no mental architecture for this experience

totally completely fully fixated on bucky barnes // i just want to feel like i matter // 18+ only please

[redtabularasa]

Hello there.

Autumn, 30s, she/they.

- 18+ MCU sideblog. Follows/Likes from @unsteadyunsubtle. Likes are a bookmark until I can reblog the post.

- up to seven (7) reblogs of Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Stucky, Stucky x Reader, or other (rare) per day (most days) (subject to change)

- will reblog MCU gifsets, fanart, memes, or tiktok edits, etc from time to time

- lurker, not very talkative, awkward, bad at emojis, terrible social anxiety (debilitating, even)

- asks are open if you need anything

- very liberal with the block function (particularly OCs in the x reader tags, jackass opinions in the tags, not warning for squicks, NOT USING A READ MORE, pro-censorship, and pro-generative AI (in fanwork especially))

- general types of fic that are reblogged

- some things I like and don’t like

[unearthlydust]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR THUNDERBOLTS*

[cassiemaebarnes]

Birthday Bucky!!

Bucky x reader

It's my birthday, so you know I had to write some Bucky fics🥳 Couldn't decide on a plot, so I wrote three mini ones :)

Total Word Count: 5,916

(was going to add a bucky gif but this one was funnier😂)

Today was your birthday, and as you got out of bed, you couldn’t help but smile. You have always loved your birthday.

You always felt so self-centered whenever you thought about it, saying you loved a day that was all about you. But in reality, you just loved being celebrated for once.

As you made your way down the compound hallway, you expected a few “happy birthdays,” and maybe even a card, but not much as you walked into the kitchen for breakfast.

But when you stepped in, you were met with a few “good mornings” and a “if you want coffee you’re gonna have to make more.”

You hid the disappointment on your face, but as you started a new pot of coffee, you tried to convince yourself that it was okay. It was early, they just woke up, and it probably wouldn’t register until later anyway.

But when later came, there was still no mention of your birthday.

Not in training, not at lunch, not in the afternoon meetings, not even when you were chilling in the common room that evening, some of the other Avengers coming in and out, making casual conversation.

That’s when you started to think, maybe they planned something bigger than you thought. Maybe – just maybe – they had a surprise party planned for you. Maybe they’d order in from your favorite restaurant, or just have a cake.

But as the others started drifting in and out of the kitchen, warming up leftovers or making something themselves, you knew that wasn’t happening either.

Finally, everyone had eaten and made their way back to their rooms. And you were still sitting on the couch, hoping someone would remember.

But no one did.

You tried not to let it bother you. You haven’t even known them a year, it’s been a while since you talked about your birthday last, and it’s not like you expected them to remember anyway.

But you couldn’t help the tears that started to leak from your eyes when you realized how alone you felt.

You didn’t have any other friends or family left. No one else that would have known. No calls or texts.

You could have just told them, but you didn’t want to seem like you were looking for attention. Didn’t want them to feel like they had to make a big deal out of it. Didn’t want to make them feel bad that they forgot.

But all you wanted, all day, was just to hear someone say “happy birthday.”

You didn’t know how long you sat there, staring at the wall, tears slowly streaming down your face, but you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until it was too late.

“Y/n?”

You jumped and looked up.

Bucky was standing over the couch, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed.

“What?” you said, quickly swiping the backs of your hands over your cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You forced a smile, shaking your head a little too quickly. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Bucky didn’t move. “You’ve been sitting here for a while.”

“I was just…relaxing.”

“In the dark?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

You gave a half-hearted shrug and looked away. “Didn’t feel like turning the lights on.”

He came around the couch, hesitating for a moment before sitting at the far end, giving you space. His voice was gentler now. “You’ve been crying.”

“No, I haven’t.”

He gave you a look – quiet, patient, not pressing, but not buying it either.

You sighed, eyes on the coffee table. “It’s stupid.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “It’s not stupid if it has you this upset.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, debating. He didn’t need to know. It wasn’t his problem. But the words slipped out anyway, soft and strained.

“It’s my birthday.”

Bucky blinked. “Today?”

You nodded once.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, guilt flashing in his expression. “I wish you would’ve said something.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, waving it off with a tired smile. “I didn’t want to make it a thing.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but you cut in again, trying to redirect.

“I think I just…missed my family a little more today, that’s all.” You gave a shrug like it was no big deal, like that was the full truth. But he could see it in your eyes – that wasn’t the whole story.

Still, he didn’t call you out on it. He just nodded slowly and said, “Well…happy birthday.”

Something in your chest loosened at that. It was small, and a little late, but it was something.

You smiled, a little sad but a little grateful too. “Thanks.”

You stood up after that, brushing your hands against your sides as if to shake the weight of the day off with the motion. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Alright,” Bucky said, watching you go.

You gave him a small nod before walking out of the room.

--

A little while later, you were sitting on your bed, legs tucked under you and a book open in your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. The earlier conversation with Bucky kept replaying in your mind – his quiet apology, the way he’d said happy birthday like it actually mattered to him. You told yourself not to dwell on it, that he’d just felt bad.

Then came a soft knock on your door.

You looked up, startled. It wasn’t that late, but still – unexpected.

When you opened the door, Bucky was standing there.

“Hey,” he said simply. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

He just motioned you to follow him. “You’ll see.”

You hesitated, half-suspicious, half-hopeful. Your brain tried to tamp down your expectations, but your heart didn’t listen. You followed him anyway, barefoot down the hall, trying not to get your hopes up.

When you reached the kitchen, the lights were on – and the room wasn’t empty.

The rest of the team was there, scattered around the counters and table. There was a lopsided cake sitting in the center, icing smudged in some places and candles poking out at awkward angles.

Everyone turned when you walked in, and in near unison, they said:

“Happy birthday!”

You froze.

Apologies immediately followed. Tony started with some dramatic excuse, Steve gave you a genuine “I’m so sorry we forgot,” Nat muttered something that sounded like guilt hidden behind dry humor, and even Sam offered a sheepish, “You should’ve said something, we would’ve made a big deal, you know that.”

You smiled, overwhelmed but somehow lighter than you’d felt all day. “It’s okay. Really. I didn’t tell anyone, so...it’s not your fault.”

Your eyes drifted to Bucky.

He was standing a little off to the side, arms crossed, but there was a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you take it all in.

“You did all this for me?” you asked softly, your eyes locked on his.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Didn’t want the day to end without someone celebrating you.”

The warmth that bloomed in your chest was almost too much to process. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much it meant, but your throat felt tight.

Instead, you stepped closer to the cake as someone started lighting the candles, the room filled with flickers of golden light. You stared at the glow, the soft hum of voices around you beginning the birthday song.

You looked up, just before you blew out the candles, and your eyes found Bucky again.

He was already watching you, that same quiet smile on his face.

You smiled back – grateful, full-hearted – and made your wish.

I want every birthday to feel like this.

And then, you blew out the candles.

When your alarm went off in the morning, you just turned it off with a sigh.

It was your birthday.

And while that should be a good thing, you’ve never really liked your birthday. You didn’t know why exactly, but you just always seemed to end up crying.

You knew some family and other people would text you, wishing you a happy birthday. But you knew for a fact there wouldn’t be any parties happening at the compound.

This was your first birthday as an Avenger, and you made sure not to make a big deal about when your birthday was. So you hoped that you would have an attention-free birthday.

But that lasted all of 30 minutes.

You went down to the kitchen for breakfast – successfully, with no “happy birthdays.”

After sipping on coffee and grabbing a protein bar, you made your way to the training room before everyone else, always preferring to get some extra warm-ups in before it started.

