#buckybarnesfic

[burntsecrets]

Pinned

Pairing: Reader & Bucky, Reader x Bucky

Word Count: 702

Prompt: Reader tackles Bucky during training

Summary: During an intense training session, you seize your chance to catch Bucky Barnes off guard.

Warnings: physical combat, sparring, mild injury, suggestive tension, competitive banter, close physical contact, minor power play

The training room is eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of machinery. You're crouched low behind a stack of crates, heart pounding, eyes fixed on your target. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, stands in the center of the room, his back to you. His broad shoulders rise and fall with measured breaths, the subtle tension in his muscles telling you he’s waiting for something—for you.

You’ve been sparring with him for weeks, and he never makes it easy. That’s the thing with Bucky—he’s always one step ahead, always anticipating your every move. But today? Today feels different. Your powers hum beneath your skin, crackling with energy as you steady your breathing, waiting for the right moment to strike.

He’s fast, no doubt about it, but you’ve studied him. The way he shifts his weight, the slight tilt of his head when he listens for movement. You know you’ll only get one chance to catch him off guard, and if you miss it, you’ll be on your back in seconds. The memory of countless failed attempts plays in your mind, but this time, you’re ready.

You push off the balls of your feet, launching yourself forward with a speed you know most people wouldn’t see coming. The air rushes past your ears as you move, silent and precise. Bucky’s head tilts slightly, just like you predicted, but it’s too late for him. You close the distance in an instant, your shoulder slamming into his side with enough force to knock him off balance.

To your surprise, he stumbles. His eyes widen, caught off guard, as your combined momentum sends you both crashing to the ground. You straddle his waist, pinning him down, and your hands press firmly against his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms.

A grin spreads across your face, and Bucky stares up at you, half-amused, half-impressed. His metal hand grips your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but enough to remind you that the victory is yours—for now.

"You finally got me," he says, voice low, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes are sharp, still calculating, but there’s a glint of pride in them.

You raise an eyebrow, panting from the exertion but too stubborn to let it show. "Took me long enough," you reply, keeping your tone light despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Bucky shifts beneath you, his free hand brushing against your arm as he pushes himself slightly upright. "I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that. You’ve been holding back, haven’t you?"

You shrug, not bothering to deny it. "Maybe I wanted to make it interesting."

"Interesting?" His grin widens, and before you can react, he flips you over effortlessly, his speed and strength catching you off guard this time. In the blink of an eye, you’re the one flat on your back, Bucky looming over you with that familiar, cocky smile.

"Let’s see how you handle this then," he murmurs, leaning in just close enough that you feel his breath against your skin.

Your powers flare instinctively, a surge of energy rippling through you. But you stop yourself before unleashing it. Instead, you meet his gaze, matching his smirk with one of your own. "Oh, don’t worry, Barnes," you say, your voice confident, "I can handle anything you throw at me."

Bucky chuckles, the sound low and warm, and for a split second, the tension between you shifts—less competitive, more… something else. You’re both breathing hard, hearts racing, and the air between you seems to crackle with unspoken challenges.

But just as quickly as the moment arrives, it’s gone. Bucky pushes off of you and stands, offering a hand to pull you to your feet. You take it, still grinning, your muscles aching from the effort but buzzing with satisfaction. You finally bested him—at least for now.

As you dust yourself off, Bucky watches you, his expression softer now. "You’ve come a long way," he says, his tone quieter, almost thoughtful. "But don’t think for a second that I’m going easy on you next time."

You flash him a grin, your competitive spirit ignited all over again. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

[navybrat817]

I think he'd like that. ❤️

Lovelies, I'm taking a quick break from work (covering for a teammate who is out for the day, and it's a lot), and I'm thinking about Bucky. Shocker.

But imagine this beautiful grump who cares a lot about your well-being.

Your hands full? He'll help you carry everything.

Sign in the middle of the floor after the janitor mopped it? He's moving you out of the way, so you don't slip and fall.

You weren't able to get breakfast? Expect something on your desk within the next few minutes.

Didn't get your dose of caffeine either? He'll get that with your breakfast, but not too much since he doesn't want you jittery.

You didn't sleep well because your neighbor kept you up? He gets your afternoon meeting cancelled so you can take a nap instead. Oh, your neighbor might get a surprise visit.

You cold? He'll have a space heater and blanket brought over.

You hot? He'll have an air conditioner brought over instead.

Need an extra "pick me up"? He has your favorite snack ready and even sends you memes that he knows you'll laugh at.

Bucky doesn't expect any sort of thanks, though you keep saying it. You manage to get a smile out of him, too. He just wants to look out for you.

And don't you deserve that?

[corawithfanfiction]

Reminiscences I Winter Soldier

MY MASTERLIST! - EVENTS! - HOME!

This is an original story and may not be copied or translated into another language without permission!

•  REMINISCENCES • Recall or “remembering ” refers to the mental process of retrieving information from the past. It is one of the three basic processes of memory, along with encoding and storage. There are three main types of recall: free recall, cued recall and serial recall. Psychologists test recall as a way to study memory processes in humans and animals.

It Would’ve Been Better To Forget Lots Of Things (Prologue)

And In Those Slepless,Tormenting Times (Characters)

I Am Afraid I Have No Purpose Here (Episode 1)

Somewhere, I Have a Watercolor You Did (Episode 2)

Sorry I'm So Demadin', But Save The Dancin' For Back At The Mansion (Episode 3)

The Only Place We Had To Meet Is Night (Episode 4)

Innocence Is Out Of Style (Episode 5)

TAG LIST: @jaxz21@thosehppeople-hiatus@vikingqueen28@opoyend@bitter-semi-sweet@woow-ies@mariahelaboh@sshewonders@buckybarnesfic@onlyforyuto@jvanilly@galensmistress9@i-am-amora-the-enchantress@piper-mcleans-wife@infinitely-yellow@fallinginthe-void@sigynxlokiwifelover@verytyrantcat@hextech-bros@literaryavenger@starr-sixx-90@runlolaren@angiexsv @slavicangelmuah

[disneyismyworldforever]

Bucky's nickname change

Beau is now name that Sharon and Y/N will be calling our handsome stud. We now edited the first chapter with the new name and will be using it from this moment forward.

Thanks for the suggestion @buckybarnesfic

We are forever in your debt for helping us.

Also Chapter 2 is gonna be post by the end of tonight.

Cheers

= Jess

[darsynia]

Thank you! I love me some enemies to lovers, there's something about that mistrust turning into adoration!

Me, chasing after enemies to lovers stories:

Adversarial 1/? (Bucky/Mechanic!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | RO ROLL MASTERLIST | gif by @dailybuckybarnes

Summary: The textbooks all say that finding your soulmate feels like figuring out your place in the world, something you’ve always thought was utter bullshit, but--

…but your soulmate has a mechanical arm

Word Count/Warnings: 4,000 | explicit sex

As 2/7 of my birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, adVERsarial is a Soulmate AU 'enemies to lovers' with a brash, outspoken f!reader. Stay tuned for more, and feel free to drop a comment if you'd like to be on the tag list!

