagreement with your fate. You curl your fingers around a rolling pin and crawl closer to the door, nails digging into your palms at the close proximity of your aggressor.

The door flies open and you jump up in tandem. “Don’t! My best friend is really big and he’ll beat you up!”

Bucky stands in the doorway, blue eyes rounded, palms up and open.

You pant together for a moment, before your limbs relax in relief, rolling pin tumbling to the ground as you fall into his chest. “Oh my god.”

Automatic, his hands steady around your waist. He says your name in question, pulling you closer anyway.

“What was that?”

“I thought—I thought it was the thing.”

“The thing?”

“I don’t know what it is Bucky, that’s why I called you,” you snap, digging your nose deeper into his neck.

“I didn’t see anything outside,” he offers.

You deflate at his saccharinity. “I’m sorry. That was mean. Thank you for coming.”

“It’s okay,” he laughs, smoothing his palm over your back. It’s a comforting weight, his lovely tolerance of you endearing, although he’d frown at your choice of words. You pull away but stay at his side, laying your head on his shoulder. Your phone rings and you make no move to answer it. He looks at you questioningly.

“I left voicemails in case I died,” you explain, watching Clint’s contact picture flicker. “It might’ve been an exaggeration but look how late they’re calling. What if it were a dire situation? How useless would they be?” You fist your hand in his jacket. “I’m glad I have you.”

“You didn’t leave me a voicemail,” Bucky complains. “You never called in the first place. Whaf if you had died? What about me?”

“I called you.”

“To come here. No goodbye message.”

“It wasn’t a goodbye so much as fear-spurred insurance—”

“Well, how come I didn’t get one?”

“For one, you answered the phone. For two, I knew I’d be fine if you said you’d come. And for three, I knew you’d come if I asked.”

Bucky quiets. “I would.”

“You did,” you agree. 

Something shifts. Subtle and sweet, his heat on your skin isn’t all that casual anymore. He notices, too, shifting lightly on his feet, the weight of his fingers on your waist definitely heavier.

“So,” he starts. “I’m really big, huh?”

[milady-pink]

All I want is to come home from my 9-5 office job wearing a suit, say “honey I’m home!” and have my comfort character come prancing in wearing a 1950’s housewife dress with apron telling me “dinner’s ready”.

I will never be happy until this day comes

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

Оружие ~ 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 (𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞) 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Оружие = 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐧

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 // 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 *𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴* 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜!

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟺.𝟽𝚔

     AFTER YOU AND BUCKY FALL ASLEEP WATCHING A MOVIE, YOU BEGIN TO SPEND A LOT MORE TIME TOGETHER. And you’re pleasantly surprised when he begins looking for you during his free time.

The morning before Steve leaves on a mission with Clint and Tony, he comes to your floor and asks if you’ll be around for the next week or so. He knows you’re not being sent on any missions, so he has a favor to ask. You’re confused, but you let him know that you have no plans whatsoever.

“I— I know you and Buck have gotten pretty close so I was just wondering if you could maybe… keep an eye on him? Check on him every once in a while, make sure he’s alright, that sort of thing.”

Now you’re a little worried. “Has something happened??”

“No, no he’s fine. It’s just this is the first mission that I’ll be going on without him. I don’t know if you, or anyone else really, has noticed but previously he and I have either been partnered on missions, or at least going on the same ones. Other than you and I, he doesn’t really hang out with anyone else. I’m just worried that with me gone, he’ll withdraw and keep to himself whenever he’s nervous or anxious.”

Aaand now your heart is slowly breaking for Bucky. “Oh of course! I was planning on asking him to hang out tomorrow anyway,” you hope the smile on your face doesn’t give away that you’re touched that Steve trusts you enough to check up on his best friend.

As a special treat for the boys leaving on the mission, the team has a feast, with you and Wanda having spent the better part of the afternoon in the kitchen. Dinner ends up being a 2 hour affair, and for the millionth time since Nat and Yelena saved you, you’re grateful for the family they’ve given you.

There’s nothing but trading stories, laughing so hard there are tears, and before you know it, Steve, Clint, and Tony are getting ready to head to the quinjet. After they leave, almost everyone heads off to their separate floors. The exception being you and Loki, who go up to your rooftop garden to water all of your plants.

