#were the barnes army now ig

[chevvsgotanumbrellatattoo]

Dear Marvel,

If you hurt Bucky Barnes any further, the Fandom will come for you. We will storm HQ when you least expect it.

Sleep with one eye open,

The Barnes Army

[rosepetalsinwinter]

Meant to Be — Bucky Barnes (3)

Chapter 3 — Ceux Qui Rêvent

Pairing: mafia!bucky x innocent!reader

Word count: 6,170

Summary: Nothing is as it seems. A new character is introduced and her life is altered. Can the girl at least find solace in her dreams?

Note: This chapter was a long time coming! The last half is a dream, so the writing is more abstract. Hope it's easy to follow along! Happy reading! &lt;3 <3

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Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4

"Alone with thoughts of what should have long been forgotten, I let myself be carried away into the silent screams of delirium."

— Amanda Steele

April 25, 2018

When she was a little girl, she loved to explore her house when it was too hot to play outside. She would hide in the dumbwaiter, scare the unsuspecting maids and cover herself in bubble wrap armour to save her dolls from the horrifying monster who lorded over the living room. There was an adventure to be found in every nook and cranny of the house.

In Vancouver, she had a similar place that helped satisfy her imagination. The Irving K. Barber Learning Centre was a three-minute walk from the bus loop, eight minutes from her Developmental Psychology course and only five minutes from her work. Known as the "Harry Potter Room" for its winding staircase and portrait-plastered walls—it was one of the girl's favourite places on campus, and she often went there to draw. The light streaming from the floor-length windows made it the perfect spot.

It reminded her of home, and while she usually avoided anything related to it, the library in New York held a special place in her heart. Many hours were spent amongst pages detailing great adventures, whether she was fighting Sauron's army on Middle-earth or looking for buried gold in Treasure Island.

It was surprising, then, when it took her a moment too long to recognize her surroundings when she first woke up on a couch, a blanket covering her now-dried form—Dried and clothed.

She shook her head and tried to collect her thoughts. She was on her way to her dorm from the party when... what happened exactly? She remembered salt, the taste of sand in her mouth, and—Oh. Someone had grabbed her. The girl looked around frantically, realizing, with a start, that she wasn't in the Learning Centre as she had initially assumed.

The library was dark, the moon barely illuminating the room in front of her. It gave the space a sinister feel, and she was sure that any second, Lord Voldemort would round the corner with Nagini at his heel and use one of the unforgivable curses on her.

In front of her, however, hidden in the shadows, sat someone far more dangerous than Lord Voldemort; and far more real. The girl had not seen him in five years since she left home and never looked back.

Dressed head to toe in Italian silk, Danial Burgundy sat in a leather armchair in front of the girl, ankles crossed and languidly nursing a cigar. "Welcome home," came his gravelly voice, just as stern and commanding as she remembered.

Home. The word made bile rise in her throat. She was shaking like a leaf and sweating, despite the cold air surrounding her. She fell to her knees on the ground and grabbed the nearest object—an unfortunate potted plant—emptying the contents of her stomach. The sound of her gagging echoed through the large room.

Danial winced sympathetically. "You're a lightweight, I presume?"

The girl closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning, trying to collect her nerves. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and fell back against the couch. Trembling fingers inched the thin blanket back up her shoulders to stop her body from shaking.

"Where am I? What do you want?" Her voice was surprisingly strong, if not a little raspy from disuse and thick from the fear coursing through her body. The girl already knew where she was—there was no mistaking the intricately arched ceiling or the columned walls—but she wasn't sure what she was doing there.

Danial ignored her question, opting to ask one of his own. "Do you realize how much trouble you caused when you ran away?" He didn't sound particularly bothered, only mildly annoyed. "I looked everywhere for you."

"Not hard enough if it took you five years," she murmured, and her snarky remark took them both by surprise. Perhaps the effects of the wine were still running through her body.

Danial gave a short, sarcastic laugh and unbuttoned the top of his suit, loosening his tie. "You are just like your mother."

At the mention of her mother, she couldn't help but whimper. "Where is she?"

Again, Danial ignored her. "You think I'm some fool? Unable to manage my only daughter?"

She shook her head, looking for an opportunity to speak, but her father persisted. "On November 7, 2014, you saw a homeless man in an alley and gave him your coat."

The girl stared. It was cold that day. She herself was shivering under her measly layers, so when she saw an elderly man with only a cardboard box for shelter, she didn't hesitate to give him the clothes off her back. Her dorm was far, and she caught a bad cold that lasted a week, but she never regretted her decision.

"Jace? Was his name Jace? I forget."

"Jason," she whispered, eyes wide with disbelief. "How do you know that?"

Danial laughed humorlessly. "I knew exactly where you were going the second you stepped foot outside of New York. I know that you accelerated your studies and that you took money from my safe. I know all about the week you spent on the streets and how you lied about your age at the shelter."

"No," the girl denied, "that's not possible. I was—"

"What?" her father challenged. "You were careful? Vigilant? Not nearly enough, daughter."

The girl thought of all the contingencies she had so carefully prepared for. Her life was half lived, and for what, when he had found her despite it? "What will you do to me?" she asked.

Danial took a long drag of his cigar, standing up and making his way over to her. "It's not what I'll do. It's what you will do for me."

"I won't do anything for you!" The girl craned her neck to look up at her father. "I want to go home."

He leaned forward and grabbed her chin. "You are home."

Despite her struggle, hot tears still managed to plop down on the carpeted floor. Her lips quivered as she fought the sob threatening to push past her lips.

Danial pursed his lips. "After your brother's passing, I planned to give it all to you."

"I don't want it!" she exclaimed, but her words might as well have been silent because her father completely ignored her.

"I was going to give you everything!" Danial hummed. "Then you left and proved you don't have what it takes."

For the life of her, the girl couldn't understand why her father was telling her all of that. Danial Burgundy owned Manhattan, as well as a sizable chunk of Staten Island. He was a mob boss, using various family businesses as a front for a vast underground smuggling network. He also had many properties all over the world, but she was never inclined toward them.

"George Barnes," her father announced, "is looking to expand."

Indistinctly she recognized the name, having come across it some time in her life. A nondescript shadow flitted through her mind, one with brown hair and an intimidating smile.

"His son is perfect for the job."

The girl frowned when the meaning hit her. Her heart ached at the thought of anyone replacing her brother, even if it was for a less than respectable job. Again, she wondered what any of that had to do with her.

Danial sighed at his daughter's lack of a verbal response. "Eleanor never wanted this for you."

The mention of her mother stopped the girl in her tracks. "What?" she whimpered.

"But I think she would understand at the end of the day that I had no other choice."

"What do you mean?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"George Barnes and I came to an agreement... You are going to marry his son, James."

There was silence, so loud that it would have been unnerving if the girl had not begun to laugh. Her tears came down faster, and she gasped for breath between hysterical sobs and panicked giggles.

"You find this funny, daughter?" Danial asked with a tick in his jaw.

"No," she sobbed.

"No, you don't find this funny?"

"No, I don't want to marry him."

Danial simmered. "Good thing I wasn't asking for your permission then. You will marry James Barnes, daughter."

"I won't marry him," she promised. "I won't! You cannot make me!" There he stood, casually enjoying an imported cigar as her entire world came to an abrupt halt.

Danial merely hummed. "Charming that you think you have a choice in the matter." He sighed deeply. "But I believe you. You get your stubbornness from me."

The girl refused to acknowledge any similarities with her father.

"Dove Myra Rivers," Danial announced after a brief pause. "Pretty name for a pretty girl. Don't you agree? Your mother originally wanted to give you a similar name—did I ever tell you that? But I won in the end, and here we are. It's that stubbornness, you see."

The girl went cold, paling all over, unable to speak or make sense of anything.

"A business major, correct? But you and I both know her real passion lies in music."

The girl's voice was just above a whisper. "How do you know that?"

"She thinks you're at work," he continued, "so she's waiting for you to come home so you can pack up the rest of your things. You were planning to move out over the weekend, weren't you?"

Fresh tears gathered in her eyes as the reality of the situation finally hit her. "No."

"She's very vulnerable right now. Understandable, though, after the night she's had. Wouldn't you say?"

"Father, please."

"If I were her, I wouldn't think to double-check the door—"

"Father."

"—and I definitely wouldn't think to check the coat closet for anybody hiding there."

"Please don't hurt her." Try as she might, all her pleas landed on deaf ears.

"Oh, I don't want to. Believe me." He squat down to her height, elbows on his knees and a solemn expression on his face. "But if you leave me no other choice..." he trailed off, the implication clear.

"No," she whispered.

"Yes," came his reply.