Excerpt:

“Are you the lead mechanic? Stark said I could find them here.”

“I am, and I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little bummed out that those aren’t the words written all over my mitt, here,” you tell Captain America, holding up your (grime-covered, unreadable) left hand.

A ripple of… something tugs his eyebrow upward for a few seconds, and he smiles politely. “I get that a lot.”

You feel the burn of triumph in your chest and move in for the killing blow. “Oh really? I wish you’d kept a list, Rogers, because I’d love to meet more female mechanics.”

Adversarial

Your soulmate can go straight to hell.

First of all, your Words are written on your fucking hand, and it almost takes up the whole thing! Who the fuck thought that was okay?

Schools don’t let you cover your hands, did your jerkface soulmate ever think of that? No? Classic.

Oh, and then there are the bullies. So. Many. Bullies. Telling the new kids to come up and say the words to greet you was predictable, but exploiting teachers’ inherent laziness-- ‘but Mrs. DoNothing, I was just reading the words off her hand!’ --was icing on the shit sundae.

You graduated from that hellhole, moved as far away as possible, and got a job that would cover you in gunk so you wouldn’t have to think about your Words every single day.

Now it’s seven years later and your boss asks you to come along on his fancy-ass job at the Avenger Hideout in upstate New York. You’re sure you’ll be kicked to the curb when you meet Stark himself, though. The man is snark incarnate, and you can rarely pass up an opportunity to mouth off.

“‘Sit down and shut up if you want to stay alive,’” he quotes, right after the handshake. The smug look on his face is warranted, because working with the Avengers is one of the few times your soulmate words apply to regular life.

“Yeah I’ll stay standing if it’s all the same to you,” you smile, with too many teeth and everything. You usually choose something more spicy, but you really want this job. Besides, Stark’s soulmark words are well known, so you don’t have to speak to history here.

“As long as you keep your death wish to yourself like everyone else in the asylum, we’re cool. Welcome aboard.”

The Avengers Compound is pretty sweet, actually, and your coworkers don’t seem like the typical stooges. It takes almost a month to persuade them that you really do enjoy the dirtiest, toughest jobs, and after that everything is smooth, filthy sailing. It’s always a good day if you end it needing a long, hot shower and half a bottle of degreasing soap.

There’s an iPad mounted within floor-view for people to text you if they need something. It doubles as your personal DJ, so when the sound cuts out, you slide your ass out from underneath the Quinjet you were servicing to find a pair of boots standing next to it. As you rise gracefully (read: clamber) to your feet, their owner speaks.

“Are you the lead mechanic? Stark said I could find them here.”

“I am, and I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little bummed out that those aren’t the words written all over my mitt, here,” you tell Captain America, holding up your (grime-covered, unreadable) left hand.

A ripple of… something tugs his eyebrow upward for a few seconds, and he smiles politely. “I get that a lot.”

You feel the burn of triumph in your chest and move in for the killing blow. “Oh really? I wish you’d kept a list, Rogers, because I’d love to meet more female mechanics.”

Until this point, he’d been holding himself like the soldier that he is, with the same stiff courtesy you’d seen from his rare television appearances. That all falls away, now. Rogers clears his throat, hitting his fisted hand on his chest as though knocking loose his initial impression of you, then extends that hand out for you to shake.

Your eyebrows skyrocket at just how much grease he’ll end up with if he goes through it, but Captain America’s outstretched hand doesn’t waver.

It’s time for you to knock loose your first impression. You give him a respectful nod and grasp his hand firmly. The grip slips as you shake, but you don’t offer any apology, and Rogers doesn’t seem to need one, not even when there’s a squishing sound as you both disengage. You take pity on the man and snag him a blue towel from your workbench.

“So, what do you need that Stark couldn’t Lord it down here and ask for himself?”

The towel is doing nothing. “We’ve got a mission coming up that will involve some repair work mid-way. Refugee camp in the middle of a regional conflict, with aggressors who like to send self-destructive drones to ruin our day. Army thinks it’s cheaper if it’s us, and not them.” He gestures towards your large tool bag. “We’d like to get in, get fixed back up, and get out in a hurry, and Stark says you’re the���” he pauses.

“Say it.”

“‘Gremlin’ for the job,” he says, apologetically offering back the newly-soiled towel with his still-soiled hand.

“Sounds about right. Have his Jeeves give me the details, yeah?” You start whistling as you scooch back down to finish up the job you’d been working on when Rogers had come in. It takes a not-inconsiderable amount of time for him to walk back out, and you count that as a win.

They were… not kidding about the danger of the mission.

The trip out had been unpleasant as hell, gaining you some unwanted on-the-job experience with what it’s like being motion-sick under fire. As expected, the vehicle is hit by two diligent little destructo-bots, but you take care of the first one handily. Getting the second off and its damage mitigated is made more difficult by the urgency in the comms.

The team is on the way with the refugees in tow, and they want to take off as soon as they get back. Doing that with unknown damage is a terrible idea.

“All right, you heat-seeking little bot-barnacle, you ARE coming off, even if I have to pry off a panel of the ship to do it!” you snap, five minutes later. You're bluffing, since can’t even tell if the damned thing’s done any damage or if the sum total of its effect is ‘skewering the hull and sitting there smug as hell about it.’ The team is getting closer and closer, and the pounding of your heart is so loud you can hear it like a drumbeat in your ears.

They turn out to be footfalls, not your heartbeat.

A metal hand appears out of utterly nowhere and grabs the attack drone, ripping it out of the hull and throwing it with enough force to send it a half mile away. You’re left with your mouth hanging open as the owner of the hand (the arm. It’s an arm, and it’s the most gorgeous piece of machinery you’ve ever, ever seen) turns to face you. He’s wearing tactical gear and a sour expression, and every one of your blood vessels have converted themselves to gasoline at the very sight of him.

“That’s quite an arm you’ve got, soldier,” you quip.

His face twists into fierce fury as he points to the ramp leading into the Quinjet. “Sit down and shut up if you want to stay alive.”

For once in your life, you do what you’re told without complaint or combativeness. The phrase ‘internal combustion’ has never been so apt. The textbooks all say that finding your soulmate feels like figuring out your place in the world, something you’ve always thought was utter bullshit, but--

…but your soulmate has a mechanical arm.

The rest of the team shows up mere seconds later, and from there you’re caught up in the whirlwind of weight balancing, choosing what to ditch to fit every last person in the vehicle. For a few crazy minutes, it seems your grouchy soulmate might be left behind to fend for himself (you have no idea who he is, but you’re completely certain this man could wipe out the entire platoon that Rogers says is heading their way), but you and Stark figure out an overspeed hack that can work for just long enough to get somewhere safe.