There are so many, and you both love taking care of them, so it ends up being an activity that takes nearly half an hour. Once you’re in the elevators Loki turns to you just before he steps off on his floor.

“Tell the metal armed man that if he hurts you, I won’t hesitate to crush him like a bug.” Before you can even think of a reply, he exits and turns to you, grinning as the doors shut.

Back on your floor after showering and getting settled on the couch, you attempt to find something to watch. But after scrolling through every possible show and movie on almost all streaming platforms, nothing seems good.

You decide maybe reading will keep you occupied, so you go to your ‘office / library’ room and grab the book that you’ve been meaning to read. You’re only able to make it through a couple of chapters before setting the book down.

It occurs to you that since Steve is gone, Bucky will be on their floor by himself. Before you can think about it so much that your mind tells you it’s a horrible idea, you take the elevator to their floor.

It’s only once you’re stepping off of the elevator, that you check your phone and see the time is nearly 10:30pm. When you walk in to the kitchen and don’t hear anything, you figure Bucky must already be asleep.

Glancing at their fridge, you notice a magnetic notepad amongst the various photos and magnets. Grabbing a. pen from a nearby drawer, you leave a note for Bucky asking if he’d like to hang out tomorrow, and you let him know that if he wants to, he can come find you at any point. You sign your name and a smiley face at the bottom, and stick the notepad back on the fridge.

Right before you’re about to get back in to the elevators, you hear a loud noise. Freezing, you wait to see if you hear it again so that you can work out what it was. About 10 seconds later, you hear it again and quickly realize that it’s Bucky.

Quickly making your way to his room, you pause and put your ear against the door. It’s clear he’s… in pain? You slowly twist the door handle and push it open, and your heart breaks when you hear him mumbling in his sleep.

“No, please… I’ll be good please don’t make me forget… no… no!”

You don’t have much experience with other peoples nightmares, and you briefly wonder how you should go about waking him up. A direct approach might be best, to lessen the risk of you frightening him.

“Buck—” you reach out and put your hand on his head, slowly running your hand through his hair. After a few seconds, he stills and the whimpering stops. You do this for a couple of minutes, then slowly stand up and take a few steps back, not wanting to disturb him.

Without warning, he sits up, panicking.

You rush back to him and pull him close, his head against your chest since you’re standing up and he’s just sitting in bed.

When you first got to the compound and dealt with a lot of anxiety, Nat introduced you to something called deep pressure therapy. You haven’t needed it in a long time, and you have a feeling that Bucky hasn’t dealt with his internal problems about his past, but you figure at this point it can’t hurt.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him, one hand rubbing his back and the other once again gently playing with his hair as you hold him tight against you.

“It’s okay, you’re okay Bucky,” you whisper over and over. Continuing to hold him, you loosen your grip a little so that he doesn’t feel trapped in your embrace.

He’s no longer breathing hard and looking around in a panic, but he’s still shaking so you continue to whisper soft reassurances in his ear. “You’re okay Bucky, they can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe in the compound, I promise.”

After doing this for 5 minutes, you begin to pull away, thinking he’s alright now that the shaking has stopped too. But Bucky swings his legs off of the bed and pulls you close. He says something, but it’s so soft that you almost don’t hear it.

“Please don’t go,” he whispers.

You’re both silent as you walk around to the other side of the bed and climb in, sitting up leaning against the headboard. It’s quiet for a moment before Bucky speaks up again.

“Can you— can you keep—”

You realize what he’s asking, and nod, moving closer to him. You pat your lap and he moves to lay his head on it. When you begin playing with his hair, his right hand comes to rest on your thighs. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s because he feels like he has to reassure himself that you’re real. That you’re there wit him, and this isn’t a dream.

“You’re safe Bucky. They won’t hurt you anymore. You’re surrounded by people who love and care about you.”

The next time you look down at him, he’s asleep, and you can’t help but notice how peaceful he looks. Just to make sure he’s in a deeper sleep, and because you just want to stay up and make sure he’s alright, you play with his hair for another 20 minutes.

When you finally start feeling sleepy, you carefully remove yourself rom under him and lay down next to him.

Before you’re fully asleep, he stirs next to you. When you reach out and take his left hand in yours, whispering that you’re right there, he instantly calms down.