When you walked in, Bucky was the only other one in there, stretching.

He said hey, you greeted him back, then you started to walk to the other side of the room.

“Happy birthday.”

You froze.

How the hell did he know it was your birthday?

You slowly turned around, eyes wide. “What?”

He froze now, too. “Oh…is it not your birthday?”

You just opened your mouth, then closed it again, trying to figure out how he would know.

“No it is,” you answered, taking a couple steps toward him. “But how did you know that?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, standing straight up now. “You mentioned it once.”

You narrowed your eyes, taking a few more steps toward him. “When?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you were crazy. “Uhh…I don’t know. Why?”

You stared at him, still baffled. “No, seriously. When did I say that? I don’t remember ever telling you.”

Bucky just shrugged, like it was obvious. “You mentioned it once – maybe a couple months ago? You were talking to Nat about what time of year you hate the most or something. You said your birthday always sucked.”

You blinked. That did sound like something you’d mutter in passing without thinking anyone was really listening.

“But…” you hesitated, still a little thrown. “You remembered that?”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to look confused. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

You opened your mouth again, searching for an answer, but the words felt heavy in your chest. “I don’t know,” you said finally. “It just…surprises me.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

You gave a small shrug, suddenly feeling a little silly. “I don’t really like my birthday.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. “You don’t?”

“Nope.”

He folded his arms across his chest, watching you now with real curiosity. “Why not?”

“I don’t really have a reason,” you said, looking down at your feet and giving a small shake of your head. “It just always ends up being a bad day. I try not to expect much, and then it still somehow manages to suck.”

There was a pause, and then Bucky said, in a tone that was so matter-of-fact it stunned you, “Well…I’ll make sure it isn’t a bad day for you.”

You looked up sharply, eyes meeting his. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t saying it to be polite.

He meant it.

For a second, you didn’t know what to say. You were used to people brushing your feelings off or awkwardly changing the subject – not promising to make it better.

“…Well,” you said after a beat, the sincerity of his words warming something deep inside you, “thank you.”

You gave him a small, almost shy smile, then turned away and started walking toward the mats. The sound of your shoes echoed softly as you crossed the room to your usual corner to begin stretching.

A few moments later, the rest of the team began to file in – Steve and Sam mid-argument, Natasha sipping coffee like she hadn’t slept, and Clint yawning dramatically as he tossed his gear bag to the side.

But even with all the noise and movement that followed, you still felt that quiet flicker of warmth from earlier.

Because for once…maybe your birthday wouldn’t be a bad day.

--

After training, you headed straight back to your room, muscles sore but heart still unexpectedly light.

The hot shower helped clear your head a little, washing away the sweat and leftover tension from earlier. You changed into a fresh hoodie and leggings, combed your hair, and just as you stepped out the door to head downstairs for lunch, you noticed something.

A small gift bag.

It was sitting neatly right outside your door. Pale blue with silver tissue paper poking out the top.

Your eyebrows knit together as you bent to pick it up, glancing down the hallway like someone might jump out and take credit.

No one did.

You stepped back into your room, set the bag on your bed, and carefully opened it.

Inside was a small card, simple but clearly handwritten.

Hope this one doesn’t suck. Happy Birthday.

– Bucky

You huffed out a surprised breath – half-laugh, half-scoff – as your heart tugged in your chest.

Beneath the card was a small, thoughtful gift. Your favorite kind of tea, a book you’d mentioned in passing weeks ago, and a sleek new knife – something practical, but still somehow personal.

Your fingers brushed over the items as you smiled, something soft and unguarded breaking through your usual quiet shell.

You were still smiling when you headed down to the kitchen.

But when you stepped in, your eyes widened. Lining the counters were containers and boxes from your favorite takeout spot – steam rising from fresh dishes, a spread of every comfort meal you loved most.

“Whoa,” you said, blinking. “What’s going on?”

Tony glanced up from where he was stacking plates. “Just lunch.”

You eyed the food again, mouth already watering. “Is there a reason you ordered from here?”

“Bucky requested it for some reason,” he said. “Which was weird because I didn’t think he liked this place.”

Before you could react, you heard footsteps. Bucky walked in, hair still damp, wearing a clean t-shirt and joggers. He looked relaxed – and when his eyes met yours, a quiet kind of warmth passed between you.

You met him halfway, smiling as you spoke. “Thank you. For the gift. And…everything.”

He gave a half-shrug, obviously downplaying his efforts. “Figured you deserved it.”

You looked at him for a moment, then lowered your voice a little. “Did you tell the others? About today?”

He shook his head. “No. Wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”

You paused, touched by how seriously he took that small boundary. And maybe a little surprised by how much that consideration meant to you.

After a breath, you said softly, “No. I didn’t.”

He nodded, respectful and unbothered.

Then, as if on cue, your stomach growled. You both cracked a grin.

“Let’s eat,” he said.

And together, you walked over to the counter, grabbed plates, and started filling them side by side.

You were lounging in your room later that afternoon, scrolling aimlessly through your phone and trying not to think too hard about the day – how unexpectedly good it had turned out – when your phone buzzed.

It was a text from Steve in the group chat.

Hey guys, team dinner at 5 tonight. Don’t miss it.

You frowned slightly, sitting up. That wasn’t unusual – team dinners happened all the time – but the phrasing was oddly formal. Still, you figured it was just one of those days where Steve decided to be overly responsible.

A few hours later, when it was almost 5, you started making your way downstairs.

But when you stepped into the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks.

Everyone was already there.

“Happy birthday!” they all chorused.

Your eyes went wide. A huge cake sat on the counter – frosted perfectly, with your name in bold letters and candles already placed, ready to be lit.

You didn’t say anything at first, completely stunned. Your gaze immediately flicked to the one person you were sure had something to do with this.

Bucky was leaning casually against the island, arms crossed, a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked almost too pleased with himself.

You blinked, still processing, before shaking your head with a quiet laugh. “You guys…”

“Why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday?” Natasha asked, hands on her hips like she was genuinely offended. “You know we celebrate birthdays around here.”

Sam pointed a chip at you. “Yeah, what the hell, y/n. I would’ve made my world-famous brownies.”

“Tony would’ve gone overboard with decorations,” Clint added.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling your cheeks flush with both embarrassment and joy. “I don’t know…I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve said, “but we will.”

The room chuckled, and you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Thank you, really.”

“Don’t thank us,” Tony said, waving a hand. “Thank Barnes.”

You glanced over at Bucky again.

He just shrugged like it was nothing, but the slight pink in his cheeks gave him away.

“Wait, wait,” Sam cut in, grinning wide now. “You don’t even know. After lunch, this guy went full sergeant mode.”

“I’m serious,” Clint chimed in, pointing dramatically. “He went door to door like some birthday vigilante. Told all of us the plan, gave assignments.”

“He picked out the cake himself,” Natasha added with a smirk. “Wouldn’t let anyone help. Said he had it handled.”

Bucky looked vaguely horrified as all eyes turned on him. “You guys are so dramatic.”

“You were literally ordering people around,” Bruce said mildly. “It was kind of impressive, honestly.”

You couldn’t stop laughing now, covering your mouth as you turned to Bucky again. “You did all that?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but at you. “Didn’t want your birthday to suck.”

Your smile softened, and you took a step closer. “Thank you,” you said again, quieter this time.

He finally looked at you, and the look on his face – slightly shy, slightly proud – made your chest tighten in the best way.

“Anytime,” he murmured.

--

Dinner was loud, messy, and perfect.