You’re too busy keeping your ride in the air to think about anything else, and once you’re all back on solid ground, disembarking is a madhouse. You and Stark are the last two off the thing. He flips up his helmet and gives you one of his thousand-watt smiles.

“Great job today. Forgot to tell you Barnes was with us for this one.”

“Barnes?” you ask, distractedly running your calloused fingers over the rift where the perfect man had pulled out the drone. It looks like a patch might work, rather than having to get a piece machined. 

“James 'Bucky' Barnes. The Vodka Popsicle?” Stark comes over and makes a show of frowning at the way you’re just shrugging. “See, if you were fun, you’d be pretending you have no idea so you can milk me of all the good nicknames.”

The soulmate thing is burning a fuse in the back of your mind, and you don’t have enough left in your tank to banter. “I really don’t know, Motor Mouth. I just kept my head down and did my job.”

You smack the hull of the Quinjet and start toward the elevator bank, secretly pleased with your own stupid nickname. ‘Barnes’ sounds familiar, but you can’t place the name.

“Come on, CS, you had to have seen his arm!”

This stops you in your tracks so quickly you can almost hear the record scratch sound. Right at that moment, you realize where you heard the name Bucky Barnes: in your high school history class! This has to be fake, some stupid Superhero hazing or something.

You spin on your heel, about to accuse Stark of only remembering the name because he had a hot teacher that day, but at the very last minute you remember his father was a WWII war hero. Fine, you can go with 'snark overload' instead. “Friend of your dad’s, then? What happened? Time machine?”

“Fascist Russian trauma, actually,” he says, herding you into the elevator. “JARVIS, can you take over? I need to fly home to the Missus.”

“Wait, Stark--” He’s in the air before you can finish objecting.

One enlightening elevator ride later, you make your way to your workshop in a trance. This whole thing is a coincidence. It has to be. The man has gone through hell, vanquished hell, joined its army only to claw his way out... and his reward is what?

You?

“Took you long enough,” a voice says from the darkest corner of the space. You don’t have to guess who it is. There’s only one person it could be.

“That’s funny as hell in context, you know that?” Shit. Even to your own ears, you sound defensive. “Look,” you rush to add. “I picked this job to keep my Words to myself as much as possible, and I’ll keep doing that. I don’t want anything from you.”

You’re lying. You want a look at his arm like you want coffee in the morning, like you want air in your lungs after a brutal run. If he were anyone else you’d be planning a charm offensive, and you’re not what most people would describe as charming.

“One problem,” Barnes says, stepping out of the shadows with his flesh hand outstretched toward you. It’s so cinematic you forget he’s basically danger incarnate-- and then he makes contact.

Pleasure sizzles up from his grip on your wrist, skin to skin, soul to soul. It’s mind-numbing in the same way as the aftermath of an orgasm, so similar that you stumble a little bit when he lets go only seconds later. You’ve only read about Sensitivity or seen it depicted in movies, and neither did the full glory of it justice.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t look affected at all. “Yeah. One hell of a weakness.” 

You go from shaken to pissed faster than the Quinjet hits cruise speed. “Get the fuck out, then! My workshop is invite only.”

“Is that right?” Barnes asks, insultingly unphased. Your arms are crossed, and he just glares right into your eyes and taps one perfectly articulated metal finger on the newly silver Words on your hand. “Stark’s AI updated our medical files. If you’re unconscious, this gets me into your hospital room. That’s invitation enough.”

Fucking great. “Well, either knock me out or fuck off, then, Barnes. I have work left to do.” Your gut is twisted metal right now, jagged and raw from disappointment and desperation. This man is a legend, a warrior with a marvel of machinery for an arm and a past that would make the devil blush. He doesn't want you, and he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t. With misery staining your heart black as old oil, you stalk over to the nearest workbench before he can tell how upset you are. 

“It’s not personal,” he says flatly.

Soulmate words are as personal as it gets, which means he’s saying it to fire you up. You won’t rise to the bait. Most people are uncomfortable with silence, but you use it as a weapon. The minutes tick by as you clean off the work table, with no other sound than the clink of metal on metal and the slide of heavy tools on the hard, solid surface. 

Soon, all that’s left is a bucket half full of sand. At least this is simple and easy to understand; a cheap, abundant material used for friction, stability, and sometimes even a mold to pour hot metal into. As you burn away your fury with your impossible soulmate staring silent holes into your back, you wonder whether you’re half as valuable to him as this.

“Look. I don’t want or need--”

You shove the bucket off the side of the work table and spin around, your next words practically exploding out of your chest. “You think I don’t know that? I get it. I’m nobody. Neither of us want--” He’s advancing on you and you hop up onto the surface of the workbench, primed to kick, scratch, and scream if he tries to melt your brain again with your goddamned soulmate connection. 

“Jesus. Just-- stay inside, will you?”

With those cryptic words, Bucky Barnes walks out.

You’re speechless, and the worst part is how much your body is craving the glorious, drugging feeling of his touch on your skin.

JARVIS calls out your name just as you force yourself to assess the sand mess you’ve tantrumed everywhere. Your ‘what?’ is as short and annoyed as you can make it.

I thought you ought to know that Sergeant Barnes spent his time after leaving the Quinjet checking on your safety. He requested I adjust the camera angle to more fully catch the doorway to your room, requested the visitor logs--

“Which you denied, yes? Yes?” you snap, gripping the broom handle like it’s your soulmate’s neck.

Of course. Despite his assertion, mutual consent is required for such things, barring a formal, legal relationship.

“For the record, it’s bullshit that it took until 1973 for that.”

I heartily agree. As I was saying, Sgt. Barnes took it upon himself to--

“Blah blah safety, you win the award for meddling, JARVIS, but what I really need from you is a magical ability to clean up this mess.”

Deepest apologies, but there is a purpose to this endeavor. The door to your suite did not meet Sgt. Barnes expectations, regarding your safety on-site.

“What the hell are you-- Wait.” You drop the broom and head out, speaking angrily up at the ceiling as you stalk down the hallway. “Tell me there’s still a door there, JARVIS.”

I’m afraid I cannot.

“Yeah, you should be afraid!” you hiss. “Tell me where he is or I’ll take a blowtorch to the wiring in the server room.”

Stark’s damned AI doesn’t even have the grace to sound concerned. 

I see why some say you have a fiery temper. Sgt. Barnes is in one of the basement sparring rooms. Shall I arrange for an elevator?

“I’ll walk, thanks.”

The bank of exercise rooms is open to everyone on campus, and the doors only close when there’s someone in there. That makes it easy to figure out where to knock.

The door swings open, and your mouth runs dry.

Barnes is sweaty, wearing only a black tank and tight pants, and the harsh hallway light glistens on the metal of his arm. You’re completely certain that touching it will feel just as good as the skin-to-skin contact earlier. You drift forward, captivated, and the door shuts behind you. The clicking sound brings you back to furious reality.

Through gritted teeth, you say, “You. Owe. Me. A. Door.”