Waking up the next morning, your first thought is that you can’t remember the last time you woke up feeling so well rested. You’re confused for a second, before remembering exactly what happened last night.

Bucky is still fast asleep next to you, his arm draped over you and holding you close. You don’t want to risk waking him before he has a chance to get as much sleep as possible. You know he needs the rest, so you close your eyes and go back to sleep.

The next time you wake up, Bucky’s the one already awake. You sigh with content, loving the way his hand feels when he runs his fingers through your hair. “How long have you been awake?” You ask sleepily. 

“Not long.” That’s a lie. The truth is that Bucky has been awake for nearly 20 minutes. But he didn’t know that you’d already woken up and gone back to sleep for him, so he decided to lay there until you woke up. 

You don’t want to pressure him into talking about the nightmares, you know firsthand how uncomfortable it can be to have those discussions. So when you sit up, you settle for asking him how he slept.

A frown quickly forms on his face, but it’s replaced by a smile a few seconds later. “Better than I have in a long time. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but thank you doll. No one has ever… Steve’s the only one who really knows about the nightmares.”

Reaching over to take his left hand in yours, you run your fingers along the cool metal. “You don’t ever have to apologize. You’ve been through a lot, and I’m just sorry you’re still dealing with the aftermath from… all of that. No matter the time, or even if we’re on a mission and sleeping in tents or motels, or wherever, if this happens again you come wake me up okay? Or call if we’re not in the same place.”

Bucky swears that if he died right now, he’d die the happiest man in the world. He appreciates you in this moment more than you know. Still, he feels guilty. “I don’t want to be a burden—”

“James,” you laugh at his expression from you using his actual first name, “I promise that you could never be a burden to me. You’re one of the bravest people I know. You’re now helping to take care of the world, so let me help take care of you.”

Something shifted after that night. 

The next day, when you were alone on your floor you asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to alert you of any distress on Bucky’s floor.

When you’re back the second night in a row, Bucky seems ashamed. It took a while for you to convince him that you really meant it when you said he wasn’t a burden.

The next morning, you ask him if it would be alright if you stayed with him until Steve returned. You admitted that you sometimes got lonely on your floor since you were one of the few that had a floor all to themselves, and when you mentioned that you slept better with him there, it made him feel a lot better about accepting.

By the time Steve came back, nearly a week had gone by. It was the middle of the night when he arrived back at the compound, and he peeked in Bucky’s room just to make sure he was alright. He couldn’t help the grin on his face when he saw you and Bucky fast asleep in each other’s arms.

He also noticed a difference in his best friend the next day, and when the 2 of you were alone for a moment he thanked you for being there for him.

One night you, Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Peter had a movie night on Steve and Bucky’s floor. After the film finished, Wanda and Peter went back to their floors. Bucky headed off to go take a shower while you and Steve remained on the couch, unable to move after all the popcorn that you’d both consumed.

One other way you and Steve bonded, was with music. Every so often you sat with him and told him all the new music you loved. He had Spotify too and you showed him how to add songs to his library, but he still liked to write titles and artists down in a small notebook. That night, you spent half an hour playing short clips of songs, and if it sounded like something he’d enjoy, he wrote it down.

You half-joked about making him a mixtape, but when his eyes lit up you knew right away what you were getting him for Christmas.

Just as you’d finished, and had moved on to cleaning up the living room, you hear a loud noise coming from Bucky’s bathroom.

You and Steve quickly rush over and see him standing in front of the mirror. It’s now broken, and he’s looking down at his right hand that has a few cuts and quite a bit of blood.

“Come on,” you whisper, gently taking his other hand and leading him out of the room. As you pass Steve, he says he’ll get the shards cleaned up.

You continue holding Bucky’s hand even once you’re back in the kitchen. After a minute, you give his left hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go and quickly heading to the bathroom, telling him you’ll be right back.

Despite the pain he’s experiencing and the humiliation he feels, he finds himself wishing you hadn’t let go. But you’re back a moment later, telling him that Steve already has the counter and floor cleaned up and that he’s going to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to order a new mirror.

First-aid kit in one hand and a few warm washcloths in the other, you set everything down and begin gently wiping the blood from his hand.