"Father, don't. Please." Her voice shook, and her breath hitched.

"Tell me you will marry him," Danial demanded, confident that he had worn her down.

"No!" she shook her head.

"Tell me!" he shouted. "Now!"

"I don't want to! Please, don't make me."

"I need an answer, daughter."

"I'll do anything else," she pleaded. "Anything but this."

The telltale sound of an incoming call stopped the rest of her ramblings. Danial stood straight and answered his phone. "Ah!" he exclaimed after putting the device to his ear. "She's getting a drink of water from the kitchen. Seems as good a time as any. Won't you say?"

"You don't have to do this." Her voice was a whisper. Fear laced her features. She did not know her father to be a liar.

"Oh, but I do. Tell me, will you behave, or will you make me sin tonight?"

Her body tensed, and she shut her eyes, wanting to disappear. Wanting to wake up only to find that the entire night had been a cruel nightmare. What wouldn't she give for all this to be some dream?

"It will only take one word to seal your friend's fate. Either a "yes" from you, or a "now" from me."

The girl's form visibly deflated, along with her resolve. This was the last thing she wanted. The reason she never let herself close to anyone. Dove had been an anomaly. She came into the girl's life like a storm and whisked her off her feet. Forced her to let some of her guard down and be vulnerable.

She never should have let Dove close to her.

"Don't make me choose for you, daughter. I really rather not."

"Yes," she concurred. There was nothing else to be done. She wouldn't have cared much if only her life was at stake. But she could not put her friend in danger.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll do it," the girl said evenly. "I will marry James Barnes."

Danial's lips stretched into a smirk, quirking slightly at the corners. "Leave her be," he spoke into the phone, promptly ending the call. He took another long drag of his smoke, blowing black clouds onto the girl's face. "Good choice, daughter."

The house was just as she remembered it. A sleek pebbled driveway led to large marble columns and an uninviting door. Big and intimidating. For the past five years she had been gone, not one thing had changed. Almost five acres of land that housed her entire childhood stood as arrogantly as it did when it was first erected.

A circular driveway with a fountain decorated the middle, surrounded by grounds on both sides. Trimmed hedges and meticulously placed decorations gave the hundred-year-old mansion a more modern feel. The marble and stone were a welcome contrast to the even older trees lining the property—trees the girl spent the first half of her life climbing with her brother.

The fenced property, where she used to find comfort, was now a cesspool for all the nightmares that followed her from her dreams. She ran away because she didn't feel safe, but now, the adage "time heals all wounds" became blatantly refuted when she felt her heart weep in pain. Cuts that had long since been closed, reopened, and all the feelings she had kept at bay, dreading the moment they resurfaced, came rushing back with such swiftness that she was left winded.

It felt all too real now. The weight of the situation drooped the girl's shoulders. She fought against the hold on her arm, grabbing onto the sofa, but her father's men were huge, and it took only one of them to drag her out of the study.

She dug her feet into the marble of the foyer—anything to delay the inevitable. "No!" she screamed, and her father merely rolled his eyes as if she were some toddler throwing a tantrum. All her efforts were futile.

The inside of the house dripped with wealth. Crystal sculptures and priceless paintings adorned the walls—as if the outside were not blatant enough, and one needed an additional reminder of the wealth the Burgundys had.

There was a time when she was ignorant of her family's wealth. It wasn't until the girl was sleeping on the streets and eating out of dumpsters that she understood how privileged she was—even if it was at the expense of others.

Now, being towed past the white hallway, all the girl could see was red. The blood of all those her family had wronged stained the walls and seeped into the floor.

A portrait decorated the hallway. The girl, her parents, and her brother, fourteen years younger, with bright smiles on their faces. She remembered the day they had posed for it—a week before her brother's birthday, only a month before his death.

He was so handsome.

With a silent sob, she looked away.

At some point, her legs stopped resisting the forward pull, and she let "Barton," as her father called him, take her to the second floor.

When they passed her mother's room, the girl craned her neck to peek in, but was pushed unceremoniously down the hall and through a door before she could see anything of value. It was dark, and she tripped on the carpet, falling to her knees.

Her father's shadow loomed over her, blocking what little light had managed to escape from the hall. "Use the day to rest and get yourself reacquainted," he suggested. "We'll talk tomorrow."

The girl looked down at his feet, glaring at the size ten Italian Leather, wanting—but knowing she could never be courageous enough—to spit on it.

Her father turned to her with one foot out of the door. "And I don't think I need to remind you what's at stake here, do I?"

"You mean, who?" she wanted to retort. Instead, she shook her head. "No."

And he left, locking the door behind him, leaving the girl in complete darkness for the second time in her life.

"Why do you work for him?" she asked the french girl drawing her a bath.

"I needed a job, and Mr. Burgundy needed a maid."

"But don't you know what he does? How dangerous he is?"

Fleur, the french girl, tsked in annoyance before sighing and softening considerably. "Girls," she started in a heavy accent, "who know how to keep their mouth shut are in big demand—strip, chérie."

The girl waited for Fleur to turn away before taking off her clothes and submerging herself in the scalding water. "I kept my mouth shut," she murmured sadly.

From the moment they met, Fleur made it her mission to prepare the girl for her upcoming nuptials. She said nothing when she walked in to find the girl hunched over the toilet seat, sobbing and heaving uncontrollably. She merely squared her shoulders, cleaned the unfortunate mess and sent the girl to rest with a cold pack and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

Fleur hummed. "Not tight enough, maybe?"

The girl guffawed, settling deeper into the water. "I guess not."

Despite her rough exterior, Fleur had a soft heart, which was apparent by the sweet names she gave the girl.

"Oh, ma chérie, where were you just now?" Fleur asked as she massaged the girl's scalp with a floral-smelling shampoo. "Dunk." The girl submerged her hair in the water and vigorously shook her head to wash away the suds.

"Nowhere," she distractedly replied when she re-emerged. "Fleur? How did you get to New York all the way from France?"

"Ah! You are curious?" Fleur questioned.

"Oui," the girl nodded.

"Some things are better left in the past. Are you sure?"

The girl said nothing.

"Très bien. I am from Marseille," Fleur began. You know it?"

"Oui," the girl replied. "It's a port city in the south."

Fleur hummed in satisfaction. "I grew up in the... how you say? L'orphelinat?"

"An orphanage?" the girl supplied.

"Oui, orphanage," said Fleur.

"So, you have no parents?" the girl asked.

"I have parents," Fleur said with a nod. "They just did not want me."

"I'm sorry," said the girl.

"Non, don't apologize. Mama wanted me, and Papa didn't. I was a... They were not married. Papa was rich, and Mama was not.

"Dunk," Fleur commanded, and the girl submerged herself in the water, washing away the conditioner.

"I was seven when she gave me to l'orphelinat. I began working as a maid when I turned sixteen and married when I was seventeen."

"Seventeen? But you were just a child!" the girl exclaimed.

"Non," said Fleur. "I stopped being a child long before that. I was a woman when I married."

"But... you're so young!" the girl exclaimed, lightly skimming a finger over Fleur's left hand. "And you don't wear a ring."

"I am twenty-six. That is not too young for me," replied Fleur. "And there is no ring because I am not married anymore," Fleur replied.

"Who was he?" the girl asked after a brief pause.

"The youngest son of the family I worked for, only two years older. He was a writer. Mon Dieu the most beautiful I ever saw. He had a way with words no one else did and made the most beautiful poetry." Fleur's words softened towards the end of her sentence as she became lost in memories.

"Did you love him?" the girl asked with a smile.

"Non, not at all," Fleur replied nonchalantly with a shake of her head. "Maybe in the beginning. He was mean and liked to punch walls. And when drunk, he liked to punch me."

The girl gasped, surprised at the turn Fleur's love story had taken. Her heart hurt for sweet Fleur, who was only a few years older than the girl. "Fleur."

"He kept me secret for many months, until he couldn't anymore." Fleur continued sadly.

"Why couldn't he keep you a secret anymore?" the girl asked hesitantly, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

Fleur began brushing the girl's wet hair with gentleness—the girl suspected—that only came prior to delivering heartbreaking news. "I was almost five months when I found out. He was the first person I told... and the last."

She knew where the story went from there. She just knew. The grief in Fleur's eyes, the deep sadness in her movements, could only hint at a single outcome. "Fleur?"

"Turns out, falling two flights of stairs," Fleur answered, "is very dangerous for unborn babies."

The girl turned her head and kissed the hand near her shoulder, grasping it tightly to provide Fleur with some strength. She could not begin to imagine the grief that came from losing a child. If it were anything close to losing a brother, then she wouldn't wish it on anyone.