He scoffs silently, looking you up and down as if gauging how little effort he’d have to expend against you in a fight. “Stark owes you a door. I just proved that.”

“What the fuck gives you the right--”

Barnes interrupts not with words, but with quick, jerky movements at his waist, unbuckling, unzipping, and shoving. He slaps the flat of his palm against the Words on his bare thigh and says, “This. Every single woman I came in contact with was in danger. You’re not secure here.” He strips the pants off completely and throws them into the corner of the room before advancing on you, somehow just as menacing in briefs and a tank. “Not until we get this out of our systems.”

He’s lithe as a cat, and you’re only able to stumble back a few inches and scrunch your eyes shut before he encircles your wrist with one hand. 

The cool metal is soothing despite being inexorable. You suck in a surprised breath and open your eyes just in time to watch the clever shit that is your soulmate dip his head to kiss you.

The pleasure is sudden and devastating. Your heart seizes up, stutters, and starts sending napalm through your veins as he walks you back against the wall and presses the full length of his body against yours. If each touch is a contact high, these kisses are full-throttle erotic warfare, with your brain offline and your hindbrain keening. You 'fight back' with everything you have, fingernails scratching at the back of his neck, teeth grazing his inner lip, all with your Words pulsing encouragement on the back of your hand.

If you’re not careful, this soulmate bond will acid-etch the narcotic joy of this moment right into your heart.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Barnes lets out a deep groan and pulls back to look you directly in the eyes. “This is a strategy, not a relationship.”

You’re touch-drunk, but you’re not in love. “Look, Deathsquad, I only want you for your arm.”

Barnes’ smile is like the sun coming up, damn him. “Fuck me enough to get past Sensitivity and I’ll let you have a whole afternoon with it.” As if to emphasize how much you’d both enjoy that plan, he slides his flesh hand past your waistband and grabs your ass, holding you steady for the twist of his hips.

Your smarts are offline, your lungs are at half capacity, your cunt is criminally empty, and you fully understand how people end up falling for stranger soulmates, if this is what Sensitivity does to a person. 

“Fine,” you snap, hoping to hell you sound less needy than you feel.

The two of you glare at each other for a charged second, and then there’s a race to strip the rest of your clothes off. Not even sixty whole seconds later you’re kneeling on a thick floor mat, more nervous and excited than you’ve ever been in your life, damn him. Barnes comes up behind to set a warm, drugging hand on your hip, and then it’s bliss, sexual rapture from the very first thrust.

“Fuck, that’s insane,” he rasps into your ear, his right hand coming down hard on the mat beside you as he curls over and into you. “Perfect,” Barnes breathes, the word almost a whine, like he’d tried to hold it back and couldn’t. 

You’re almost at white-out, already seconds away from the kind of orgasm that rearranges a girl’s blood chemistry, but you can’t let this one go. Arching your back and leaning to the side, you rock your hips in a cadence that unbalances the two of you just enough to force him to brace with his left, instead. You’re moaning insult-adjacent nonsense syllables now, but you gather enough willpower to clutch his metal hand with your marked one.

“Now it’s perfect,” you grit out.

Barnes’ sexy chuckle in your ear sends you into a black-out orgasm for the ages.

You wake up alone, which feels like a statement, but you notice when you roll over that you’re not sticky. The clothes you’d torn off and thrown in wild abandon are folded next to you, too. You scramble to put them on, stepping curiously into the shared adjoining bathroom to find a wet washcloth draped over the towel rack and a sticky note marked with a large B on the mirror.

“Don’t get sentimental on me, asshole,” you mutter as you snatch it off.

Crankshaft:  Don’t get sentimental on me.  Wednesday at 4? B

The words are printed, even the B, meaning that while you laid there naked and insensate, he’d gone and printed something out instead of just waking you up. On top of that outrage, someone’s told him your nickname, which for some stupid reason feels more intimate than anything that just happened. It’s something that’s just yours, not influenced by stupid-ass destiny genetics, and if he tries to use it verbally, you’ll… you’ll… You sigh. There’s not one thing you can do to influence this guy, except possibly make him angry that you exist at all.

One big Sensitivity-struck security risk, that’s what you are.

You’re about to crumple up the note when you see it’s got something else hand drawn on the back, a sequence of numbers and letters in a jagged sort of rectangle. The shape looks familiar, but you’re sated and stupid after however long without caffeine. You gather up your things and make the walk of shame back to your apartment, realizing when you’re almost there that the fucking door is probably still missing.

It’s not. There’s already a brand-new door there, and on it is another sticky note. This one’s just the hand drawn shape and accompanying symbols. You snatch it up and go inside, vindictively locking the door with both locks until you remember Barnes’ whole thing about safety.

With a sour feeling in your stomach from doing exactly what he’d want you to, you lay both notes down to examine the shapes, finally sketching them out on a third piece of paper.

The numbers and letters work out to be a room and floor number, probably for his rooms here at the compound

Combined, the shapes look just like the plating for his metal arm

You refuse to be taken in by this, even if it is right up your alley.

“JARVIS?”

At your service, Miss.

“Will you locate a small, neutral space for a… meeting between myself and Sgt. Barnes tomorrow at four, and let both of us know the location once you’re finished?” There’s no way in hell you’re doing anything that even hints at girlfriend behavior with this guy, so no bedrooms. What’s between you is literally just biology, nothing more.

If you insist.

“I do. And don’t use my nickname with him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

The singing in your veins makes a good opposing argument, but that’s just biology again, and you won’t be swayed by it. The only thing you’ll be swayed by is his marvel of arm engineering. Everything else is just window dressing to help get you through the absurd pleasure-bond shit that comes with soulmate biology.

You skip dinner and go to bed early, dreaming all night of the purr of Barnes’ muscles over and against you, the gravel-drag of his stubble on your skin, and the hum of an engine starting to rev.

to be continued...

[bcksbarnes]

Originalsoulduck is also buckybarnesfic 🙈 I meant to use that but forgot

hahaha no worries thanks for sending in 🤩

[crowsofdarkness]

1940s Bucky is my absolute favorite. I'm loving the current story

-buckybarnesfic

1940's Bucky will forever hold my heart!

[bucky-is-my-favourite]

Into the woods part 2

CREDIT TO GIF OWNER

⚠️male recieving 18+ ⚠️

Summary - Ava and Bucky wake up the for the second day at the camp site

Hearing the birds chippering Ava's eyes flutter open with strong arms holding her against Bucky's chest she gets a warm feeling inside . Looking up Bucky is still asleep she pulls the covers up over them both to keep warm. Ava snuggles into Bucky's chest running her hand down his toned torso making him moan a little as she gets lower. Ava looks up at Bucky making sure he's still asleep before slowly moving underneath the covers pulling Bucky's black Calvin Klein boxers down enough to let his morning wood free. Ava takes Bucky's length in her hand slowly pumping up and down hearing moans come from Bucky she's wraps her lips around his tip licking away his pre cum she starts bobbing her head, feeling Bucky tense underneath her she get's a fright when Bucky moves his hand down to her hair. "Mmm morning Ava, ah fuckkkkk". Ava smiles against Bucky finding a rhythm of her hand and mouth moving at the same time. "Fuck i'm gonna c-cummmmm". Moving her hand faster made Bucky jerk his hips and grabs Ava's hand before exploding in her mouth "fuck yessssss!". Ava swallows before crawling back up to lie beside Bucky.