Everyone gathered around the big table, plates full of takeout and mismatched drinks clinking together. There was endless banter – Sam complaining about the spice level, Tony bragging about some invention no one asked about, Nat calmly stealing fries off Clint’s plate without looking up.

At some point, the others subtly shuffled chairs and swapped spots so that, somehow, you ended up sitting right next to Bucky.

You didn’t say anything about it.

He didn’t either.

But you felt the slight brush of his knee against yours under the table, and the warm little flicker in your chest told you it wasn’t a coincidence.

After the meal was finished and people were groaning about being too full, Tony dramatically declared it was “cake time,” and Bruce lit the candles while Steve dimmed the lights.

Everyone gathered around the kitchen island, and you stood at the center, cheeks burning as they sang the happy birthday song in varying levels of pitch and enthusiasm. You caught Bucky watching you again – eyes soft, a faint smile on his lips – and just before you blew out the candles, you gave him a grateful look.

Your wish was simple: Let every birthday feel like this one.

Afterward, everyone dug into the cake and ice cream, cracking jokes about sugar crashes and fighting over middle slices.

Eventually, as plates were scraped clean and the sugar haze started to settle in, Steve asked you a question.

“So, what’s the best birthday gift you’ve ever gotten?”

You blinked, thinking. “Hmm…probably when I turned seven. I wanted this purple bike. Like, really wanted it. I talked about it nonstop for months.”

Bucky leaned his elbow on the table, quietly watching you as you spoke.

“My parents acted like they had no idea what I was talking about – kept saying it was too expensive, I was too small, I’d grow out of it. And then boom – there it was in the living room with a giant bow on it. I think I screamed.”

Everyone laughed as you smiled at the memory.

You went quiet for a moment after that, then glanced down at your plate, voice a little softer. “But…I think today might be the best one yet, actually.”

There was a pause.

Then, a collective and heartfelt chorus of “Awww” went around the table.

“Well, we’re glad we could finally celebrate it with you,” Steve said, lifting his glass of soda.

“And we all know who made it happen,” Natasha said, eyes sliding toward Bucky.

You laughed as the teasing began again.

“He organized this whole thing,” Sam said with mock awe.

“Birthday commander,” Clint added. “Ten-hut!”

“Oh, shut up,” Bucky muttered, slouching a little in his seat, clearly embarrassed but grinning all the same.

“You picked a damn good cake, man,” Tony said, patting his shoulder.

You turned toward him, bumping your shoulder gently against his. “You really did.”

He just gave you a sideways glance and said, quiet but sincere, “Told you I’d make sure it wasn’t a bad day.”

And as the night drifted into laughter and stories, you couldn’t help but think – he really did.

Your alarm goes off with a soft chime, cutting through the quiet warmth of you and Bucky’s shared room at the compound. You barely have time to register the sound before Bucky's lips are on you – pressing kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your nose. He peppers your face with affection, slow and sleepy and smiling against your skin.

You laugh, soft and muffled in your pillow, tilting your head just enough to catch his eyes. He’s already grinning.

“Happy birthday, doll,” he murmurs, voice still husky with sleep.

“Thank you,” you whisper back, your heart flipping the way it always does when he looks at you like that. You reach for him and press a kiss to his lips – slow, lingering, and just enough to make him hum contentedly against you.

You stay like that for a little while longer, tangled up in sheets and each other, letting the day stretch out ahead of you. You know training is coming, but right now, the world is just you and him.

Eventually, reluctantly, you both get up and start getting ready. As you pull on your training clothes, you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. The day ahead is already playing out in your mind – lunch with Nat and Wanda, getting your nails done, some much-needed retail therapy, and then dinner with Bucky tonight. A proper date night.

You're still smiling when you and Bucky head downstairs to the kitchen, your fingers brushing against his as you walk. The moment you step through the door, a chorus of voices greets you.

“Happy birthday!”

Everyone is already gathered around, mugs in hand, grinning. There’s a card on the table, standing upright like it's been waiting for you. You pick it up and open it, your chest warming at the familiar, chaotic mix of handwriting and doodles. Everyone signed it.

Bucky moves around the kitchen, making your coffee like he always does. He sets your mug in front of you before you can even ask, the steam curling between you as he leans down to kiss the top of your head.

“Sit,” he says, already grabbing ingredients. “Birthday girl doesn’t lift a finger.”

You roll your eyes fondly but take your seat, watching as he whips up a batch of your favorite – chocolate chip pancakes, golden and fluffy and stacked high. He even adds extra chocolate chips, just the way you like.

Breakfast is warm and sweet and full of laughter. It’s everything you love about mornings at the compound – only better, because Bucky keeps sneaking glances at you like you hung the moon.

Once the plates are cleared and coffee cups drained, Bucky stretches, then offers you his hand. “Ready for training?”

You groan half-heartedly, but your fingers curl around his anyway. “Let’s get it over with.”

As you head to the training room together, you’re already counting down the hours until lunch with the girls, your date with Bucky, and whatever else the day might bring. Because so far, it’s perfect – and you’ve got a feeling it’s only going to get better.

--

Training is tougher than usual – either Steve's in a particularly bad mood or you're just too giddy to focus. Probably the latter. Even Bucky, usually dialed in and sharp, keeps sneaking glances at you between sparring drills. At one point, Nat elbows him with a smirk and whispers something that makes him roll his eyes, though the blush on his cheeks gives him away.

By the time you’re done, your muscles ache in that satisfying way, and your hair is sticking to your neck. You shoot Bucky a grin as you part ways in the hallway.

“Quick shower, then I’m off to be spoiled.”

He leans in, presses a kiss to your temple, his metal hand curling gently around your waist. “Good. You deserve it. Have fun with the girls.”

You take a quick shower, letting the hot water ease the tension from your shoulders. You towel off, slipping into the outfit you picked out just for today: something cute but comfy, perfect for brunch and window shopping. Then, you put on some makeup and grab your purse.

By the time you step out of your room, Nat and Wanda are already waiting for you by the elevators.

“Birthday girl is ready,” Nat declares, linking her arm through yours.

Wanda grins and hands you a gift bag. “Just a little something to start the day.”

Inside is a new shade of lipstick Wanda swore would look perfect on you last week, and a new knife, obviously from Nat.

You blink back the sudden warmth in your eyes. “You guys…”

“Don’t get all sappy on us yet,” Nat smirks. “We’ve got mimosas to drink.”

You all pile into one of the cars and head into the city. Lunch is at your favorite brunch spot – outdoor seating, the smell of fresh pastries and coffee in the air, the sun warm on your face. The three of you toast with fruity drinks, laugh too loudly, and share everything from pancakes to avocado toast. Nat insists on ordering a dessert for the table – something with caramel and ice cream – and you nearly fall into a food coma right then and there.

After lunch, it's nails and spa. The place Wanda picked is chic and relaxing, with soft music and cucumber water and cozy chairs. The three of you sit side-by-side getting your nails done, flipping through magazines and comparing colors. You go for a soft birthday-pink with a little shimmer, while Nat chooses a dark red, and Wanda surprises everyone with a glittery teal.

“You have to take a selfie with Bucky tonight,” Wanda says, examining your finished nails. “I need to see his face when he realizes how ridiculously in love with you he is.”

You laugh, heart fluttering, because yeah…you already know he is. And you’re so gone for him, too.

Shopping comes last – mostly browsing, a few impulse buys, and Nat pretending she doesn’t care while picking out a killer leather jacket. You grab a candle that smells like fresh linen and vanilla, and a sweater you know Bucky will love seeing you in.

As the sun starts to dip lower, painting the sky in warm golds and oranges, you all head back to the compound. Your bag is full, your heart is fuller, and you can’t stop smiling.