"That's when Mr. B—When Mr. Burgundy found me," Fleur continued after a deep breath. "He promised me a job in exchange for my discretion. I've been with him ever since."

The girl absently ran a loofah over her chest and shoulders, taking in Fleur's story, looking for a silver lining. She found none.

"Do you..." the girl hesitated before asking.

"Go on," Fleur encouraged.

"Do you think you will ever love again?" the girl asked meekly.

"Oui," Fleur replied without hesitation. "I will always keep my heart open."

"I don't think I'll ever be in love, Fleur," the girl whispered.

Fleur drained the tub and passed the girl a bathrobe. They entered her closet, filled with clothes she didn't want and wouldn't wear. The girl picked out the least ostentatious pyjamas she could find and made her way to where Fleur was looking out the bay window.

The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, admiring the expansive trees lining the property.

"I don't want to marry him, Fleur," the girl confessed, internally wincing when her voice cracked.

Fleur sighed and enveloped her in a warm hug. "I know, ma chérie. I know."

April 26, 2018

It was just past three when she opened her eyes with a groan, trying for the past few hours to fall asleep. The sheets were too scratchy, the air too stuffy, and the house too silent. She missed her tiny two-bedroom dorm that she could barely afford, and her neighbour who stayed up late complaining to her mother about her "no good boyfriend who could never keep a job." The girl missed being woken up by Dove in the mornings because she was so tired after her shift that she couldn't make it to her room. Her entire body would ache, but it reminded her that she was real. Alive.

There was nothing to ground her in the empty shell of a house she was now living in.

Her room remained unchanged, with the same floral wallpaper lining the walls and the little dents in the wood that displayed her height throughout the years. All her jewelry, makeup and little trinkets were precisely where she had left them. But she felt restless instead of finding comfort in the little things or revelling in the familiarity.

Her feet carried her towards her door, which she opened slowly, surprised to find no one standing guard outside. A walk ought to clear her mind, she thought, as she perused the hall. The slate flooring was cold under her bare feet, so she walked on her tip toes instead, stepping on bits of soft carpet whenever some appeared.

She stopped outside a familiar brown door with a black handle. Her hand reached for it, but she hesitated. The light was off, and it was late. Her mother must be sleeping, and the girl didn't want to wake her. She could see her in the morning when her father wasn't around.

She continued walking, letting a finger trail the wall as she went downstairs.

The house was silent and eerily so. People always seemed to be hovering around the property when she was younger, taking over the kitchen and the living room, even in the dead of night, when her little feet pattered down the stairs after a bad dream, looking for her "Papa."

She hadn't known back then what the men were there for—she never even asked. Their existence was as normal to her as the simplest of mundane things. She never thought to question it. And so, finding the house empty now brought a chill to her spine. It started from her toes and spilled into her eyes, creating fat droplets.

The girl wiped her face and made her way to the kitchen, using the side entrance to leave. She walked barefoot across the drive, past the fountain and towards the garden, where her mother's azaleas inhabited a sizable portion of the lawn.

Her red azaleas were surrounded by many other of her prized possessions; blue Windflowers, Snapdragons, as well as some daisies and orchids. The girl leaned in closer for a smell. In her proximity, she realized the horrible state of the flowers. They were wilted and weak, drooped disgracefully in front of her.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. Was Eleanor Burgundy aware of the state of her precious garden? Surely not. From what the girl could remember, her mother took a special interest in her flowers and didn't even let the gardener near them. She would wake up before dawn to water them. Then why were they in such a state?

In danger of going crazy from the contemplation, the girl shook away any worrying thoughts and walked farther from the house. Her eyes were obviously playing tricks on her.

"Stop it," she chastised herself when more negative thoughts threatened to invade the silence. She was soon distracted, however, by a large, imposing tree a few minutes' walk from the flower garden.

The girl craned her neck to take in the hefty treehouse perched underneath the canopy of the small forest. There it stood, her adolescent escape, in all its glory, just as it did years ago.

"It's still here?" Her awed whisper lost itself in the wind as she mindlessly grabbed the wooden planks nailed into the tree and hauled herself up. She didn't know if she would fit through the door. Hell, she wasn't even sure if the wood would hold under her weight, but she could think nothing of it as she climbed higher and higher, until she stood up on the balcony-like platform encircling the entire structure.

"One, three, one, two," she whispered, knocking lightly on the wood.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear her brother's reply, "Thee may enter," in exaggerated Shakespearean. He always was the more dramatic of the two.

The girl ducked her head to accommodate for the low ceiling and entered, tensing slightly when the floor creaked under her. It was dark, and the only light came from the large window on the right, overlooking the house. She grabbed a flashlight from the table near the entrance giving it a try, not expecting it to work.

With the space suitably illuminated, the girl took in her surroundings. Books piled high in one corner, Beanbags, one blue, one purple, in the other. Mountains of blankets spread all over the floor, with model cars scattered all over.

"Oh, God."

A barbie was sitting in one of the larger cars, and the girl bent down to examine it. She ran the light over the button of the toy car, looking for something. When she found it, she let the car drop from her hands and jerked away from the object.

"No." The girl rubbed her eyes and continued with her exploration. She went to the window and looked out, letting the soft breeze cool her burning face. Her left hand wrapped tightly around the flashlight while her right idly traced patterns on the bottom sill.

Left and right, left and right, she went until her pointer snagged on the edge of something. She bent down to inspect, using the light to find an engraving etched into the wood. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to make sense of it. A pair of initials, surrounded by a jagged heart. B plus B. B plus... She didn't remember carving this, but one of the B's must have stood for Burgundy. And the other? If she hadn't etched this, then her brother was the culprit, and perhaps the second B stood for a friend.

But what sort of friend? A girlfriend? Her brother was only twelve when he... and well, he hadn't ever mentioned a girl to her before.

"What the hell?" The girl plopped down on one of the beanbags, freezing momentarily, before sinking in deeper when she realized it was blue. She needed to come to terms with the possibility that perhaps she didn't know her brother as well as she thought. That, maybe, she didn't know anything.

She pulled one of the blankets up around her shoulders, sighing at the warmth it provided. Slowly, but surely, she felt herself drifting away, felt her eyelids get heavier and heavier as every second passed. The last thing she saw before she became dead to the world was her brother's name, written in black ink on the bottom of a large toy car.

She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't even drink water, not when their chef made her favourite pancakes, not even when her little tummy grumbled and groaned in response. Her mother was worried, though her father was not. She told them she was on a hunger strike until they promised to keep her brother home. It was non-negotiable, she said. She would do it all day, she promised.

She didn't last very long. By lunch, her brother had coaxed her to take "Just a small bite" of the chocolate éclairs their chef made that morning. One bite turned into two, two into three, until the siblings finished the entire batch of éclairs and were sprawled on the treehouse floor, rolling around, giggling, and holding onto their full stomachs.

It was tradition for the Burgundy men to attend Le Rosey, the world-renowned Swiss boarding school. Her brother had finally turned eight years old, and it was time for him to fulfil the family legacy. He would leave home as a little boy and return as a young man, ready to take over his father's business.

And though it was not traditional, as his own sister had stayed home with a private tutor when they were younger, Danial decided to send his daughter to Le Rosey as well. Only, the youngest Burgundy was an impatient little thing and did not want to be separated from her dear brother even for a few days, much less four years.

Nothing her mother said managed to calm the little girl. "He'll visit us during holidays," she promised. "We'll go to Switzerland to see him," she swore. "You'll be so busy with your friends that you won't miss him."

And her mother was right, save for one thing. She never once stopped missing him.

In a few months' time, when her father and brother got in a car on their way to the airport, the girl's five-year-old heart broke at the sight of her older brother, her best friend, through the tinted windows of a Cadillac Escalade. His hand flat against the interior as he looked out at her with a sad frown on his face.

"Take me with you!"

The girl ran with the car as fast as her short legs could carry her before being scooped into the warm arms of her mother, who whispered reassurances into her hair and kissed her tear-ridden face.

Her mother was right. Her brother visited them during holidays, as did they, and though he had changed—became confident and self-assured—he was the same as he had always been. Funny, animated, and oh-so caring. She missed him more every day.

But life kept her busy. Four years passed in the blink of an eye. And if the girl knew the fate that awaited them after her brother's twelfth birthday? She would've appreciated every second more, committed it all to memory.

His frown, the crease between his brows whenever he was concentrating—all his little quirks would've been fresh in her mind. Instead, she felt him slowly wash away like watercolour from between the ridges of her brain.

She could no longer remember his smile.

Her family had just taken a picture together. Mr. Burgundy planned to hand it in the main hallway for everyone to see. Her brother was home for the summer; his birthday was just in a week.