Bucky pulls Ava close kissing her head before trying to catch his breath. "That was amazing, I don't remember the last time I came like that. Wow". Ava giggles before she has the chance to say anything Steve bursts into the tent announcing that breakfast was ready. "What have you two been up to? Buck you look a bit red in the face everything ok pal?". Steve looks at the pair snuggled up and realises what's happened, "ohhhhhh right sorry I interrupted something, i'll leave you two love birds be! Remember use protection!" Steve chuckles leaving the pair in the tent alone.

Ava and Bucky get up shortly after pulling on their swimwear and heading to the showers to get freshened up, Bucky couldn't keep his hands to himself holding Ava close under the cold water. Sophia and Nat join the couple turning on the showers next to them. Ava rubs soap all over Bucky making him laugh. Sophia shoots her a dirty look before storming off.

"What happened between you two last night then?" Nat asks as she rubs shampoo in her hair.

"We got close, cuddles to keep warm amongst other things..." Bucky began but Ava playfully hit his arm.

"I'll fill you in later Nat!".

After showering the group ate breakfast and relaxed on a towel on the ground soaking up the sun, Bucky lay with Ava, his arm under her head whilst she snuggled into his side.

"Hey Buck!" Steven sat next to Bucky on his camping chair. "How you doing pal not seen much of you this trip"

"I'm good man, just been preoccupied". Bucky smiles stroking Ava's hair realising she's fallen asleep.

"It's about time you both hooked up, how long have you been friends like 5 years? As for the kissing and sharing a bed... how did you manage to do it without sleeping together?".

Bucky laughs at Steves comment. "I have self control pal, things will happen when she's ready, she's my girl. I'll do anything to make her happy"

"Do you love her?"

"Yeah, of course I love her. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her Steve. I hope when we get back to the city I can take her on a proper date, maybe even get out the city for a while. Who knows man I might even ask her to move in, I mean she's at my apartment ever other day why not make it her home as well?".

Steve grins down at his childhood bestfriend patting him on the shoulder before wandering away.

Bucky lies stroking Ava's hair in a daydream wondering what his and Ava's life with be like back in the big city.

Any idea's send them in please 🖤🦾

[drabblesandsnippets]

I'm INCREDIBLY honored - thank you so much for reblogging 🩶

2000 posts!

@drabblesandsnippets is the one who gets that honor 😂

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

Field Nurse Cora: Bucky Barnes fanfiction

Chapter One: In the Field and Under the German Sky

Cora Winston is a twenty-two years old nurse working in Germany caring for her fellow Americans. As she steps into the tent, she finds a couple rows of cots where a few men lay, groaning or moaning. Finding Ethel and Billie, they point her towards a couple cots to the left.

“They’re just in need of a few stitches but we’ll need you in ten or so minutes. We got a land mine amputation coming in. Just a moment Mister Barnes, Miss Cora will be with you.” Ethel coos, waving a hand to the gentleman sitting up in his cot, waving to the women.

“Hello Mister Barnes, what can I help you with?” She smiles, crouching down and using her cart for stability.

“I got this cut, it’s kind of,” he rolls to his right side, facing Cora with an uneasy smile and shows her the large, deep cut across his thigh, his pants ripped jaggedly around the area, “deep but it doesn’t hurt much anymore.” He grunts, gripping the edge of the cot on the metal bar.

“Doesn’t hurt much, huh?” She giggles, spraying the area with rubbing alcohol and handing the man a bottle of rum. “Take a good drink, Mister Barnes.” She coos.

“It’s Bucky, please.” He hushes, putting a hand on her arm.

“Alright, Bucky.” She coos, starting to stitch through his leg and bandaging over it. After finishing his leg, she disappears out of the tent and comes back a moment later with a pair of green pants for him.

“Miss, where am I supposed to change?” He asks as she drops the pants next to him. Looking over her shoulder with hot cheeks, she just shakes her head.

“Wherever you’re most comfortable Mister Barnes.” She calls as she heads towards the sound of a screaming patient.

An hour passes, her shift over now and she heads towards her tent for something to ear when she hears someone call out to her. Turning on a heel, here comes Mister Barnes. With a limp in his stride, and a grin on his face, he jogs up to her and greets her with a hand out. Gripping his strong hand, she finds herself blushing as he kisses her knuckles.

“Miss Cora, I just wondered if you wanted to eat with me, I miss eating dinner with company.” He offers, also offering an elbow for her. With a gentle grip on the crook of his elbow, he gives her a warm smirk before walking her to her tent. Pulling his bag from his shoulder, he pulls out a couple cans and sits on the ground, laying his coat on the ground for her to sit.

“Mister Barnes-”

“Bucky, christ please. Just call me Bucky or Buck, even James; but please not Mister Barnes.” He chuckles, standing and finding some wood to start a fire. Putting his can in and hers that she retrieved from her tent, she sits on his coat next to him. A sigh escapes her, she found it so comforting for the first time in a long time to be in a man’s presence.

“Sorry, Bucky.” She hushes, giving him an apologetic smile.

“It’s okay.” He assures, patting her shoulder, letting his hand rest there a moment. She tries not to shiver, but the chilly air that blows around them gives her a chill. With a snap, Bucky sprints into the darkness between the tents and she takes a moment to calm herself. Was was Bucky so cute? She wasn’t already crushing on Mister Barnes, was she? Shaking her head, the cans give a little pop and she quickly pulls their dinner from the fire and puts another couple branches on it and Bucky returns with a thick wool, Army issue blanket in hand. Wrapping it around her shoulders, he sits next to her pulling the other side around his own shoulder. Using the extra corners on each side, they both grab their cans and keys, unsealing the cans of stew. They eat in silence, a happiness floating between them.

“So, Cora, where you from?” He asks, swiping the back of his hand across his lips, red and puffy in its absence.

“New York, originally. Probably won’t go back after this. I’m gonna move somewhere where no one knows me, fresh start. You?” She returns, sitting on her hand to warm her fingers.

“Brooklyn, New York.” He says, scooting a little closer. “Do you mind?” He hushes, looking to her for an answer. A soft smile and a little nod is her only response as Bucky slides an arm around her shoulders. They sit together for another hour in comfortable silence.

“I should get to bed, my next shift is in a few hours.” She breaks the silence with a whisper. He huffs a breath out, standing and offering her a hand to help her up. With a gentle grip on his hand, Bucky pulls her to her feet and a hand grips her waist. A lock of curly blonde hair falls loose from her bun and Bucky twists it around his finger.