And now, all you can think about is what comes next: dinner with Bucky, just the two of you. You already know he’s planning something – he’s been too quiet about it not to be. And whatever it is, you’re more than ready.

--

The elevator doors slide open, and you step into the compound with Nat and Wanda, arms full of shopping bags and your cheeks still warm from laughing. As you walk into the common room, you spot most of the guys sprawled out on the couches – Steve with a book, Sam mid-argument with Tony over something on the TV, and Bucky, who jumps up the moment he sees you.

He crosses the room in a few long strides, not even pretending to play it cool. His eyes scan you first – head to toe – then he’s reaching for the bags in your hands.

“Let me get these,” he says, voice low, eyes soft.

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already taking everything out of your arms like it weighs nothing. And then he kisses you – right there, in front of everyone. Warm and slow, his hand cradling your jaw like you’re the only thing that matters.

Sam lets out a dramatic groan. “Damn, man, give us a warning next time!”

Tony whistles. “She leaves for a few hours and you act like she’s been gone for a week.”

Bucky doesn’t even blink. “Jealous?” he tosses over his shoulder, still entirely focused on you. “C’mon, doll. Let’s get ready.”

He carries everything up like it’s his job, and honestly, maybe it is. By the time you reach your room, he’s already setting the bags gently on the bench at the foot of your bed.

You step into the bathroom while he heads to the closet, the quiet tension of the evening starting to build. The outfit you picked for dinner hangs by the mirror: a dress that makes you feel effortlessly beautiful, the kind Bucky always lingers on a little too long when you wear. You slip into it, your freshly done nails shining against the fabric. You add a pair of earrings and swipe on Wanda’s new lipstick before stepping out of the bathroom.

Bucky is waiting for you in a suit, and when he turns around, his breath catches.

“Wow,” he says simply, eyes locked on you. “You look…”

You smile. “So do you.”

He takes your hand and kisses it – like you’re in a movie, like he does it without thinking. “Ready?”

“Definitely.”

The drive to the restaurant is quiet and peaceful. He plays your favorite playlist in the car, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. The city lights blur past the windows as he takes you to a place you’ve never been, but that looks straight out of a romance novel – high ceilings, flickering candles, soft piano music playing in the background.

He holds every door open. Pulls out your chair. Orders your favorite wine before you even ask. You try not to grin too obviously, but it’s hard. He’s doing the “perfect gentleman” thing to an almost suspicious degree.

Not that you’re complaining.

The dinner is beautiful and amazing, course after course of rich, expertly made food. But the whole time, there’s this energy underneath it all, buzzing beneath Bucky’s smile. He’s trying to be chill, casual, but you know him. You can tell something’s going on.

He keeps checking his watch.

His phone buzzes once, and he flips it over quickly.

He’s got that subtle, telltale edge of nerves that gives him away more than he realizes.

You’ve helped plan enough surprise parties for the team to know the signs. And you have a pretty good idea of what’s waiting for you when you get back to the compound. But you don’t say anything. You let him play it out. Let him have his moment. Because whatever he’s planning – whatever he’s got up his sleeve – you already know it’s going to mean the world.

And for now, you’re perfectly content to sip your wine, smile at Bucky across the table, and enjoy every second of your perfect birthday night.

--

Dinner winds down with a shared dessert, a quiet toast from Bucky, and the kind of silence that feels full, like neither of you wants to break the spell. But eventually, he checks the time and pays the bill with a small, almost secretive smile.

“Ready to head home, birthday girl?”

You nod, your heart already thudding with quiet anticipation.

The drive back is filled with soft music and stolen glances. Bucky’s thumb strokes over your knuckles as he holds your hand the whole way, and that tension you’d been feeling at dinner – the almost playful, charged energy between you – still lingers, stronger now. You know something’s waiting when you get back. You just don’t know how much.

The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and you’re met with darkness.

The lights on the floor are off – eerily quiet, especially for the compound. Bucky pretends like he’s surprised too, furrowing his brow in mock confusion. “We pay the electric bill this month?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe Tony forgot.”

Then, the lights come on, and everyone jumps out from behind the couches, kitchen island, and even the hallway walls, yelling in unison:

“SURPRISE!!”

Confetti rains from the ceiling in a shower of glitter and paper streamers. A banner stretches across the room that reads “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” in big, glittery letters. Someone sets off a mini party cannon and Sam cheers like a mad man.

There's a massive cake waiting on the table, lit with candles, next to a spread of ice cream and a stack of mismatched bowls. The scent of frosting and sugar fills the air, and the sound of laughter is instant and infectious.

You laugh, loud and unfiltered, spinning toward Bucky with wide eyes. He’s already looking at you, hands in his pockets, that proud, satisfied smile lighting up his whole face.

You step in close and lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You did all this?”

He grins, just a little bashful now. “Maybe I had some help.”

You kiss him – soft and sweet – and whisper, “Thank you. This is perfect.”

The next hour is a blur of warmth and chaos. The team sings a hilariously off-key version of the happy birthday song, with Tony making dramatic hand gestures like he’s conducting a symphony and Thor booming the final line so loudly the windows rattle. You blow out the candles, and Bucky’s standing right behind you, hands gently resting on your hips as everyone cheers.

There’s cake and ice cream and drinks, gifts exchanged, and stories shared.

At one point, as you're sitting on the couch with Bucky’s arm wrapped around you, Nat asks, “So, were you actually surprised?”

You raise your brows, give a little shrug, and smirk. “Well…I kinda had a feeling.”

The whole room erupts in laughter – even Bucky, who leans into you with a mock groan. “I knew you were onto me.”

The night winds down slowly, and people start saying goodnight one by one. The confetti's still in your hair, your lipstick’s worn off, and you’ve never felt more full – of cake, yes, but also of joy.

Eventually, Bucky stands, offering you his hand again, his eyes darker now in the soft lighting. “C’mon, doll,” he murmurs, slipping a hand to the small of your back as he walks you to the elevator. “I’ve got one more gift for you.”

The way he says it – low, intimate, voice curling around the words like a promise – sends a slow, warm shiver up your spine.

You smile as the elevator doors close behind you.

And when you get back to your room, it’s the best gift yet.

The night ends not with laughter, but with whispered words, tangled limbs, and the kind of closeness that feels sacred.

A perfect birthday, wrapped in love – and Bucky.

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd @navs-bhat @starstruckfirecat @yes-ilovetowrite @bonnyclydecat @rnurse-kole @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes

Masterlist

Author's Note: promise I'm not trying to ask for attention😭 but if we're birthday twins, happy birthday! And if not and you come back to this on your birthday, happy birthday :)

[bkchron]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY LOVE

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count 2.2 k

Note I am sorry for this but today is my birthday and yeah, maybe this is a tiiiiny bit self-indulgent and so... someone give me my Bucky Barnes, I guess haha only fluff here, I swear.

Morning came slowly, soft warm light slipping through the curtains of the bedroom, the kind that painted everything pale gold and quiet. You woke the way you usually did—half tangled in blankets, half tangled in Bucky Barnes. His arm was draped heavily across your waist, metal fingers warm from the blankets where they rested against your stomach, the faint hum of the prosthetic barely audible in the quiet room. He was already awake. You could tell before you even opened your eyes fully, because Bucky had this stillness when he was awake, this careful way of breathing like he didn’t want to disturb anything around him. When you shifted slightly, his hand tightened automatically, pulling you closer against his chest, nose brushing the back of your hair.

“Mornin’, honey.” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep but warm in that quiet way that always made your chest feel too full.