"It's going to be an extra special year. I can just feel it."

"How do you know?"

"You're joining me in September, aren't you? That's how I know."

She had met death that day. Stalking them, dressed as hope and longing, deceiving them with his glamour that all was well; like he hadn't huddled them into a corner, waiting for his chance to pounce. Death was also patient, it seemed.

After the cake cutting, the brother and sister camped out in the treehouse, under a fort of blankets—surrounded by sugary sweets and salty chips—and he told her a story.

She didn't believe him then—How could she? It seemed impossible.

She had laughed at him. "It's a story. It's not real."

"It is a story, but it is real." he shrugged nonchalantly, like it didn't really matter if she believed him. As if it would change the truth. "I knew you wouldn't believe me." And they later passed out from exhaustion, their fingers still sticky with sugar.

Her heart was pounding, and her breath was ragged. Where was she now? Images flashed behind her eyes before slowly settling on one. Something was covering her eyes until it wasn't. Her brother stood in front of her, hands bound and with a smile on his face. Her own features were contorted with fear.

"Believe me now?" he asked.

The girl nodded and blinked away her tears. She did. "I do." The story he told her on his birthday had been true, and confirmed mere minutes ago.

Her brother positioned his knee and lowered his hand in a swiping motion, easily breaking his binds. The girl flinched at the suddenness, but he merely laughed. "Amateurs."

"How did you do that?"

"Le Rosey," he answered, producing a small knife from his back pocket. "I took martial arts there." He released her hands. "You'll learn too when you join me next month. Papa will make you."

Like straight out of a movie, the scene in front of her changed, and darkness surrounded her once more. This time the girl's screams echoed through the room when yet another light shattered. Deafening sounds bounced through the space, making her cry at every movement. A flash of light—illuminating a figure around her—then dark once again.

She clutched her brother's limp body in her small arms, shaking him periodically and willing him to open his eyes. His dirt-ridden face and slack jaw presented themselves to her in the most horrifying manner whenever the overhead light landed on him. Though try as she might, she could not look away.

"Wake up," she told him. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" And for the first time in her life, her brother ignored her, lying limply in her arms as she shook him periodically, willing him to open his eyes.

Someone yanked her. "Let's go!"

"No!" she screamed as loud as her tiny frame could muster. "Not without him!"

"Come on, he's right behind us, kid." And she was whisked away despite her protests. "Pretend it's just a dream."

"It's just a dream," she repeated, covering her ears with her hands. "It's just a dream, it's just a dream, it's just a dream."

She kept chanting the same thing over and over again, even after the building behind them engulfed itself in angry blue flames. "It's just a dream," after her father grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him as he frantically asked if she was okay. "It's just a dream," while she cowered in the car on her way home. "It's just a dream," as she was rocked back and forth, safe in her mother's arms, but forever without a brother.

"It's just a dream," after she woke with a gasp, wiping her tear-stricken face as reality slammed into her. The girl shuffled around to peer out the bright window at the call of her name.

"Miss!" shouted a guard from the ground. "Mr. Burgundy will see you now."

She shook the lingering remnants of the nightmare away and made her way down on shaky legs. There was no point in beating around the bush. When Mr. Burgundy called, people bent over backwards to answer. And it was her turn.

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist│Series Masterlist│Series Playlist

Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! 💜

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[shy-violet-soul]

Love in a time of COVID-19

Summary: Bucky won’t let anything get in the way of showing you he loves you & making you smile. Characters: Bucky Barnes x you; Steve Rogers; mentions of Clint Barton, Tony Stark, & Natasha Romanoff Ratings/Warnings: Character has Rheumatoid Arthritis, mentions of symptoms & treatments. Social-distanced-fluff of the highest concentration. Clint being weird & Bucky being goofball-y awesome. A/N: I saw the photo that inspired this on IG, and laughed so hard I just about cried. The marvelous OP graciously gave me permission to include it in my fic. You’ll find it at the bottom of the work. I thought we could all use some fluff in our lives these days!

I also have a friend with Rheumatoid Arthritis who is finding this time to be exceptionally difficult. Please support those in your circle who need some extra love right now.

Thank you @pinknerdpanda​ for beta-ing once again! All the social-distanced-hugs to you!

This work is a piece of fiction inspired by characters created by the MCU. Please do not copy/print elsewhere without my written permission

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He was convinced. People’d lost their damn minds.

Bucky had survived warzone trenches in Europe. Had lived through the Great Depression. And had never seen the level of human stupidity he’d witnessed the first few days of March 2020. It’s an airborne illness - why the hell were people buying 96 rolls of toilet paper at a whack? What were they gonna do, wrap it around their mouths and breathe through it?

The Avengers Tower was going through its own issues. Stark vowed to spend his self-isolation inside one of his suits; a good idea in theory until he realized he still had to pee. Steve kept expounding on the virtues of using the time to catch up on reports. Natasha spent her time snorting at the treasure trove of new social media memes while Clint thumbed his nose at the whole thing by licking every door knob he passed. Bucky was washing his hands more just because of that. Gross.

Yes, they were pretty well hooked up to do the shelter in place, social distance, whatever the hell they were calling this thing. Bucky couldn’t fault Tony (well, probably mostly Pepper) for the very streamlined system in place that kept the Tower stocked with all manner of essentials. And, the Stark Foundation was busily getting help where it needed to go while Bruce videoconferenced with Dr. Cho and Shuri on treatments and vaccines. They were good to go for the foreseeable future.

His only real worry was you.

Your rheumatoid arthritis made this whole thing much more dicey, and - if he was being honest - a frick ton scarier. The illness suppressed your immune system, which meant you had to be more proactive on a normal day with handwashing, etc. Throw in a virus with no vaccine and no treatment? ‘Proactive’ took on a whole new definition. Sanitizing surfaces and extra cleanliness efforts were easy to step up. But he knew how much you hated being cooped inside. It didn’t help that the humidity had climbed up into the 70-ish percent region. The heavy air, coupled with the bite of winter chill still hanging on to the calendar, had your already tender joints pitching all kinds of a fit.

Right now, you were curled up in your favorite spot - a well padded window seat overlooking Central Park. Bucky had switched on the fancy fake fireplace for you, had wrapped you in blankets and propped you with pillows. The light pouring in haloed a bright shine to your hair, which normally would have a smile on his face. But your wan face pulled a grimace from him instead. Your shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, and Bucky would have cheerly scrubbed every surface of the whole damn Tower to get you out and about and smiling again.

A knock on the door spun him on his heel, and Bucky stalked to the door. Everyone knew the protocol - no visitors allowed!

“What.” Not a question, but a cold, terse demand. Steve drew a deep breath as he measured the look being leveled at him. He’d faced firing tanks with less caution. His friend’s frown was fierce versus his blank murder stare. Bucky was mad but not in an assassinating mood. 

“Buck, I’m not gonna stay. I just wanted to stop in and say hi.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.” The door swung closed in his face. Steve rolled his eyes, throwing his arms up in disgust.

“C’mon, man.”

“No.” Exasperated, Steve couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. You and Bucky were a match made in heaven. Eidetic brain with the memory of an elephant, you were hands down one of the best analysts he’d had the privilege of working with. You chased after clues relentlessly, bulldogged in your tenacity. Straight up bullheaded in your obstinacy, though. 

If anyone could out-stubborn you, it was Bucky. Lord knows, he had enough experience chasing after a certain runt who couldn’t stay out of back alley brawls. Steve knew that, in odd moments, it still struck his friend that he didn’t need his help in the same ways. When Bucky’s muscle memory had him moving before his brain caught up if Steve coughed or sneezed. He could practically see the wheels turning as Bucky struggled to stitch together broken memories with current moments. A natural protector, Bucky needed someone to nurture. To cajole and wheedle and, if necessary, out-stubborn. You fit the bill to a tee.

“I don’t have coronavirus, Bucky!”

The door snatched back open. “Oh, yeah? And how do you know that?”

“I can’t get sick. Serum, remember?”

Bucky glared at him through squinted eyes before stepping back into the apartment.

“Carrier,” he hissed, slamming the door again.

“Was that Steve?”  Fatigue even hung heavy in your voice, the faintest gravel in the back of your throat threading a husk into your words. Bucky winced with you when you shifted in your seat, struggling painfully to stand.

“Yeah. Now I’m gonna have to wipe off the door knob again,” he groused as he briskly rubbed sanitizer over his hands. “Clint’s such a dumb ass.”

You snorted softly as you padded towards him. “I know. Who licks door knobs to prove a point?”

Taking in your stiff posture, Bucky leaned in close and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Why’d you get up? What do you need? I’ll get it,” he murmured into your hair. Your sigh huffed softly against his chest as you gratefully leaned against him, glancing at the clock in the kitchen.