“I miss being in Boston, maybe we would’ve met there. A different world, a different way. Have a good night, doll.” He nods, untwisting his finger from her curl and bidding her good night.

“Maybe so, Bucky.” She whispers, thinking he hadn’t heard her as he continues to walk away. As she crawls into her cot, a couple loud booms echo and she hears a few nurses give a shriek. Finding it odd, she pulls on her wool army pants and her button up shirt, yanking her boots on and tucking her hair under her hat.

“Cora! Get on that truck!” Her superior Ethel shouts from twenty or so yards away. Grabbing her nurse’s bag from the table in the nurse’s tent and hopping on the truck that was driving away from the safety of base.

“There’s a blockade!” Someone shouts, the loudest, ear-ringing, deafening explosion echoes and she’s looking around at the carnage around her. Hyperventilating and choking, she stands in shock, unable to move as she looks around. Men lay scattered across the ground like leaves blown in the wind. Diving to the ground, she starts to clean wounds and dress them, keeping low. Kneeling in front of another soldier and wrapping cloth around the top of his head, she hears a distant shout from behind her; but assuming it wasn’t for her, she continues along, head down and tending to the hundreds of men.

“Wrap this around your leg!” She shouts to a soldier as she hands a soldier a belt to tourniquet his leg, below the knee totally gone. The shout echoes again, and this time she feels it’s for her.

“Get down!” A familiar voice shouts to her, but she can’t stop moving; unable to stop herself from helping the wounded men strewn around her. A man tackles her to the ground, lying on her to shield her. “Jesus christ. You okay?” Bucky shouts over the bombs that continue to land around them. She can’t respond, only stare at him in horror as they lay but six inches from a fellow soldier who sucks in a shaky breath and falls limp, cold eyes stuck open. “I’m so sorry. It’ll be over soon. Don’t worry.” He assures, hugging her against him as he stands and lifts her in his arms, carrying her towards a bunker. When an explosion echoes in front of them, Bucky jumps back into someone behind him. Being thrown to the ground, Bucky grabs for her but she’s ripped from his own grasp and dragged to a Russian truck, the thick accents. An elbow drills down into him, knocking him unconscious. She watches as they throw Bucky Barnes up into the truck like a ragdoll, their eyes landing on her with a dark grin. A moment later a heavy, thick canvas bag is put over her head and it reeked of oil and dirt. As they closed the bag tighter around her neck, she finds herself slipping from consciousness.

TAGLIST: @angel-grace1997 @princessinwonderland23

[khalessi34]

If You Let Me  (Material List)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader x Peter Parker 

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Themes, Drug use (ish) 

Summary: Bucky has been in love with Y/N since he first laid eyes on her. Peter has been in love with Y/N since they were kids. Y/N? She just wants to have fun. Why all the drama? 

Part One 

Part Two

Part Three

[soelstress]

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ usually I’d say hope you enjoyed but it’s angst… so…

Those Words

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Summary: Bucky knows what to expects when he hears them. But what if just once they were used for something else?

Warnings: angst , some violence , character death

Word count: 2.1k

Square filled for @avengers-assemble-bingo “Bucky Barnes Birthday bingo event": Square 3 'Trigger Words’

Card - 4B011

A/N - Hello lovelies! My third entry for the above bingo event. Please don’t hate me for the angst, I promise a light hearted piece for my last entry!

The pic is sourced from Google

Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

“What the hell is this?”

“Why don’t we discuss your home? Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn. No. I mean… your real home.”

Bucky froze when he recognised that book. The book red as blood with a thick black star dark as his nightmares embossed on the cover

“Longing”

“No.” Bucky shook his head in despair and closed his eyes as the sound of screaming began to echo within his mind.

“Rusted.”

Tremors rocked his body when realised it was one person screaming. “Stop.”

“Seventeen.”

“Stop.” Bucky gritted his teeth trying to fight the pain that ripped through him, not only from the memory of the torture that Hydra subjected him to but also from the whirring and activity of his metal limb which had been dormant for 18 months.

“Daybreak.”

A scream of agony tore from Bucky’s soul as he ripped free of the restraints within the pod and began punching the door in an attempt to escape both the horror of his present situation and the memory of the screams ringing in his head and the last time he heard those words.

************************************************

When the door of your apartment squeaked open followed by the creak of worn flooring you breathed a sigh of relief. Until that moment you hadn’t realised how worried you were. Filled with dread that he might be seen or captured and unable to return to you or even let you know what had happened to him. But he was here now.

You watched as James walked into your bedroom and sat on your bed leaving some space. As his fingers twitched with nerves you waited with what looked like patience but internally you were dying to know what happened.

After what seemed like an eternity he took a small breath. “Bucky.” You blinked in confusion. That was not how you expected him to start but waited for him to elaborate. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. But he called me Bucky.”

“He?”

“Captain America. Steve. My best friend.”

When you caught a glance of his blank face you realised he was reciting the information emotionlessly. Cautiously you probed him. “You remember that?”

There was a pause before he shook his head. “I read it. The exhibit at the Smithsonian.” He broke off and resumed his fidgeting.

There was a swooping sensation in the pit of your stomach. This was it. His opportunity to find his friend who would hopefully be able to help restore his memories and determine his future. You shouldn’t be surprised as you had encouraged him to go to the museum and see if it would help him remember. “What now?”

He sighed heavily. “That man who fought all those years ago alongside his best friend… I’m not him. He’s gone. He was experimented on and changed into something different. And I don’t want to be what they made me. I want to be someone else.” When his flesh hand tipped your chin up you saw him looking at you with a timid smile. “These past few months I’ve started to learn about who I am now. I’d like to learn more about who I am… with you.” As he spoke a softness entered his eyes, so different to the caution you first saw months prior. The day after SHIELD had fallen both literally and metaphorically.

Debris from their headquarters along with the three helicarriers had rained down upon the city causing destruction and damage which had led to your short shift as a student nurse at a hospital in DC turning into overnight volunteering as you helped wherever possible. Once the worst injuries had been treated and a semblance of calm returned to the building you were told to go home. You were exhausted but decided to walk the few blocks home rather than get a cab hoping to clear your mind of the chaos you’d faced. As the sight of the main door entered your eye line you’d been too distracted to focus on your surroundings and notice the three men following you. They had yanked you into an alley before shoving you against a wall and demanded your purse and phone. One held a blade and had sliced your cheek when you failed to move or respond from exhaustion and your head hitting the wall. The other two held you against the wall with one hand covering your mouth to muffle any noises. A noise of pain had barely formed when they were yanked away from you. As you slid down the wall surrendering to exhaustion and pain all you saw were a pair of blue eyes that you hoped would relieve you of your pain.