“I— I can do it, you don’t have to look at… at th-this,” Bucky stutters his way through an attempted explanation. You step forward and kiss his forehead, asking if he’ll let you take care of him.

Once you’ve wiped off all the blood, applied medicine, and wrapped his hand in gauze, you ask if he’d like to go see Dr. Cho to make sure his hand isn’t actually more injured than it seems, but he insists that he’ll be fine.

After a few minutes of silence, it’s clear that Bucky isn’t going to speak first. “Wh—what happened?”

“I’m doing better, I promise. But I just… I don’t know. I saw myself in the mirror and I j-just, freaked out. I know I shouldn’t have punched the mirror, I just—” He’s caught off guard when you step back, pulling him to his feet and into a hug.

“You don’t have to hide your feelings with me, Buck, it’s okay.”

When Steve comes back into the room, Bucky makes his way over to him and apologizes. They hug, Steve assuring Bucky that he doesn’t have to apologize.

The 3 of you spend the rest of the night in their living room, Bucky and Steve trading stories about the 2 of them when they were younger. By the end of the night, the bathroom mirror incident was already a thing of the past.

You could tell Bucky was still just a little upset at his actions, and when you reached for his hand just as he was going to excuse himself to go to his room where he’d probably lay in bed sulking, he was once again grateful that you were now part of his life. 

A few weeks later on a Wednesday, you and Pietro are up on the roof for your weekly pizza night. You’re discussing possibly going with him to visit Sokovia someday. Memories are still too painful for Wanda, but he confessed to you that he has been wanting to go back for a visit. Once you offered to go with him, his face lit up with excitement as he began telling you all of the places that he’d have to show you.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts Pietro by calling your name.

Director Fury has requested to see you, Agent Romanoff, and Agent Belova. 

It doesn’t escape you that the only people he wants to see, are the 3 former Black Widow’s.

10 minutes later, you, Nat, and Yelena are in a conference room. While you wait for Fury, the 3 of you look at each other, silently agreeing that this must be something bad since no one else is allowed in the room.

Your suspicions are confirmed when Fury finally enters the room, immediately asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. to soundproof the room and to not record the conversation. Usually all meetings were recorded for future reference if you needed to look back on something that was said. What could possibly be the reason for not recording?

That question is soon answered when Fury begins telling you about the mission you’ll be sent on. After the first couple of sentences, you already have a bad feeling.

You’re informed that a few former members of HYDRA (“they escaped and went into hiding before they were taken down”) and some people that used to work with Dreykov have joined together and were working on what was now known to very few, as Project Winter Widow.

The project turned out to be exactly what it sounded like. Where Black Widows and Winter Soldiers had basically failed as 2 separate projects, resources were being pooled together to create the ultimate super soldier assassin.

Fury assured you that none of you would be going into the field and engaging in combat, and in fact if that was asked, he wouldn’t allow that. But the people who were working on taking them down needed insight on those who had been successfully turned into Black Widows. When asked why, he said it was because there was little known information about the Red Room, whereas a lot of blanks had already been filled in about the Winter Soldier program.

Nat picked up on another red flag when Fury stressed that this was a classified mission and not a single bit of information could be shared with anyone else on the team. You’d be getting on a plane they were sending for you to go to Russia tomorrow morning, and you’d immediately head into a meeting to give basically everything you knew / remembered about the Black Widow program.

“Why the hell does it have to be a secret from the team, if we’re not being sent into the field?” Nat leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and making it clear she was already uncomfortable with this.

“We need calm and collected on this,” Fury sighed, “as I’ve said, you won’t be involved in any fighting and you’re just being asked to provide information that can only be accessed by those who were forced through the program. Until everything is over and done with, it’s to be discussed only with those working on the takedown. Once it’s finished and we’ve successfully taken down Project Winter Widow, the remaining Avengers may be told about what you’ve all been doing.” Fury says he’ll give you all some time to discuss, though you all know it’s an empty gesture. He knows that the 3 of you would do anything to stop more assassins from being created.

Discussion begins the moment he steps out of the room. After thinking about it for a little bit, Nat now agrees that it should be kept a secret for now. She points out that the entire team is all understandably protective, and while you all love that about them, knowing they’d be dealing with the people who basically kidnapped you 3 and Bucky, you all know damn well they’d just want to insert themselves into the takedown.