“I should probably take another dose of ibuprofen,” the words mumbled up, uncertain. The illness had dragged up new challenges - too many doses of the NSAID was ripping up your stomach. Steroids helped, too, but you couldn’t take too many rounds too close together, and you’d already taken one prescription a month ago when the wet winter had your shoulders and wrists feeling like they were grinding straight through to your bone marrow. Pepper and your doctor were trying to get a DMARD approved through insurance, but with all this new virus ‘fit hitting the shan’, the insurance company backlog was sky high. That left you with balancing growing joint discomfort against growing stomach unhappiness. Thank God for ice packs and Tony’s ridiculously over-the-top whirlpool baths.

Bucky held in his own sigh as he pondered your situation. “Let me make you some of that chamomile tea and some toast to go with it.”

He didn’t think it possible, but your shoulders sagged even more. “I’m really not hungry, Buck.”

Threading his fingers through your hair, he gently rubbed the back of your head the way you liked.

“I’ll make it with that raspberry rutabaga jam on it. You want that?”

The catch in your throat grew to a fist-sized lump fit to choke you. The throbbing in your shoulders and arms radiated in time with your heartbeat up into your brain. Your knees felt weird - rubbery, tender, like you weren’t sure they’d support you. You missed your job, you missed your friends, you missed outside. As much as you adored Bucky, you were lonely for the other pieces of your life. The misery in your heart swelled to mammoth proportions, and you couldn’t choke back the sob that broke from you.

“I want -”

Bucky’s gut pinched so hard it hurt when you started crying. “What, love? What do you want? Anything, I’ll get it for you.”

Crying just made everything hurt more, and you swallowed hard to shove down the tears, anxiety, and stress. You glanced up, seeing the stress that pulled tight lines into Bucky’s face. You tried to offer him a smile and knew you failed pathetically.

“Rhubarb, hun. It’s raspberry rhubarb jam.”

Bucky saw you trying, knew you were trying to make him feel better, and wanted to cry himself. He’d do anything to bring back your smile.

“Rutabaga, rhubarb, whatever. You go sit, I’ll bring it out to you with the ibuprofen.”

You shook your head as you stepped away from his urging embrace. “No, I need to move around a little.” Neither of you spoke as you moved to the kitchen, content in the quiet puttering as Bucky filled the kettle and popped bread in the toaster. Out of habit, he went to wash his hands when an idea hit him.

Staring blankly out the window, your thoughts drifted to your ‘to be read’ pile as you tried to decide between starting a new book from your oft-ignored stack or comfort yourself with a lovely reread. You were so lost in your musings, you didn’t track on the activity behind you.

“Babe, can you grab the butter and jam? I’m washing my hands.”

You turned around to step to the fridge, stopped in your tracks at the sight before you, and burst out laughing. 

Bucky had taken off his metal arm and put it in the dishwasher.

Hilarity pealed from you in waves, folding you over as you leaned against the counter. You tried to catch your breath and glanced up at Bucky. The proud-as-punch smile on his face set you off again, laughing so hard your shoulders twinged at you.

When a snort broke into your snickers, Bucky couldn’t help but laugh with you. Giddiness swirled with relief at your delight, and he felt prouder in that moment that he did receiving his U.S. Army Expert Marksmanship medal in ‘42. He knew he couldn’t carry your burden for you, but in this moment, he’d lightened it a bit. Moving in close, he gathered you to his chest with his other arm, relishing the feel of your giggles against him. You gasped for breath as you wiped the tears from eyes, then reached up to cup his face in your hands, smiling fondly into his twinkling gaze.

“I love you, you giant goofball. Thank you for taking such good care of me.” 

Bucky leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose.

“Gotta take care of my best girl.” Giving you the gentlest of squeezes, he then urged you back to your cozy nest. “Go sit. I’ll bring it all out in a few.”

Still grinning, you headed for your phone. “First, I gotta get my phone. This is going on Twitter!”

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

A Harmless Crush ♡

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Summary: Assigned to the Winter Soldier by S.H.I.E.L.D to help him to accommodate to society, staying in the Avenger’s tower, and occasionally doing paperwork for STARK industries, you’ve grown close to James Buchanan Barnes, developing a crush on him in the process. So when you, reluctantly, tag along to a baseball game with the Avengers, and the kiss cam lands on you and Bucky, things get interesting.

A/N: idk but with all this Sebby Stan all over ig, I’m in the Bucky fluffy mood so and for once I’m gonna do a shy, bit of an introverted reader, explore that, so enjoy this mushy crap it’s so cute and lemme know what you think :) if you want a part two

Warning: super freaking soft, mild language cause it’s me, fluff to the max, you’ll get a toothache from the sweetness I swear

You step lightly into the Avenger’s living room, having been all but physically forced to go to this baseball game, to get out of the tower as they told you, but you refused to agree unless you could bring a book along with you. You had stuffed it in your small backpack, hanging loosely off one of your fuzzy, sweater clad shoulders, a cold day in spring. You roll up your sleeves to your forearms, sporting a pair of dark, high waisted jeans and converse along with it, Nat doing a small twirl with her finger to get you to spin for her. 

“Cute. Very cute,” she wears a satisfied smile and you’re eyes are drawn over to Bucky, tucked in the corner of the room with his arms folded over his broad chest, keeping to himself, as do you. He wears his long, brunette hair back, tied in a bun, tendrils falling down the front and over his cerulean eyes, casted downwards at his scuffed, army boots, crossed over each other. 

He senses a pair of eyes on him, something that has become second nature to him, the feeling of knowing when you’re being watched, but he looks up anyway, delightfully surprised to see your flushed face and e/c eyes looking over at him. Everything about you was soft, he thinks, your sweaters, your laugh, your eyes when you look at him, your smile, your heart, your features, no harsh lines or sharp angles, only soft curves and dips, like a watercolor painting gently done by someone who knew what they were doing. You’re a work of art, precious and untouchable, a Monet painting that’s even more beautiful up close. His own lips curve into a smile at the sight of you in your favorite outfit, causing you to bashfully look away, hiding in your best friend, Nat, feeling her vibrating laughter when you tuck yourself into her.

Clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention, Tony finally speaks up, “We’re all ready, great, let’s get going.”

Steve lays his hand on Stark’s shoulder to stop him for a moment, getting his attention, “Why don’t we walk there, Tony? It’s a beautiful day, it’s not that far, and we’re missing training to-”

“Shut. The. Hell. Up. Cap,” Sam says with a warning glare in the man’s direction, having been excited for his first day off in almost a month, wanting to savor every second of it.

“If you want to walk and damage a hip, Gramps, you can, but I’m taking the car, you all do what you want, just be there by 2:00,” Tony looks down at his mortgage payment of a watch. “Which is in thirty minutes.”

Everyone disperses and Nat is the first to ask what your plan is, instinctively making you look behind you to see what Bucky will do next, finding him already looking in your direction.

“Walk with me?” he mouths from across the room, waiting to walk over to you, just as shy as you when it came to this sort of thing, he was just better at hiding it. As he did with everything else.