The next thing you remembered was waking up in your apartment. The man had sat watching you from a chair at the foot of your bed. In short sentences he had said that he wasn’t able to take you to a hospital but had stayed with you in case you had a concussion. He had also treated the cut from the knife on your cheek. You offered him money as a reward but he declined. When you saw he was filthy and bloody you’d offered him a shower and a change of clothes which he had hesitantly accepted. While he showered you checked your phone when breaking news alerts popped up about the Avengers. Clicking on the alert you saw snippets about SHIELD, Hydra and their weapon. The Winter Soldier. The man in your shower. A ruthless assassin was in your shower. A ruthless assassin… who had saved you.

Instead of running or calling for help, you couldn’t help wanting to know why he helped you. He confirmed everything you had read but said that after SHIELD and Hydra he wanted to run and be free from their clutches. His memory was obviously flawed so you gave him the basic information the article had revealed. He had said that while this information was fresh he needed to hide until he could figure out what to do. Whether to learn about his past or to move on and leave it behind. You’d never understand why but you offered to let him stay with you. During that time you had witnessed his nightmares and tried to help comfort him in the little ways he could bear; a glass of water, a blanket or pillow to hold on to because he still flinched at the slightest contact or just sitting close by so he wasn’t alone. Slowly but surely he began to open up and a tentative friendship was born with soft touches, small smiles and him sharing the little flashes of his life before Hydra. But you knew this couldn’t go on forever, he needed to decide what to do with his life. So you started mentioning the Captain America and Howling Commandos exhibit at the Smithsonian. And today he had finally gone.

“Come with me.” You couldn’t help giggling at the puzzlement adorning James’ face. It was a look he often wore when looking at you as if there was something about you he couldn’t figure out. You gestured to a black backpack which held your passport and your savings in. “James, you know I’ve saved up to go on a long vacation. Come with me. See the world. Learn who you are.”

The next few moments were all a blur. There was a sudden bang and smoke filled the apartment. Over the ringing in your ears you could hear some noise and when you looked up James was speaking to you but there was no sound. He was suddenly yanked away from you and you were also hauled to your feet as men dressed in black with large guns swarmed into your bedroom.

You barely registered the blade pressed to your throat as James was forced to kneel with his hands restrained behind his back. Both of you knew that he could break the restraints with laughable ease. But as you struggled to free yourself the hopelessness of the situation sank in. From what little you could understand there were reinforcements coming. James refused to leave without you. And the cold reality washed over you that you were going to die. But instead of worrying about your own life and trying to fight the inevitable, your concentration was the man who had such an impact on your life in such a short time.

Shame and defeat burned through Bucky. He had failed. To escape Hydra. To free himself. But most importantly he had failed to protect you who had done so much - risked so much - for him. His actions had led to this moment. They had almost certainly followed him from the museum. Bucky trembled as he met your gaze. Why did you look so apologetic? Bucky shook his head in reassurance and tried to brave a smile which caused yours to falter. He looked away guiltily.

“Longing.” It was breathed so softly that Bucky only heard it because of his enhanced hearing.

“Rusted.” Bucky’s skin began to crawl at the familiar words before he noticed the confused muttering in the room.

“Seventeen.”

Panic began to descend when his metal fingers flexed restlessly and his arm crackled. Bucky looked up to warn you, to hope you’d remember what he’d said but the words died in his throat. He had seen so many of your expressions - happiness, sadness, anger and even pity when he told you what little he could remember of his past lift and the torture he had been subjected to with Hydra. But to watch devastation and heartbreak twist your kind features as you used the words that he had taught you to beware and that he had dared hope to never hear again. His heart plummeted, not from betrayal but dread. You weren’t using them against him. You were using them for him.

Bucky struggled to fight his captors. Even as two goons dragged you into the adjacent room you continued to scream the words which sounded odd with your poor pronunciation but also in your sweet voice. Bucky roared as the cuffs snapped with a flick of each wrist and fought his way towards the door you had been herded through. The words still bled through the walls muffled but discernible to his ears. Screaming for you Bucky began to ram against the door.

As the whole wall seems to shudder from impacts on Bucky’s side you still reeled off his words that you remembered solely from memory. Tears streamed from your eyes as your heart shattered at Bucky’s pained cries for you. You only hoped that if he remembered this that one day he might realise your intentions. The last word had barely passed your lips before ending in a wet gurgle. One of the goons had stabbed you with a blade which now stuck out of your chest as you collapsed to the floor in a heap. When silence reigned through the space the second goon went to the door which then exploded in a shower of fragments and splinters and knocked him down. A familiar figure slowly stepped closer to the man who stabbed you. Though you knew this man he did not know you. His blue eyes were cold and remote.

“Soldargh!”

You watched the man squirm in the silver chokehold which slowly cut off his circulation and dropped him carelessly to the floor. Over the pounding in your head you heard a low mumble of Russian but it wasn’t until silver fingers glided along your wound that your attention moved back to your saviour. For a moment you thought that he might do something to end your suffering but instead he stared at you and you distantly realised he was waiting for instructions.

“Run.”

You weren’t sure if he understood but the slight dip in his brows was enough to show his recognition. Spluttering through the warm metallic liquid pooling in your mouth you lifted your leaden arm and pointed to the pack in the corner. There was a moment's hesitation before he walked over to the pack and picked it up before glancing at you when he heard your breathing become slow and shallow.

“Run. Don’t let them catch you.”

Your vision began to darken but you fought with every breath to watch as he tugged the bag over his shoulder. The last thing you saw before the darkness consumed you was a pair of blue eyes that you hoped would one day forgive you.

[beautifulmisconception]

TITLE TBA PT. 2

Hello everyone! This is part 2 or chapter 2 of the Bucky fic I posted earlier this month. Still looking for some more feedback. If you like it please comment! :)

TITLE TBA

BUCKY X OC (I’m debating between OC and reader, work in progress)

Warnings: none

Day 3

“Little sister, it is time to wake up,” I groaned tossing and turning in the blankets before finally sitting up and he chuckled. “Tony has arrived, they are waiting for you in the medical wing.”

I quickly throw on some jeans and a faded t-shirt before padding down the hall to grab my bag and slip on my shoes. Walking down the ramp I can hear Shuri and Tony already talking and the familiar click of the restraints holding Mr. Barnes in place. His pale eyes seem to follow me as I step around the corner and I shudder, heading towards Tony.

 “Mr. Stark, it is good to see you again.”

 “Please call me Tony.” he smiles as he sits perched on a lab table with a bag of chips in his hand. It almost seems like he is staring into space but, the led screens flashing across his glasses tell me he’s looking over the scans.

 I make myself busy separating files across numerous screens and prepping the machine for when they bring Barnes back in. My hands are busy wiping the many facets of the helmet but my mind has long wandered back to Steve and Vision. Tony lost them as well but, from this angle he seems to well put together I wonder if he feels it at all.

 “Friday, open Jarvis...Vision’s old files please.” Stark says and I’m brought back to the room.