You blinked up at him, squinting at the light. “Why are you awake already?” you mumbled, voice thick and slow. Bucky just watched you for a second like he was memorizing your face—something he did more often than he realized. His thumb brushed lazily over your hip through the fabric of your shirt. Then the corner of his mouth lifted just barely. “Had stuff to do.”

That immediately made you suspicious. “Stuff?”

“Mmhm.” He leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your temple, lingering just a second longer than usual. “Happy birthday.”

The realization hit you like warm sunlight. You groaned softly and hid your face in his shoulder. “You remembered.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh at that, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Honey,” he said softly, nudging your forehead until you looked up at him again, “I remember everything about you. Every single detail, even the ones you think aren't important.” The words were simple, but the way he said them carried that quiet sincerity he always had—the kind that made you believe him immediately. Bucky wasn’t good with big speeches or dramatic declarations. But when he spoke, it always meant something.

You stretched lazily, pressing closer to him. “Do we have to get up?”

He hesitated just long enough to make you suspicious again. Then he sighed dramatically, like he was giving up a carefully guarded secret. “Well… I might’ve already made breakfast.”

You lifted your head instantly. “You what?”

“Don’t get excited, please,” he muttered, already looking vaguely defensive. “It’s just pancakes.”

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

“I followed a recipe.”

“You made pancakes.” You chuckle, feeling his eyes on you, a silly pout forming on his face.

“Yeah.”

You stared at him like he’d just told you he’d wrestled a bear before breakfast. Bucky looked away toward the ceiling like he suddenly found it very interesting. His fingers traced absent patterns along your side. “Figured you shouldn’t cook on your birthday,” he added quietly. Then, after a moment, he glanced back at you, a little more serious now. “Actually… you shouldn’t do anything today. If you want to, I can take off your pajamas and put on your comfy jeans.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” His metal fingers curled lightly against your hip as if sealing the decision. “You’re all mine today.”

You snorted softly. “That sounds slightly possessive.”

He smirks and winks at you. “Good.”

That made you laugh, the sound filling the room in a way that made Bucky’s expression soften almost immediately. “I mean it,” he said, quieter now. “No missions, no training, no running around doing favors for anyone. Just… whatever you wanna do.” He shrugged one shoulder, suddenly looking a little uncertain. “If that’s okay.”

“Bucky,” you said gently.

He blinked down at you.

“You planned my whole birthday, didn’t you?”

His ears turned pink almost instantly. “I wouldn’t say "planned".”

“Oh my god.”

“I just—” he started, then stopped, then tried again with a sigh. “You deserve one day where you’re not taking care of everybody else.” His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your skin. “So yeah. Today you’re just… mine. If you want.”

The look on his face right then was so open and sincere that it made your chest ache. “A whole day just me with my man? Of course I want it.” you said immediately.

He smiles softly at you.

That was how the day unfolded. Soft and unhurried, exactly the way Bucky had promised. Breakfast turned out surprisingly good—pancakes a little uneven but warm and fluffy, with way too much syrup because Bucky had apparently decided that was the correct birthday portion. He watched you eat like he was waiting for your official review. When you told him they were perfect, he muttered something about the recipe doing all the work but looked quietly pleased anyway. Afterward the day turned into the kind of wandering, lazy adventure Bucky seemed weirdly good at planning—coffee from a little place off the main street, a walk through the park with his fingers loosely hooked through yours, an old bookstore where he disappeared between the shelves and came back with three books he insisted you’d love. At some point you ended up sitting in a quiet diner booth sharing fries, your foot nudging his under the table while he told you half-remembered stories from the 40s that always made you laugh. And the entire time Bucky stayed close—hand on your back, fingers brushing yours, small quiet touches that said everything he didn’t always know how to put into words.

By the time evening rolled around you were back in the compound, curled up on the couch together while some old movie played in the background. Bucky’s arm was draped over your shoulders, his thumb idly tracing circles against your arm like he’d been doing it for hours. You leaned into him, warm and content in that easy way that came from being with someone who felt like home.

“You pampered me all day.” you murmured.

He shrugged slightly. “Wasn’t that hard.”

“Liar.”

He smiled faintly at that, pressing a kiss into your hair. Then he shifted slightly, reaching down beside the couch where something had apparently been hidden the entire time. When he brought his hand back up, there was a small worn notebook in it—dark leather, the kind that looked handled a hundred times already.

Your brow furrowed. “What’s that?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He turned the notebook over in his hands once, like he was checking something. Then he held it out to you. “Your gift.” he said simply.

You took it carefully, curiosity growing. He already gave you some things through the day but this looked even more personal. The cover was soft from use, the edges of the pages slightly bent. When you opened it, the first thing you saw was a photograph of you laughing in the kitchen one morning, hair messy, flour on your cheek. Beneath it was a line of messy handwriting.

"Sam says you laugh like that, so demonically, when you’re about to beat him at cards. "

You flipped the page. Another photo—this one from a mission debrief, you leaning back in your chair with a tired smile.

"Natasha says you’re the bravest person she knows. She also says don’t tell you she said that, would ruin her reputation."

Another page.

A picture of you asleep on the couch.

"Steve says the Tower feels quieter when you’re gone."

Your chest tightened slowly with every page. Some had photos. Some had small scribbled notes. Some were longer messages from people who clearly adored you. There were doodles from Peter. A dramatic paragraph from Tony that somehow ended in a joke about cake. Yelena sharing her simple noodles recipe you've been asking for months, along a small note saying how much you mean to her. The deeper you went, the more obvious it became that this had taken time—real time, careful effort, Bucky going around quietly asking people what they wanted to say about you.

Your eyes stung slightly by the time you reached the last page. There was a picture of you and Bucky together. Apparently was taken in a movie night though you don't know when they took that. The handwriting there was different—familiar. Careful but a little uneven, like the writer had paused a few times.

"You make the world feel quieter for me.

You make it easier to breathe.

You make me want to stay."

You looked up slowly. Bucky was watching you with that same quiet intensity he always had, one arm resting along the back of the couch behind you.

“That’s… from you.” you said softly.

He nodded once.

You glanced down again. There was one more line beneath the others.

"You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since I got my life back."

Your vision blurred slightly. “Bucky…”

He shifted closer, brushing a thumb under your eye before the tear could fall. “Hey,” he murmured gently. “No crying on your birthday, precious.”

“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” you whispered.

Bucky looked faintly embarrassed by that, glancing away toward the floor before leaning forward and pressing his forehead lightly against yours. His voice dropped into that soft tone he used when he meant every word.

“You deserve this.” He whispers, butterfly kisses here and there. “Had to make sure you knew.” he said quietly.

“Knew what?”

“How much you’re loved.”

You reached up, cupping his face in both hands. “I already knew that.” you murmured.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “But I figured it wouldn’t hurt to remind you.”

For a moment neither of you moved. Then you leaned forward and kissed him—slow and warm and full of everything the day had been. When you finally pulled back, Bucky rested his forehead against yours again, one arm sliding around your waist.

“Best birthday?” he asked quietly, a small smile on his face.

You smiled, still holding the notebook against your chest.

“The best.”

He watched you for a moment after that, eyes softer than usual, thumb still brushing slow circles against your arm like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The room was quiet except for the low murmur of the movie playing somewhere behind you, the soft rustle of pages as you absentmindedly flipped through the notebook again. You stopped at a picture Sam had apparently taken of you and Bucky a few weeks ago in the kitchen—hair pulled up messily, sleeves rolled up while you argued with him about something. You hadn’t even realized someone had taken the photo.

Bucky noticed where your gaze lingered.