Yelena thinks it could only help to have them involved, or at the very least just involve Bucky.

You, on the other hand, see both sides. Fury was right, they already know basically everything about the Winter Soldier program. Bringing Bucky into this might only further trigger him and erase a lot of the progress that he has made. 

In the end, you agree with Nat, and that’s enough to get Yelena to change her opinion.

When Fury re-enters the room, you sign contracts stating that you won’t discuss the mission with the rest of the team until it’s finished. You’re given a cover mission, and when the team asks, you’re to say that the 3 of you are helping take down a fast growing crime organization, and that it’s an all female group which is why no one else is being sent to help too.

Nat reminds you and Yelena that you can’t discuss it at all even in Russian, because Bucky will be able to understand what you’re all saying.

Once you exit the meeting room, you’re greeted by Tony and Steve. Yelena summarizes the mission, then says that Fury didn’t want any one else sitting in since they can’t come along anyway. 

After they seem satisfied and head back to their floors, you all decide to head to the gym. When you point out that there’s really no need because Fury said you won’t be fighting, Nat counters your argument, saying it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Once you’re all in the ring taking turns ‘fighting’ each other, Sam and Steve end up joining you in the gym. Neither of them says anything, but they both notice that you’re only practicing fighting moves that you’ve learned in the Red Room. They know that because it’s definitely not moves that you’ve picked up from anyone on the team.

Bucky comes in to the gym towards the end, and notices that you seem to be a little more shaken up than usual. You don’t say it, but it’s because that bad feeling still hasn’t gone away.

Yelena and Nat head back to their floors after an hour of training, but you remain in the gym with the boys. It’s raining out, so instead of an evening run, Sam and Steve are just on the treadmills.

Hoping to distract yourself from that bad feeling, you ask Bucky if he’ll spar with you. He’s hesitant at first, but eventually says yes. After you land him on his back twice, you work out that he’s going easy on you.

“James,” you put your hands on your hips, shaking your head, “going easy on me will do no good if someone pulls these moves on me whenever I’m on a mission. Come on.”

He lands you on your back after a minute, but is quick to pull you up, asking if you’re alright multiple times. You nod, a big smile on your face as you ask him to go again.

Surprising him with a few widow moves, you end up beating him on your own next time. Sam stops the treadmill and begins clapping obnoxiously, encouraging you to kick his ass again.

At dinner that evening, you notice Bucky seems a little more… clingy? Than usual. You’re hesitant to use that word because you enjoy his company, but you can’t help but notice that Bucky seems to be keeping an eye on you a lot more than he normally does.

With Loki being away on Asgard, you head up to the roof to water all the plants by yourself. You’re surprised when Bucky joins you after just a minute, asking if he can help.

“Doll, are you alright? Is it because of the mission you guys are going on tomorrow?”

You want to tell him, but you know that you can’t. “Sort of. I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone and Loki’s not here either so I’m just worried about having to ask someone to take care of all our plants while we’re both gone.”

“I have a pretty good memory now,” Bucky smiles, “show me what to do”.

You spend nearly an hour wandering around the garden, pointing out various plants and flowers, telling him which ones need daily watering, and which ones can go 2-3 days. Bucky even pulls out his phone, taking videos of you as you explain.

That night, Nat and Yelena end up sleeping on your floor. To take your minds off of the worry that’s still lingering in the air, you all fall asleep in the living room watching funny movies.

Around 1am, you’re woken up to the sound of a few soft beeps, then F.R.I.D.A.Y. speaking up.

There appears to be distress coming from Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes’ floor.

“Tell Steve I’m on my way,” you say, slipping off the couch and heading straight for the elevators.

“You need me to come get you when I wake up?” You turn back around to see Nat sitting up, rubbing her eyes.

“I’ll set an alarm and come back earlier before we have to go,” you thank her for the offer, and then head to Steve and Bucky’s floor.

Steve greets you when you get off of the elevator, saying that Bucky woke himself up from his nightmare but his door is still locked, and he won’t let Steve in.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay, and I’ll come get you if I need help,” you reassure Steve, who hugs you and thanks you for being there for Bucky again.