You barely have time to think before you’re mouthing back, Okay, smiling against your better judgement. But the smile that lights up his face in return helps make the bundle of nerves in your stomach you get around him, almost nonexistent.

~~~

“I’m kind of surprised you wanted to walk with me,” he admits after a spell of blissful silence, accompanied by woodland creatures scurrying past, couples making small talk, and trees humming along with the tune of the wind. 

You snort at the absurdity of his statement, “Why? I enjoy being with you,” you risk a glance at him and he’s meeting your eyes before you can mentally prepare yourself for the emotional turmoil you’re experiencing, deciding to back track. Deny, deny, deny. “Hanging out with you. Jesus. I sounded so creepy when I said that, didn’t I?” you let out a soft breath of laughter, fuck, fuck, fuck, running a hand through your hair, tugging at the ends in frustration.

He throws his head back with a rumbling laughter that doesn’t help the butterflies in your stomach or die them down any less, only adding fuel to the fire when his fingers intentionally brush against your arm. “You didn’t, I promise. You never sound creepy, I don’t think someone as adorable as you is capable.”

You smile, color filling your face, pressing a hand to your cheeks to calm the heat flooding there. It’s the cutest thing Bucky has ever seen. “Thank you.”

He looks you at you for a moment before speaking, “No problem, doll.” Then he laughs, “And, Y/N, did you even want to go to the game today?”

You love when he says your name, so much so you’ve suddenly gotten weak in the knees, the two of you slowly walking closer to each other, sides touching every so slightly, stepping in time, on the same beat, “Not at first, no, I don’t really do...”

“Big crowds?” he cocks an eyebrow.

“Social situations,” you finish instead, tucking hair behind your ear. “And, well, that, too.”

He chuckles deeply, sending vibrations from your head to your curled toes, fiddling with a loose strand from your sweater, twirling it around your finger, “I get it. So much... you have no idea.” He doesn’t have to say anything further for you to understand what he’s implying, glancing furtively at his vibranium arm.

You touch his metal arm and he turns towards you out of reflex, the only touches he’s gotten being ones that have intentions of inflicting pain on him, but your touch is gentle and not at all ill-willed, tracing the red star painted on it, feathery light with wide eyes. You take and drink him in instead of pushing him away. He’s a real life piece of a museum, you think, and you’re fascinated.

“I think your arm is pretty cool, actually,” you pull your hand back, his eyes watching your movements cautiously. It comforts you, almost, knowing he’s just as nervous as you are, possibly even more so. “Besides... you’re not your arm or what it symbolizes, you’re you, you’re Bucky.” You laugh and shake your head, giddy all of a sudden when you look at his awestruck expression, “If that makes any sense.”

“You really think that?” his pace slows as you two arrive at the stadium’s gates, your friends waiting just on the other side. 

“Of course,” you say it simply.

“Damn, doll, I could kiss you right now,” he teases you, he does that a lot, teasing you as if he knows you wish it wasn’t just teasing, but you know that’s just how he is, flirty and boyish. You brought it out in him. You just didn’t know it yet.

“Tony wouldn’t let you hear the end of it if you did,” you let him know, cursing yourself for playing along when you really need to change the subject before you spontaneously combust.

His hand presses into the small of your back when he sees the large crowds of people blocking the entrance, making you stiffen beneath him, something he notices and secretly revels in, “Ah, doll, but it’d be so worth it,” he whispers by your ear, and you feel the curl of his lips against your skin, the rumble in his voice. 

“I don’t know, Stark can be pretty relentless,” you say, breath catching towards the end, when he pulls you to his side as someone almost runs into you, keeping you close. He looks behind him and glares at the man that almost pushed you down, muttering swear words under his breath. 

“I can handle him,” he looks at where his hand is and you expect him to shy away, but he only grips tighter, “I’ll let go of you if you’d like.”

“No, no... you should keep doing it,” you move closer to him as you walk, locking eyes with him and he smiles, raising his eyebrows. “For safety reasons.”

“We don’t want you getting trampled, kitten,” he grins boyishly, crinkles by his eyes making a dominant appearance. “I like you in one piece if it’s all the same.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” you play along with an equally bright smile, looking ahead of you at your smirking friends, Clint tracing a heart around the two of you and Sam rolling his eyes so hard you’re sure he’s pulled something.

Steve and Nat cast knowing glances to each other, conspiring, no doubt. Tony gives you his best overprotective dad look and Bucky slips his hand to rest on your back once again, looking to you when everyone begins walking to the seats. 

You all get to your seats, at the highest level in box seats, thanks to Stark, and the game looks as if it’s about to start. You sit down in one of the middle seats, Nat sitting on one side of you and Bucky down on the other, leaning back in his seat to get comfortable. He smiles at you when you look over and you’re met with a smirk from Nat, smug as hell.

“Don’t,” you lean back in your chair.

“Don’t what?” she leans forward to stare at you, lifting an expert eyebrow, years of practice, she’s so good at that, not letting any emotion appear in her expression, just calculated precision. She shows you what she wants you to see. “Let Bucky know you have the fattest cru-”

“Romanoff!” you clamp a hand over her mouth and she nips at your skin, causing you to pull your hand back, shaking it out. 

She smiles knowingly, “I’m sure he already knows, anyway.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Only time will tell, Y/N, enjoy the game,” her eyes glitter with ulterior motives that spark something, the match to the gasoline. She’s done something. 

“Nat,” you lean towards her. “Nat, what the hell did you do?”

She ignores you, only gifting you a smile as an answer, and you’re forced to sit back in your seat, your hand right next to Bucky’s. 

“Good afternoon, New York!” the announcer rolls out, voice as loud as booming thunder followed by equally thunderous laughter and applause, reminding you of an old friend of yours. “We have a very special group of guests here with us today, say hello and give a warm welcome to them for our stadium, the Avengers!”

“How cheesy,” you cross your legs, earning a light snort from Bucky, about to pull out your book to read and escape into until you see the jumbo-tron displaying you and your friends, zooming in on Sam, Clint, and Steve.

“I thought you said we were trying not to attract any attention,” Nat side-eyes Tony.

“I lied,” Tony smile, already fixing his hair.

“What do you say, folks, we make some sparks fly and put the kiss cam on a lucky couple?” the obnoxious announcer asks the crowd, earning an uproar of agreement that only amuses Tony. 

The kiss cam lands on Clint and Sam for a brief moment, Clint leaning in, “Come on, boo bear.”

Sam looks at him, expression as blank as canvas, “No.”

The audience reacts with bubbling laughter, the camera falling on Natasha and Tony next. Tony has his arms spread out on either side of him with his legs crossed, subtly sliding his jet black shades down the bridge of his nose like he can’t be bothered when he sees the camera, “Oh, hi, didn’t see you there, I’m T-”

“Shut up,” Nat shoots him down with only a stare, flipping off the camera, barely glancing in its direction.

You shriek when it starts turning and instinctively tuck yourself into Bucky, him having pulled up the arm rest just before, he lets out a quiet OOF when you barrel into him, wrapping his arms around you to steady you, keeping you close. Your head buried in his chest, hoping you could just stay here for the rest of the time with no further complications.

“Doll... I might regret asking this, but what are you doing?” he whispers in your hair, just above the shell of your ear. 

“I’m sorry, I panicked. I don’t like being the center of attention, not to mention an entire baseball stadium full of attention,” you whisper, muffled into his shirt.

“Then I hate to tell you, kitten, but the cam is on us right now,” he mutters and you extract yourself from out of his arm to see the entire stadium looking in the two of you’s direction, all collectively sucking in one breath. 

“I think we’ve found our lucky couple, ladies and gentlemen! But, aw, they look shy, let’s give them a little encouragement, shall we?” 

KISS, KISS, KISS!

“Doll,” Bucky whispers to you, both of you looking at each other and perhaps, if it weren’t for your anxiety riddled nerves at the moment, you’d kiss him yourself, for that nickname and stare alone. “We don’t have to do it.”

“I don’t know if we’d get away with that.”

His cheeks are filled with bright shades of scarlet, you almost want to laugh at that, the Winter Soldier, blushing because of you. It brings a smile to your face looking at it, and your hands are now touching, close enough to him for you see the shadows of his face and the stubble on his jaw. How gold flecks line his blown irises, tinged with icy blue and quartz.

“I’ll just kiss your cheek, then, is that alright?” he asks, tentatively, moving only slightly closer as the crowd grows impatient. You nod slowly.

He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your jaw, missing your cheek and you feel his lips curl against your skin at the way your face heats up beneath him, gripping his hand.

“You seem to have enjoyed that,” he whispers by your ear once again.

“Come on, lovebirds, give us a real kiss! We won’t leave you alone until you do it,” and the chanting rises up again, started up by your instigating friends.

“To be honest, I didn’t want it to happen like this,” he mumbles, his chest rising and falling, eyes trained on your mouth.

“For what to happen?” you say, but he doesn’t hear you, and it might as well be summer, you’re burning under your clothes, forehead laden with nervous sweat and you’re lost for breath.

He half smiles, “Me kissing you.”