“You look happy there.” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers traced the edge of the photograph slowly, the smile in it feeling a little distant now. The past few weeks had been… heavy. Long days. Too many late nights. Too many moments where the world felt louder than it should, where everything sat in your chest like a weight you didn’t quite know how to shake off. You hadn’t said much about it out loud. You hadn’t needed to.

Bucky always noticed anyway.

He never pushed. Never demanded explanations or forced conversations you weren’t ready for. But sometimes he’d pull you a little closer when you were quiet. Sometimes he’d bring you tea without asking. Sometimes he’d let you talk about nothing at all just so the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

And now… this.

The pancakes. The wandering through the city. The way he’d kept the whole day slow and easy, like he was deliberately building a little pocket of calm around you. The notebook full of voices reminding you that you mattered.

Bucky didn’t say it out loud. That wasn’t really his way.

But you knew.

Your chest tightened again, though this time it wasn’t sadness. You closed the notebook gently and leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. For a moment he stilled, then his arm tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer until you were practically curled into his side.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” you murmured softly.

He shrugged slightly, chin brushing the top of your head. “Wanted to.”

You tilted your face up just enough to look at him. “You’ve been watching me.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered down to yours, a little wary now, like he was trying to figure out if you were upset about that.

“Yeah.” he admitted quietly.

You smiled gently instead, reaching up to brush your fingers along his jaw. “You always do.”

His shoulders relaxed just slightly under your touch.

“Comes with the job.” he muttered.

You huffed a quiet laugh, but your hand stayed where it was, thumb tracing the faint line of stubble along his jaw. For a moment neither of you spoke. Then you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you.” you whispered.

Bucky didn’t answer with words. He just pulled you closer, pressing his lips against your temple in that familiar, steady way that always made the world feel a little quieter. And as you sat there tucked against him, the notebook resting safely in your lap, you realized something simple and certain. He might never say the exact reason out loud. But you knew. And somehow that made it mean even more.

His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you tucked against him for a long moment before he gently tilted your chin up so you were looking at him again.

His expression was soft in that quiet, careful way he only let you see.

“Hey?” he murmured.

You hummed softly in response.

A small smile touched the corner of his mouth as he leaned in, brushing his lips gently against yours—slow, warm, lingering just long enough to make your chest flutter. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again.

“Happy birthday, my love.” Bucky says, those ocean blue eyes full of love as well, that smile reserved for you was there.

[sillymii]

"Cake is overrated anyway..."

Bucky Barnes x gn!Reader

Bucky thinks he can bake, but the cake mix proves him wrong.

°❀.ೃ࿔*

A/N: This is for the people that have a birthday today (hey, me too!) Wrote this quickly so there might be some mistakes. Not my first time writing Bucky but still trying to get the hang of him ig?

Masterlist

It was your birthday, a time to celebrate you and have a good time. Which you did, with friends and family. Though Bucky left a little early to go home and surprise you. The surprise? You had no idea– not one clue. But you weren't expecting this…

When you came home you hadn't expected to find Bucky frantically cursing and shouting at the fire alarm to ‘shut up!’ He had all the windows open and was fanning the fire alarm with a dish towel like his life depended on it. You stood there, gawking at the sight before Bucky noticed you. He froze, pausing his fanning to stare at you. 

“What are you doing!” You shouted, taking your shoes off and walking over to where he was standing. He shifted awkwardly in his spot, blocking your view from the kitchen. 

“Nothing… I just burnt something and the fire alarm is being dramatic,” he frowned, scowling at the offending safety equipment. He fanned it a few more times for good measure, thankfully the irritating blaring squeal was sated as it shut off moments later. Both of you relaxed as the quiet took over before a sad meow was heard. Looking past Bucky you saw Alpine curled under the table, tail puffed up and shaking. You moved past him to get to her who gladly met you halfway. You reached down to pick her up off the floor, giving her a few soothing pets, she relaxed instantly. Snuggling into your shoulder and purring up a storm. 

When you turned around to face Bucky again, you saw him near the stove and to say what you saw was– interesting… would be an understatement.

Bucky was holding what looked like a baked sweet- if said baked sweet was supposed to resemble coal. It was burnt to a crip, still smoking and wafting a horrible stench of burnt evil. You nose scrunched up in displeasure at the smell as you heard him let out a few curses.

“This was not how I planned this to go…” he mumbled, staring down at his burnt monstrosity. Everything now seemed ruined. He felt like a failure for messing up the simplest thing someone could bake– box cake mix. His mom was probably scolding him beyond the grave right now. Bucky was just trying to recreate something his mom did for him on his birthdays back when he was a kid. Which involved making a nice supper and baking a cake. Now his cooking skills were nothing to sneeze at, his baking skills though… they were nowhere to be found. His vibranium hand gripped the cake pan so hard it began to dent. 

“Hey, I mean– for what it's worth, thanks for trying? I mean… cake is so overrated for birthdays anyway,” you shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it. But in reality you were a little bummed. You petted Alpine a few more times before putting her down.

“Really? Cake is overrated? Sweetheart, everyone needs a cake on their birthday… especially you,” he looked so offended you'd even suggest that about cake. You wanted to argue that when his birthday came around you two barely did anything– he didn't even let you get a cake, let alone bake one. But you held back your tongue on that thought.

“Well, we could always buy one at the store?” You suggested, pulling out your phone to find the nearest one. Before you could turn your phone on– he placed his flesh hand on it before lowering it down.

“Absolutely not, store bought cake? That stuff tastes like what Hydra used to feed me if they did at all,” he grimaced. You, his darling. His sweetheart. The love of his life– deserved a better boyfriend who could bake and a cake that didn't taste like chemicals. You rolled your eyes, thinking he was being ridiculous. But you couldn't help the smile that was threatening to appear, he was acting like this was a tragedy. 

“Why are you smiling? This is serious…” he spoke but couldn't help but also smile at you smiling. Before the both of you started laughing at the absurdity of the situation. It didn't help that he genuinely looked pained at the thought of no cake. 

Which got him pausing mid laugh at an idea.

“Wait, I think I know how to solve our problem– I'll be right back,” he started grabbing his coat and gloves, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before running out the door. 

“Wait Bucky! Most of the bakeries are… closed–wow, he really just ran out of here…” you watched as he slammed the front door closed in his haste. Luckily he didn't splinter the door frame like last time. You stared at the door, wondering where he could possibly be going before shaking your head fondly. Looking over at the mess he made (damn was he a messy baker, no wonder he barely does it), there was cake mix powder all over the cutting board, and blue food colouring liquid dotted around like he wasn't aiming for the bowl. You got to work cleaning up his mess while you waited for whatever he had planned.

Bucky had rushed off to the only bakery he knew would be open late. Rushing inside– he was out of breath, apparently passion made him forget he could drive. To his delight there were still some pastries left in the displays. He walked over to the counter, spying a small cake the size of his palm… it will have to do. 

He quickly paid since he realized it was almost closing time, he watched the worker place it in a cute white box before he was handed his prize. He thanked them before rushing his way back to you. Making sure to guard the cake with his life lest something happen to it. He made it back to the house with no further incidents, seeing that you were distracted. He crept over to the dining room where he left the candles. Bucky quietly took the cake from the box and placed it on a plate far too big for it before setting a single candle down. Lighting it up he walked over to dim the lights and walk over to you, small cake in hand.