Gently knocking on the door, you know that Bucky heard you because the room becomes silent. “Buck, can you let me in please? We don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can just go right to sleep, I promise.”

After a minute, you’re sure he won’t let you in. As you turn to go tell Steve, you hear the click of the door unlocking. When you step into his room, Bucky pulls you into his arms, holding you tight.

You grab his hand and lead him to bed. When he finally gets under the covers, you walk around to the other side and climb in.

When he pulls you close, with your head now on his chest, you begin to slowly trace shapes on his arm. Just a few minutes later, his breathing returns to normal.

“I’m sorry doll. I just… you were there this time.”

“I was…?”

“M-my nightmare. They had you and it… it felt real.”

“Who had me?”

He’s quiet for a moment, holding you even tighter when he finally answers. “Hydra.”

You continue laying in Bucky’s arms, whispering soft reassurance that you’re with him and that you’re okay. It takes a while, but eventually he manages to fall back asleep. As you lay there, you still can’t shake the bad feeling that seems to be getting worse.

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: ???   //   𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄: ??? // 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄: ???

As you move in and out of consciousness, the only thing on your mind is that you just have to hold on long enough for the team to find you.

At least Nat and Yelena got out safe, you think to yourself.

But then your thoughts turn to Bucky. You’ve been here, what, a month? Maybe more? And you’re beginning to lose hope. Actually, you don’t know if it’s been a month. Time really isn’t a thing for you here. 

If you don’t make it, you’ll never get to tell Bucky how you feel. You won’t get to tell him what you came to realize the morning you left, and again on the ride over when Nat just straight up asked if you and Bucky had confessed your feelings to each other yet.

Forcing you from your thoughts, the metal door opens, slamming against the wall and causing you to jump. You try to maintain composure, not wanting to give the men the satisfaction of seeing you so afraid.

One of them bends down so that they’re eye level with you, but the cuffs around your ankles and the ropes around your hands keep you seated and tied to the chair. He looks at you for a moment, and when he speaks, it sends chills down your spine.

“Привет, солдат.” ((( hello, soldier. )))

series tags: @bxtchboy69, @graysher​, @scarlettwitch99 , @losteroops​

bucky tags: @hallecarey1, @valkyrie418, @weirdowithnobeardo, @adoringsebstan, @seabassstanfan, @channelxt, @eliwinchester99​

all character tags: @jaywalkingape

if you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know in a comment, or send something to my ask or inbox! you can specify the title, or character name if you’d like to be tagged in everything written for them :)

[punkyarabella]

You Little Minx (part one)

Summary: Mischievous (adj.): causing or showing a fondness for causing trouble in a playful way.

Warnings: half-naked Sam I guess?

865 words

Masterlist

It is a quiet day at the compound. Most of the team is either gone on a mission, or went home for the weekend. This kind of day is the only time where Bucky feels comfortable roaming the place. He doesn't have anything planned for the day, except getting a hot cup of coffee and finishing his novel.

After a few hours of peaceful reading in the living room, floating deep in his own bubble, Bucky puts his coffee mug in the sink, before turning to leave the kitchen of the tenth floor. As he walks by the fridge, he notices someone pushed against the side, trying to shrink against the wall. Turning his head, his eyes find yours, and he immediately recognizes the look of mischief in them.

"What are you-," you do not give him the time to finish his question before grasping the front of his shirt, and pulling him in your hiding spot.

Bucky's breath catches in his throat as you push him against the wall, pressing your body into his to make you both invisible behind the large refrigerator. The sweet smell of your shampoo tickles his nose, sending a jolt of electricity through his spine. He tries very hard not to look at your breasts pushed against his chest, or your lower lip stuck in your teeth as you try to stifle your laughter. Your small hand on his right shoulder is searing through his light shirt.

"What did you do?" Bucky narrows his eyes at you, accustomed to your antics by now.

You are fairly new to the team, and you quickly figured out that pranks are a good way to get to know everyone. Whether they are participating or simply watching it unfold, your harmless practical jokes usually put a smile on everybody's face. Especially his. To his eyes, you are a ray of sunshine bursting through everyone's life, a nice break from the horror and hardship the team deals with on a daily basis. However, Bucky was not prepared for the way your smile and laughter affect him, quickly becoming the nicest parts of his days.