 Files flash out in front of him for everyone to see and Shuri heads over to read them. As they begin talking I wonder if I really was the person for this job. I can’t even bare to look at the files and when I hear his voice from audio files I have to take a minute and walk out onto the balcony. Vision may have been a creation of Tony but he was one of my closest friends.

 “I’m sorry if that was difficult for you to hear.”

 I’m startled by his sudden appearance as Tony leans against the railing next to me.

 “You lost them too. I’m sorry Tony. How’s Wanda holding up?”

 He’s quiet for a moment and he sighs, “She’s doing as well as to be expected. We haven’t had her training, giving her time. Her powers are a little…..unpredictable at the moment.”

 “We all are trying to cope.” I said softly.

 He nods and with the LED no longer showing I can finally see the sadness in his eyes. He’s grieving like the rest of us and it was dumb of me to think he wouldn’t be. He lost more than just Vision and Steve, he also lost his hope for a family. I had never met Potts but, from what I understood she seemed like a lovely woman. Plus anyone that could reel in Tony had to be a special and strong woman indeed. We head inside together as Okoye is moving  Barnes, the glass chamber pushed to side and replaced by a metal chair heavy with restraints.

 “Mr. Barnes, do you remember us?”

 He stares blankly.

 “What’s your objective?” I ask, my voice startling even me in the silence.

 “To kill Captain America.”

 “You’re lying. What is your objective?” Tony asks, irritation in his voice.

 “Who sent you?” Shuri follows.

 “Silly of me to try and deceive you. I’m to infiltrate Avengers headquarters to take all files labeled Jocasta.”

 “What do you want with them?” Tony questions and Barnes stares, his face grim.

 “I don’t know.”

 Okoye followed by guards leads him back to his cell as Tony pulls up the scans from today and compares them to the day before.

 “Less activity,” I state, “Mr. Stark what is Jocasta?”

 “Call me Tony, Mr. Stark reminds me of my father,” he clicks a few keys and a file shows up, “Project Jocasta is similar to the program that originally created Jarvis and Ultron. It’s also partially what contributed to the design of Vision.”

 “It was one of the files Ultron tried to absorb when he took over Jarvis. You stopped it by initiating Friday and re-transfering files to Vision.”

 Tony smiles and Shuri begins flicking through the files rapidly, “Someone did their homework.”

 “Well I like to know who I’m working with.” I shrug.

 “I think I figured out the link,” Shuri states and we stare at the screen, “Jocasta was a program ultimately linked to the same file as Ultron. The signature reading originally marked from the program is the same pattern we are seeing when we look at Mr. Barnes brain activity.”

 “Someone is trying to use him to basically memorize the file. They didn’t want him to steal it, they wanted him to read it and report back so no one would realize it’s missing.”

 “Clever, but who would want it?” I question, wracking my brain for possibilities.

 “That’s what we need to find out.” Tony

  thanks for reading! Please let me know what y’all think, should I continue this? I know this part was a bit short but, I’m still figuring out where I’d like things to go!

[fictionkinfessions]

(for March 10th) HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME AND TO EVERY OTHER BUCKY BARNES KINNIE, FICTIVE, FABLEING, SYNPATH, ETC. OUT THERE! 106 years of being the fucking best. <3 #👁️🩸💧

🪨

[crowsofdarkness]

@buckybarnesfic I need this bed in the sims.

[buckyssinbin]

The Great Bucky Baking Fuck Up

A/N: This drabble/fic is a birthday present for Becks ( @dontstopwiththelyin ) Happy Birthday lovely! Hope you love it! 

A/N 2.0: As this is a birthday present for Becks she didn’t read it before hand so if there are any mistakes I apologize!

Warnings: Fluffy, Bucky Baking, Cursing, and I don’t think there is anything else.

Pairing: BuckyxReader

Bucky was frantic. It was your birthday and he wanted to bake you a cake. The problem. He'd never baked before. So he had enlisted the help of Natasha and Steve and they were late. Bucky had all the ingredients set out in the kitchen and he was dialing Steve's number.

"Steve!" he exclaimed. "Where the hell are you guys?"

"Sorry, pal," Steve said, "We're on the quinjet. Fury sent us out on a last minute mission. Just follow the recipe you'll be fine. Gotta go, we're landing." Bucky heard a click and covered his face with his hand frustrated. Then he composed himself.

"I am a bad ass assassin. I can bake a cake. I'll bake the fuck outta that cake." he said out loud before setting to work.

***

Five hours later found Bucky standing next to the island, exhausted and pissed off. His eyes scanned the evidence of his battle with the kitchen appliances and it wasn't pretty. Flour dusted every surface  of the kitchen. He dumped all the flour into the mixer at once before rereading the recipe and seeing where it said to add the flour gradually. Broken eggs lay on the floor from not placing them inside of a bowl to prevent them from rolling away. Measuring spoons and cups littered the counters, bowls were strewn about, various liquids and powders covered the flat areas of the kitchen…including the floor, and not one but two cakes that had come out before were thrown in the trash. But the icing on the cake, pun intended, was the final cake that was sitting on the island under intense scrutiny from one Sam Wilson.

"Yeah, you baked the fuck outta it, alright," Sam said, leaning back. The dark cake sat there pitifully. "Maybe once you put the icing on it, it'll be alright. I mean, chocolate cake and chocolate icing are delicious." Bucky groaned.

"It's vanilla," he whined, covering his face with his hands.

"Daaaamn," Sam said, "What did you set the oven too? Thor's Lightning or Tony's Repulsors? Or maybe Human Torch?"

"Fuck, Sam what do I do?" Bucky said, "I was banking on this cake for her birthday. She's gonna hate me! What kinda boyfriend can't even do cake right?" Sam didn't have a chance to respond because you entered the kitchen going for a soda from the fridge.

Your eyes widened as you took in the scene. Bucky staring forlornly at a cake, Sam looking at Bucky trying not to laugh, and the carnage from what would come to be known as the Great Bucky Baking Fuck Up.

"What happened in here?" You asked as Sam walked out of the kitchen barely concealing a snort.

"I tried to bake you a cake for your birthday and…" he raised his hand defeatedly at the mess. You bit your lip trying not to laugh.

"Bucky," you said, getting his attention before wrapping your arms tightly around him. "Thank you. No one's ever burnt a cake for me before." Bucky leaned back and glared at your grinning face playfully. "Really though, thank you. I appreciate the thought. Now, how about we clean this up then I'll let you buy me a cake for my birthday…and if you're feeling really generous we can get some drinks and just cuddle and eat cake and get drunk while watching terrible movies together?" Bucky smiled at you.

"I think I can manage that," he murmured before placing his lips on yours, "Happy Birthday, Doll."

Tag List:

@dontstopwiththelyin @yellowtheremarvelfan @atrujillos97 @heismyhunter @nottheopera @sebbymylove16 @avengingnights @uriensane @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x

@totheendofthelinepal it wouldn’t let me tag you