You grin, burning brightly, about to question it further until you’re drowned out by the rest of the stadium, in need of their fix of drama you haven’t yet supplied them with. Bucky finally just slides his hand to the back of your neck, cradling your head in the palm of his hand, tangling fingers in your hair when he pulls you to him, his lips colliding with yours, simply, completely, and mind-numbingly well.

The crowd cheers but you’ve drowned them out, hearing only the loud thumping of blood pounding in your ears, his calloused hands on your skin, and the intoxicating scent of his cologne. And you know you need to pull away, but the man is taking you apart and putting you back together all at once, you’re frozen in place. He’s reached into your chest and has made your heart beat for you when it has stopped on its own. The questions that have plagued your mind in the months of knowing the ex-assassin, all finally answered with one painfully complicated action. 

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone and traces a star into your skin, marking you as his, like the one on his arm, taking his time to kiss you sweetly and as masterfully as possible. And his tongue, his tongue, sinfully drawing over your bottom lip and luring out your own, fighting for dominance that you’ve already given unto him. You’ve fallen into and for him, unable to resurface. But you’re not sure you want to. Because there’s a reason it’s falling in love, it’s sudden, abrupt, and scary, and it’s just hit you now how seriously and far you’ve fallen. It’s the grand canyon of loves. 

And the kiss was only thirty seconds.

The applause that follows you breaking away with a gasp is close to deafening, Nat being one of the loudest right by your ear, but you’re staring at him, his swollen, pink mouth, flushed cheeks, and mussed up hair, busy and ruffled from your wandering hands.

“Now, that is what I’m talking about, ladies and gentlemen. Give it up for the loving couple! That was one steamy kiss.”

“Indeed it was,” Nat says smugly, smirking to herself.

He searches your eyes and smiles apprehensively, reaching out to swipe his thumb over your bottom lip, trying to make sure this really happened, “I think we need to talk.”

You nod quickly, “I think we do.”

You were so fired.

[lainejunemarie-blog]

004 – Series and Book – Shadow and Bone

I’ve been so occupied lately that I thought I wouldn’t be able to finish writing this bit up, but one weekend after realizing I haven’t stepped a foot out of home for two weeks straight, I realized that I should be doing something expressive and fun with my personal life and finally had this done!

It’s been awhile since I last wrote something about a series that I was interested in, but after an excruciating wait and long exploration, the search is finally over because our dear Quarantine Buddy, Netflix, (also the possible stalking of Ben Barnes’ IG posts) has presented us with a new series to go crazy for, Shadow and Bone. The series was aired on Netflix last 23rd of April 2021, inspired by the trilogy and duology written by Leigh Bardugo. I am very grateful to Leigh Bardugo for writing such a great fantasy world that I had to read the books as soon as I was done watching the series. Did I finish watching Shadow and Bones in a day? Absolutely. Is it worth watching over and over again until you could remember all the lines? Why not? I’ll be mentioning my favorite characters in the series and in the books, I really got to hand it you, choosing a favorite character is so difficult when all of them are more than worthy of praise and admiration.

Before proceeding to my favorite characters, I’d like to share some terms we need to familiarize ourselves with to be able to enjoy the story. These definitions are just the basic and are based on how I understood them by watching the series and reading the books, (of course it’s always better if you guys watch the Shadow and Bone series or read the books for a better explanation):

1. The fold / The unsea – defined as the literal and physical version of darkness where dangerous creatures lurk within that was created by the Darkling.

2. Volcra – are the dangerous beings who live within the darkness of the fold that are huge, have sharp teeth and can also fly.

3. Ravka – one of the main locations where the story takes place where Grisha are well-protected

4. Shu Han – a rival territory of Ravka whose people experiment on Grisha to find the source of their power or use them as slaves.

5. Fjerda – also a rival territory of Ravka whose people who would attack Grisha out of spite and sees them as evil beings.

6. First Army – is the King of Ravka’s army who are human.

7. Grisha – beings who are capable of doing “little science” and are soldiers of the King of Ravka’s second Army.

a. Darkling – Grisha who could summon the darkness

b. Sun Summoner – Grisha who could summon light

c. Heartrenders – Grisha who could control the blood flow in a human’s body

d. Healers – Grisha who could heal injuries

e. Squallers – Grisha who could summon air

f. Inferni – Grisha who could summon fire

g. Tidemakers – Grisha who could summon water

h. Durasts – Grisha who could invent and mend things with different materials naturally

i. Alkemi – Grisha who could invent and create things with chemicals and/or herbs

Now that that part is covered let me share my favorite characters:

In the Netflix series:

Jesper Fahey

I really like Jesper (Kit Young), one of the crows who works for Kaz. He’s so full of energy and charm that it is so hard not to get magnetized by him. If he were a real person, he’d be that reliable friend who would help you commit murder and not question you about it. He’s got that kind of loyalty. He’s also that person who lights up a room when he enters not only because of his presence but also because of his friendliness and cockiness that isn’t annoying but would make you feel like you’re not a stranger. The downside is that he’s got a gambling problem and is too confident to think that he’s actually lose at a wager so that’s one thing to look out for.

Nina Zenik and Matthias

I am so inlove with Nina (Danielle Galligan) and Matthias (Calahan Skogman)! From their first scene, wait, maybe the second one (based on their conversation) where they actually got to talk to each other, you could really feel their chemistry and just know that they’re going to end up together! They’re small arguments make them seem like an old couple and the way how they’re not supposed to be together because of who they were just makes it all the more romantic. Who isn’t a sucker for forbidden love anyway? I am so craving to see more of them in Season 2!

In the Books:

Alina Starkov and Malyen Oretsev

These two are great individually but I’m going to tell you right now that I’m a softie for love and Alina and Mal are just made for each other! If they were real people and I just within reach I would’ve bashed them in the head and say, “Don’t you two get it? The universe is telling you that you belong together! So does Leigh Bardugo in every ending of the book before Ruin Rising so just stay still and together will you?!” Haha. But seriously, they really own each other’s’ hearts. Alina was so relatable in different parts of the books which makes me empathize and root for her. It’s amazing to see how she’s transformed from someone who didn’t have much self-confidence to someone who realizes just how powerful she truly is. Mal on the other hand, is almost perfect from the start, what’s not to like? But what I did like is how we were also able to see his human side in Siege and Storm which just makes him annoyingly admirable. Thank you so much again Leigh!

Sturmhond / Nikolai Lantsov

I am so excited to see Nik if ever Season 2 comes out. I think after reading the book my bar for him is quite high. He’s a looker, brilliant and absolutely amazing. It’s like he’s ready for anything and everything. He’s a born leader who really cares for others and knows exactly what needs to be done. If only I had his confidence then I think I would handle anything with his grace and smart-assed-ness in a very polite manner. What I would like to see is for him and for Jesper to meet. I think they would get along really well and do all kinds of shenanigans!

This is all I have for now but I am on my next adventure to read the Six of Crows duology and very excited to dive deeper into the Grishaverse.

[myriadimagines]

We Give ‘Power Couple’ A Whole New Definition

Marvel (The Avengers) One Shot

Characters: [FEMALE] Reader x Bucky Barnes + Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Vision, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff & Thor Odison

Warnings: violence (like arm getting sliced off kinda violence) and swearing

Request: “could you write kind of like an all avengers one where the reader gets her arm chopped off in battle somehow but tony gives her one that's similar but also better than buckys?” - anonymous

Word Count: 2,168

A/N: please specify whether you want a one shot or an imagine next time, because i wasn’t too sure ! this turned out better than i thought it would, so i hope you guys like it !

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“How many out-of-this-world battles are we gonna have?” you yelled over the commotion as you shot an alien in the head. Besides you, Bucky -- your boyfriend -- smirked as he grabbed one of the alien’s weapons and used it to strike it across the head.

“It makes things more exciting, y/n.” Bucky responded, looking over his shoulder to give you a mischievous grin. Rolling your eyes, you continued firing at the swarm of aliens that were barrelling towards you and Bucky.

“Focus, please!” Tony’s voice piped up through your earpiece. “We have to contain these aliens before they reach the city.”

“We could use a little support, Tony!” you gritted your teeth as an alien lunged towards you, pushing you backwards. You fell onto your back and struggled as the alien bared it’s teeth at you, trying to claw at your face as you tried to push it away with your gun. You could hear Bucky yell your name, but you could see him struggling with two more aliens. Yelling in frustration, you leaned over and bit the alien’s arm, hard. The creature screeched in agony as it momentarily let go, and you used the hesitation to quickly hit it in the face with the end of your gun. The creature screeched again, before you turned your gun around and shot it in the chest.

You moved to help Bucky when Tony suddenly appeared above him, blasting the aliens away. Blowing your hair out of your eyes, you squinted at Tony who landed and quickly gave Bucky a hand getting to his feet.

“Took you long enough.” you teased, and Tony smirked as he raised his arm and blasted another alien behind your back. You whipped around in surprise as Tony flew back into the air again.