"Shh, not so loud," you chuckle, and Bucky has to close his eyes at the way your breasts bounce against him. "Sam is currently taking a shower in the gym, so I took his clothes," you lift your left hand, holding up a bunch of clothes, as if to prove your point.

"And now you're hiding behind the fridge?" he raises an eyebrow, not impressed with your choice of hiding spot, especially since the Avengers compound is probably the largest building he has ever been in, full of nooks and crannies for someone to hide.

"Are you going to snitch on me, Barnes?" you raise an eyebrow back, defiant, and he shakes his head with the tiniest smile. "Good. Now, do you happen to have a knife on you?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, but you are grinning. Of course he has a knife on him. Three actually: one in each shoe, and the last one in his pants pocket.

"You gonna cut 'em up?" he nods at the clothes in your hand.

You are about to answer that, yes, you were planning on cutting a penis-shaped hole in the shirt, but the door to the elevator lobby slams open. Bucky can't hold his groan when you press yourself even closer to him, your whole body moulding his, but you're too busy holding back your laughter to hear it, or to notice his heart pounding against you. But you do notice when his hands find your hips to pull you even closer, as an effort to better hide, of course, nothing else. Sam yells your name through the huge kitchen, cursing repeatedly as he looks for you. Bucky is surprised that your hiding spot actually works.

But then you look up at him and his train of thought stops in its tracks. Through your eyelashes, he can still see that spark in your eyes, the one that could make any bad idea sound appealing, and your smile is devilish. You are only inches away from his face, so when you bring your index finger to your lips to tell him to keep quiet, Bucky can't help but stare, and wonder how they would feel against his. You're so close, he would only have to bend his neck a little and he would be kissing you-

"Ah!" Both of you jump when Sam exclaims, "I can see your hair! Give me my clothes back, woman!"

"See you later, Buck," you laugh and bolt in the opposite direction of Sam's voice.

You go through the stairwell access door, and a second later, a very angry and naked Sam follows you, holding a towel around his waist to maintain the small shred of dignity he has left.

Bucky is still against the wall, his heart pounding. He can't shake the smell of your hair from his nose, or the warm feeling of your body against his. He lets his head fall back against the plain white wall, and takes a deep breath to ground himself again, before letting out the softest chuckle.

Part two

[zander-idgaf]

Bucky, where is my pencil?

Genre: crack, fluff

Summary: Bucky wanted to get your attention so he took your 'magic pencil' and now you are regretting the decision of giving him what wants. But in the end you get revenge.

If you want to be tagged just comment.

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You had left your Ipad and stylus on your desk in your room to go to the bathroom. As you do your business there is quite shuffling in your bedroom. So quite that you figured it was you imagining things.

You come out of the bathroom to see that your Ipad was turned off. You thought it just went o sleep. But when you push the on button it stayed dark. Now this made you uneasy, so you start looking for your stylus. It was gone.

Bucky pov

He sat in his closet clutching the weird pen thing that you draw on the tablet to his chest. He knew how much you loved to draw on your free time, but the both of you haven't send time with each other in awhile. He missed his friend and if he had to steal your beloved art wand...... He would.

He heard you stomp in the curse only to whip around and leave. He peeked into the hallway to see if he was clear. He sprinted for the training rooms.

Loki's pov

The browned haired man streaked by with a stick in his hand. He looked scared enough that Loki got up from the kitchen table and looked down the hall. When he turned around the soldier was gone down the hall.

Yn pov:

The damn moron didn't realize your 'wand' didn't work unless it was synced to a device. You watch him try to write on the white board in the training room. He didn't realize you were behind him. He grunts and scowls at the tool.

"She has the tech like Tony." He pauses and then looks at the white board. "He grabs a marker and starts writing.

Play pool with me!

He puts the marker up and turns to see you. "You could have asked."

"I have for the past week!"

"Well, you should really speak up when you do."

The man knew when he asked any of the Avengers to hang out with him, he gets shy and starts to mumble.

Side note:

Did he wake up with out his arm? Maybe. Did u hide it. No one knows. Let's just say he didn't sleep for two days looking for it.

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If you want to be tagged for the next fic I do comment. Same goes for requests. Also very sorry this is so short I did this while at work on break.