The first clue that Bucky was behind you was a small sound he made announcing his presence before the light dimmed. You turned around and saw him holding a tiny cake with one candle in the center. The image looked funny, but your heart swelled with joy. Honestly James Buchanan Barnes never failed to make you feel so special, never failed to make you feel so loved. Even if burning the cake to a crisp wasn't that big of a deal.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” he beamed, smiling so beautifully wide, his eyes scrunched up in that charmingly boyish way.

wc: 1,147

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

bakery divider @//𝒘𝗁𝗈𝗋𝟥𝗂𝗇𝗀

[buckyscaptain]

PARTY IN THE CRAFT STORE | bucky barnes x fem reader

authors notes: it's my birthday! so that means i get THE most self indulgent fic i've ever written in the history of writing fics as a present to myself, so yes, bucky barnes is going yarn shopping because that's my natural habitat. also, not to nerd out over knitting patterns but there is in fact a henley knitting pattern that i wanna make in the same colour as the cw red henley. (yes i'm seriously uncool, i know)

warnings: reader is reluctant to celebrate her birthday because of bad ones in the past, mentions of a rough childhood, dash of angst, bucky comes in and essentially saves the day even though he's still a grumpy old guy x

(also this was written with a neurodivergent reader in mind, absolutely nothing to do with my AuDHD i swear, but it's not explicitly mentioned so everyone can read it!)

word count: 2.6k

summary:

over the years, you've been more than happy to let your birthday slip by without a fuss—too many bad experience with them. until bucky rolls out the most you birthday present you've ever had.

masterlist!

it was just before dawn when you'd woke up, usually a time that was only reserved for missions but today you were on your own kind of mission—go about your day without drawing too much attention. that was all you had to do. just one day. you slipped out of your room in silence, heading for the elevator. you padded past everyone's rooms, holding your breath at so much as a creak.

turns out that silence wasn't as silent as you thought, not with a super soldier listening out for you. bucky heard you, from start until finish when you slipped into the elevator and disappeared somewhere in the tower. it didn't take a degree in rocket science to know where you were going. you loved watching the sun come up—you'd told him once that you'd never understood people who saw one sunrise and thought they'd seen them all.

he hauled himself out of bed, heading for the kitchen first because he knew better than to turn up empty handed at this time in the morning. coffee for him, even though his body burned through the caffeine quicker than he it could do anything, tea for you. sure enough, he found you leaned against the railings of the landing pad, looking over the city as it started to wake up and the sunrise shone and bounced off the glass like it held some kind of magic.

"hey, birthday girl. gotcha something." he murmured as he leaned over and pressed the mug with 'second best avenger' blazoned across it in bright pink letters into your hand—you'd forgot who'd brought it for who but it was yours now, apparently. "one weird english tea, just how you like." you pretended to be exasperated as you rolled your eyes, fingers curling around the mug. "it's not weird tea. 's just got milk in it. and don't mention the b word. if stark hears you then he'll have a party planned quicker than the speed of light." and that was the last thing you wanted.

you'd never, ever, been big on celebrating your birthday. if anyone dug deep enough then they'd put two and two together and realise it probably stemmed from your childhood, from years of being forced into plans you didn't want to participate in. plans that were usually the complete opposite of the things you were into. it stuck with you and dug it's ugly claws in and now you just couldn't. it was even redacted from official shield files, only the year was left behind. you didn't question how he knew, he still had his ways.

bucky got that in his own way. he couldn't remember the last time that he 'd celebrated either, even if it was for completely different reason. he knew what it was like to lose something you were supposed to get excited over and he didn't want that for you.

so this year was different.

this year, he wasn't going to let you just sit alone with your own thoughts all day—he had a plan, a perfectly curated plan that was all about you which was exactly what you deserved.

"i was thinking—" he started as you looked over the rim of the mug at him, eyebrow raised slightly. "dangerous." you hummed as he rolled your eyes at him. god forbid you missed an opportunity to take a dig at him. "yeah, well. i was thinking that we could go and check out that new craft store you were talking about, my treat."

you just blinked at him, processing what he was saying to you, processing the fact he'd actually listened and planned out something that you wanted to do. you'd been dying to check it out for weeks, it was all you'd talked about outside of work, but you'd never found the time because it turns out that saving the world didn't care about your hobbies. you'd be lying if you said that the idea wasn't exciting.

they had a stunning range of hand dyed yarn that had called your name since the day you'd saw it online, plus you wanted to pick up some new threads to start your new cross stitch pattern. "you wanna spend your morning watching me shop for yarn? you do know it's gonna be really boring, right? like, sit though stark's meeting without a cup of coffee level of boring?" bucky scoffed as he shuffled closer, bumping his shoulder against yours. "nah, sweetheart. nothing boring about watching you be happy, doesn't matter what it's over."

he was so sincere that it broke something deep inside of you. he'd cared, he'd listened, he'd planned—it was almost enough to make you cry.

almost.

but you were dangerously close to losing it before you'd even woken up properly.

"i don't think you really wanna do that." you shook your head, taking another sip of your tea as you waited for the other shoe to drop. it felt like your brain was permanently wired to expect the worst from people, even if they loved you.

"no, i do. i really do."

"it's—colourful." bucky murmured as you pushed the door open, bell dinging above it as he was hit with a solid wall of colour and different fabrics that would absolutely give him a headache if he looked at them too long. he could handle missions and safe houses, but it was a craft store that was gonna bring him down.

he'd never live it down if anyone found out.

but then he turned his head just enough to look at you, and his complaints died on his tongue. he wasn't entirely sure when he'd seen you that happy last—your eyes were practically shining. "hey." he smiled as he bumped his arm against yours, pulling you out of your thoughts. "alright, what's our plan of attack?"

"yeah, no, uh—" you cut yourself off with a shake of your head. "i got a list, don't worry." you smiled as you slipped your hand in his before you started to wonder around the shop. you were still half on edge, scanning around like someone was magically about to ambush you with a cake and balloons and a whole party that was your idea of hell—but none of that seemed to be coming and your shoulders dropped a fraction.

"i think i wanna make myself a new sweater." you nodded as you stopped in front of one of the many walls of yarn, tugging at his hand so he stopped with you. "but like, in a very specific colour." your eyebrows furrowed together as your eyes danced over all the shades with the same precision usually reserved for missions—and yarn shops when time allowed. you picked up two different shades of red, holding them up to the henley he was wearing.

"oh." bucky grinned like an idiot as he moved his jacket out of the way for you to colour match properly. "so stealing it wasn't enough, you gotta go and make your own?" he'd lost count of the amount of his shirts you'd stole at this point, the original red henley was somewhere in your closet and this was just the replacement, not that he minded. "this one." he picked the closest colour match out of your hands and put the other one back on the shelf. "pick whatever you need, 'm gonna grab a basket."

you nodded as he disappeared, picking up enough skeins for the whole project and dumping them in the basket when he came back. "come on, sweetheart. lead the way." he took your free hand back in his as you carried on walking.

your walls came down slowly, brick by brick. it started slowly, telling him about the patterns you had but never got around to as you picked out more colours, tossing them in the basket. he wasn't even sure you realised that the tension had bled out of you. your eyes were almost shining as you hit the cross stitch section. "my ma used to do this. she used to have them framed up all over the walls. she taught becca one summer and it lasted about ten minutes before she stabbed herself and gave up." he chuckled as he leaned a shoulder against the wall and watched you cross match the colour codes of the threads with the ones you needed.

"yeah, that happens a lot." you nodded solemnly as you looked up at him. "i do it all the time, you just stop feeling it eventually." you made a mental note in the back of your mind to make him something at some point, something to remind him of home.

everything was going fine, suspiciously fine, until you realised just how much stuff you'd picked up—and then that guilty feeling reared it's ugly head again.