“You can thank me later, y/n.” Tony chuckled in your earpiece, and you sarcastically saluted him as he flew off. Bucky tossed you one of the alien’s guns, which you quickly examined before firing a shot into the air.

“Packs more of a punch that our guns.” Bucky shrugged, before starting to jog towards Steve, Natasha, Clint and the others, who were on the other side of the battlefield. “Come on, looks like they need our help.”

You and Bucky began sprinting towards the others, when you were suddenly lifted off the ground. You smirked to see Sam carrying you, with Vision carrying Bucky.

“No offense guys,” Sam scoffed as he zoomed forward. “But your running is nowhere near fast enough.”

“Shut up-” Bucky started to snap, when you suddenly heard Natasha yelling in your earpiece.

“Guys, look out!” she exclaimed, but by the time you and Sam had looked over your shoulder you had already been hit.

The Avengers all ran towards where you and Sam had been hit by an alien pod, presumably more reinforcements. More pods rained from the sky, opening to reveal more aliens.

On the ground, you groaned loudly and tried to sit up. Sam coughed next to you as he was sprawled on out his back. Dragging yourself closer to him, you took off his goggles and tried to assess for damage. His suit was busted, and sparks were flying out. You looked up to see the Avengers running towards you while opening fire on the new wave of aliens that had approached.

“...y/n.” Sam suddenly croaked out, and you looked down at him. His eyes widened as he grabbed your shoulder and tried to push you away. “y/n, behind!”

You reached out to grab the gun next to Sam and turn around to fire at whatever was behind you, but the alien had moved too fast. As you stretched your arm out, you suddenly felt an excruciating pain as the alien’s blade sliced through your upper arm. Screaming in pain, you fell to the ground as Sam quickly grabbed the gun instead and fired just as the rest of the Avengers approached.

“Oh no, no, no.” Bucky quickly wrapped his arms around you, his eyes widening at your bleeding arm. “Shit!”

“Everyone, a perimeter around y/n and Sam, now!” Steve instructed, and everyone quickly obliged.

“She’s losing too much blood.” Vision pointed out as he blasted a couple of aliens out of his view.

“Yes, Vision, we can see that,” Clint responded, exasperated. “Her friggin arm was just chopped off!”

Your eyes widened in panic upon hearing Clint, and you gasped for air. The pain seemed amplified now, and you screamed and screwed your eyes shut. Bucky held you close to his chest, looking at the rest of the Avengers helplessly. He stroked your hair and rocked you back and forth, trying his best to calm you down. The aliens were closing in now, and without you, Sam or Bucky helping in the fight, it was getting harder to hold them off.

“We need to get her back to the Avengers tower.” Wanda quickly tossed her jacket towards Bucky. Bucky quickly caught it and wrapped it around your arm, where an alarmingly large pool of blood had collected underneath. She raised her hands, her magic swirling around her fingers. “I will temporarily hold them off.”

“Vision, take y/n.” Steve said quickly. “And Tony, you’ll need to go too, to take Sam.”

“I can still fight, Steve.” Sam tried to protest, but Tony had already grabbed him and hoisted him to his feet.

“Not without your wings, you’re not.” Steve shook his head, and Sam sighed as Tony wrapped his hand firmly around Sam’s suit. “Nat, Buck and Thor, we’ll stay with Wanda.”

“But y/n-” Bucky clung to you, but Vision had already swooped in and picked you up. Bucky squeezed your hand, but you were unresponsive.

“We need to leave now.” Vision began to hover. “She’s already fainted.”

Steve glanced at Tony, who nodded and lifted Sam into the air. He looked over at Wanda, who was balling up her powers in front of her, and at Thor, who was already beginning to summon dark clouds above them. They looked at him expectantly, and Steve nodded as he said, “Give ‘em all we got.”

--

Bucky paced anxiously outside the medical area of the Avengers tower. It had been at least a few hours since you had been in there, and he had no news about how you were doing. After you, Vision, Tony and Sam had evacuated the battlefield, Wanda and Thor were able to seriously cripple the alien’s forces. With their main army damaged, they were able to quickly take care of the situation before rushing back to the Avengers tower.

Sam stumbled out of the medical wing, and Bucky quickly rushed to him.

“Where’s y/n?” Bucky blurted, and Sam raised an eyebrow. “I mean… how are you feeling?”

“I know you don’t care about me, Buck.” Sam smirked, and Bucky opened his mouth to defend himself when Sam raised his hand to stop him. “I don’t know how she’s doing. Tony’s been in there with her the whole time. But, I haven’t heard any flatlining, so that’s a good sign.”

Sighing, Bucky leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands as Steve, Natasha, Thor and Wanda approached. All exhausted from the battle, Natasha crouched down besides Bucky as Steve reached out to quickly embrace Sam.

“Glad you’re alright.” Steve sighed as Thor folded his arms across his chest and Wanda leaned against the wall. Lowering his voice, Steve asked, “Any news on y/n?”

“It’s what I told Bucky,” Sam replied apologetically. “Tony’s been in there with her the whole time, but I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You can stop whispering now.” Tony suddenly exited the medical wing with Vision, the doors sliding shut behind him. Bucky quickly stepped forward to enter, but Tony stopped him. “Calm down, Soldier. y/n has to rest.”

“I need to make sure she’s-” Bucky protested, but Steve quickly held him back.

“He’s right, Buck.” Steve said softly. “If we all crowd around her it won’t help. Let’s give her some time to recover.”

“She’s sleeping, anyway.” Tony dusted his hands off before crossing his arms. “Don’t think she’d appreciate you causing a ruckus, Barnes.”

“But she’s alright?” Bucky confirmed, and Tony nodded. “She’s going to be okay?”

“Oh,” Tony replied vaguely, a grin coming across his face. “I think she’ll be more than okay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asked defensively, but Tony had already pushed past him and began walking to his room. “Tony! What did you do to my girlfriend?”

“You’ll see, Barnes!” Tony looked over his shoulder and shrugged, and Bucky sighed. “Don’t wanna ruin the surprise for you. I promise you’ll like it!”

--

You flexed your fingers, watching in curiosity as you then twisted your wrist. It felt so natural, despite it being a robotic arm.

“Feeling good?” Tony asked, pulling the curtain back as he stood by your bed. You gave him a small smile, raising your arm as you continued to test it. Tony had spent hours operating on you, working on a metal arm to replace the arm that was cut off. He had made sure to equip it with all your favorite weapons, whilst being able to operate as if nothing had ever happened to your arm.

“It’s amazing, Tony.” you breathed. “Thank you so much.”

“Do this motion for me.” Tony raised his arm in a 90 degree angle, twisted his wrist towards himself before straightening his arm. You slowly mimicked him, and gasped when you felt something shift. Your pointer finger suddenly opened, and Tony jumped back, a wide smile appearing on his face. “Now be very careful. If you push your thumb down it’ll fire.”

“That is awesome!” you exclaimed, clapping your hands together as you closed the gun. You jumped out of your bed to hug Tony, who grimaced slightly. You quickly pulled back, remembering your new arm was stronger than your old one, and gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Well, don’t get that excited over the tiniest feature.” Tony grinned, straightening his shirt. “There’s lots more. I’ve scheduled some times to train together so I can show you everything.”

“Can I please see her now-” Bucky charged into the room, the rest of the Avengers rushing after him to stop him. He stopped mid sentence, his eyes falling to your new robotic arm, which you suddenly realised, looked exactly like his.

“Told you that you’d like it.” Tony told Bucky as he stepped back, and Bucky looked up at you. You raised your eyebrows, prompting a response, and Bucky grinned widely.

“You look totally badass.” he smiled, and you laughed and stepped closer to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you looked at the rest of the Avengers, gauging their reactions.

“I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming sooner,” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Especially with you, Tony.”

Tony bowed dramatically, and everyone in the room laughed.

“I want to see y/n and Bucky arm wrestle.” Clint suddenly piped up, and Natasha grinned and punched Clint playfully.

“I bet y/n will win.” she bet, winking at you as you beamed back at her.

“No way!” Clint laughed, folding his arms across his chest. “Barnes, for sure.”

“I’m with Clint on this one, Nat.” Steve nodded at Bucky, as Natasha rolled her eyes. “No offense, y/n.”

“Well, there is only one way to settle this competition.” Thor boomed, raising an arm. “We will hold the competition in the lounge room!”

Cheering and laughing, all the Avengers began heading towards the main room of the Avengers tower, avidly betting on who would win between you and Bucky. You and Bucky strolled behind them, smiling and shaking your heads as Bucky kept his arm around you.

“Did you know my arm can shoot bullets?” you asked, and Bucky’s mouth dropped open before shaking his head.

“That’s not fair!” he exclaimed as you giggled. His expression turned more serious as he pulled you closer. “I’m glad you’re okay, y/n. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you-”

“Hey.” you stopped him, placing a hand on his cheek as you gave him a quick kiss. “I’m fine.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Bucky sighed in relief.

You grinned as you raised your arm and commented, “At least we’re matching now.”

“I think we give ‘power couple’ a whole new definition.” he squeezed you kissed your forehead, and you smiled and leaned into his shoulder.

“Hey!” Clint suddenly jumped up in front of the two of you, urging you to walk faster. “You guys coming or what? I have at least a hundred dollars on you, Barnes, don’t let me down.”

“Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you, y/n.” Bucky gave you a playful grin as the two of you sat opposite each other.

“Barnes,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I was just going to say the same thing.”