"buck, i can't—" you shook your head as you looked at the overflowing basket that was threatening to cause a yarn avalanche if it moved wrong. "yeah, you can. consider it overdue birthday presents for the last decade." he shrugged as his hand settled in the small of your back as guided you towards the checkout. "this is crazy. you're crazy, i'm never gonna use half of this, you know that, right? i was like, you didn't have to—" he rolled his eyes as he silenced you with a kiss, setting the basket down on the counter top. "we're getting it all." he murmured against your lips before he pulled away.

the old lady behind the counter watched you with a sparkle in her eye as the younger woman—daughter or granddaughter, maybe—rang everything up. "such a handsome young man. reminds me of the kinda guy you'd find back in the dance halls. such pretty eyes." she gushed as you tried your hardest to hold back the laugh that was threatening to break out of you. oh, if only she knew. "yeah, no, he's a great dancer, actually." you grinned, wrapping your arms around his and resting the side of your head against his shoulder.

bucky scoffed, eyes flickering down to you as he reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. "i'm flattered, ma'am, really." she reminded him of a human embodiment of everything old brooklyn used to be. "granny!" the young woman let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head. "i'm sorry, she's still a real charmer." bucky shook his head, waving it off. he loved seeing glimpses of the old days shining through. it was almost—just almost—enough to distract you from the last dregs of guilt that were still sticking around, especially when you saw the final total. you unpeeled yourself from him, swallowing thickly as you went to protest.

bucky didn't even give you a second to complain before he tapped his card, side eyeing you as you tried to grab one of bags until you backed off and he grabbed them instead, hanging them off his metal arm. "you keep hold of this one, dearie. a real tight hold, otherwise you're gonna have a queue around the block tryin' to steal him." she leaned over and patted your shoulder before you and bucky headed for the door. just as you stepped out onto the street, you heard her add on a "me included" which earned another exasperated sigh from her granddaughter.

the two of you walked in silence for a little bit, arms bumping against each others every so often but neither of you made the effort to move further apart. "you looked like you were having the time of your life in there." he said eventually as he switched the bags to the other hand so he could snake his arm around your waist, doing nothing to solve the space issue. "mhm." you hummed as you smiled softly, bumping your shoulder against his on purpose this time. "felt it, i guess. it's nice when someone actually cares about what you wanna do, y'know? people never really asked what i wanted to do before, they just made plans, and that makes me sound ungrateful but—"

"you don't sound ungrateful. because you're not. it's not that you didn't appreciate what they did." he added. "the thought was there, just not the right level of effort." you huffed at that because he sounded exactly like your therapist, it was sort of uncanny. "for the record, that wasn't even close to boring. it was kinda therapeutic. we should do that again sometime. now, you're not even ready for the next bit, trust me, you're gonna love it."

the sound of the rain was filtering through the bedroom window, hand in hand with the smell of the earth. you'd forgotten exactly when it had started to rain, the afternoon was turning into one big blur. bucky was sat behind you against the headboard, his chest pressed up against your chest with an arm snaked around your waist. the project that you'd only just started with the red henley red was abandoned somewhere on the bed next to the empty cupcake box from your favourite bakery—an impromptu stop on the way home because he was insistent that bo birthday was complete without cake.

you'd tried to focus, but you'd undone the same section of the sweater four times before you realised that was a no go, not that you were mad. you were happy enough to get lost in the sound of the rain and the solid warmth of him against your back. existing always felt easier when you were pulled into his orbit.

that sleepy haze that came with lazy afternoons was slowly settling over you—the both of you, even if one of you wouldn't admit it—as you tilted your head far enough back to look up at him. granted, it was probably the worlds most unflattering angle, but you didn't care.

"thank you for today." you murmured as you leaned up pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, mentally cataloguing the way he shivered away for later. "it was nice." nice was understatement, but it was the only thing you were sure that you could get out without the tears flowing. it felt like stepping into the light after spending so long in the dark. it wasn't fixed—not by a long shot—but this was probably the biggest step you'd taken in a long, long, time.

bucky hummed, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your hipbone. he could feel the shift in you, mentally just as much as physically. you felt lighter, like you'd finally realised that people actually listened. "yeah, it was real good. told you, nothing boring about watching you have fun." he could have spent all day in there with you, watching you gush over the different colours and fibre types, things that made no sense to him but made you happy.

and if it made you happy?

he'd listen forever.

"thank you." you repeated as you sat up, turning on your side to curl up against his chest. "for making me feel—" seen, heard, loved, a whole host of words that you couldn't quite get out.

"next year, i'm gonna get you one of those party hats with the stripes." he murmured before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. you rolled your eyes, poking at his side.

"don't you dare."

outside the rain was still hammering against the window, setting the soundtrack for the afternoon. eventually, one of you would move to turn on a film that would stay unfinished because neither of you were paying any real attention to it—but for now? now you were happy enough to just sit with the fact that birthdays didn't always have to be something negative after all.

[writer-in-a-cryofreeze]

Drabbles Round 4 - Doomsday (Not!) (clean edition)

Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:

This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!

That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!

Once again we have a split post today: eight amazing drabbles are rated General Audiences and can be found below the cut. One sexy explicit drabble has been posted on its own over here. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.

YOUR JOB is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!

Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!

Thanks for reading!

Drabble #1 - Hope Rating: General Audiences 

The battle ended without fanfare. No portal in the sky, no impossible odds, no incursions. The multiverse was safe. 

Weeks later Bucky was at an animal shelter, standing in front of a white kitten in the cage.

Retirement wasn’t what he’d expected. He imagined boredom, restlessness. His days became wonderfully ordinary: coffee, aimless walks, reading, sitting with Alpine on the balcony, watching the sunset.

He started imagining a different future: go back to school, reelection.

Perhaps, settle down, start a family.   

It felt unbelievable. The universe had stopped asking from him or taking from him. 

Bucky was allowed to live.

🚫

Drabble #2 - Shots Fired Rating: General Audiences

"This is stupid!" Sam yelled, waving his gun in the air.

"The games the game." Bucky chuffed with a smirk.

"You're the one who suggested this." Yelena chuckled alongside Bucky.

"Yeah a nice normal game of Lazer tag. Not Lazer tag with the world's best assassin!" Sam continued.

"Look man," Joaquin huffed as he joined Sam's side, "Maybe we just call it quits, we've gone 5 rounds, we keep losing."

"No we go again." Sam replied sternly, pointing at Bucky with narrowed eyes, "You, left hand only."

"Fine by me." Bucky grinned before jogging back into the darkened zone laughing.

🚫

Drabble #3 – Do This All Day? Rating: General Audiences

Sam laughed once humorless. “Trust? Don’t start with me on trust, Buck. I had to hear about your new team from the evening news.”

“That’s not what happened.” Bucky groaned

“No? ’Cause it sure as hell felt like it.” Sam's tone cold.

Bucky stepped closer, jaw tight. “They have information. Information that can help.”

Sam opened his mouth, anger ready.

Another voice beat him to it.

“You two gonna do this all day?”

Everything in Bucky locked up. He turned too fast, breath catching painfully.

Steve stood there, steady and impossible.

For one stunned second, Bucky only stared. Disbelieving.

“Steve?”

🚫

Drabble #4 - Doomsday, Declined Rating: General Audiences

Bucky is trying, with effort, to understand a tax-credit rider. It’s not going well, but it is going privately, which seems important.

You’re halfway through explaining depreciation when his phone rings.

YELENA BELOVA

Decline.

Again.

Decline.

YELENA: Stop being dramatic. Is only maybe end of world.

Swipe.

SAM: don’t be like this.

His jaw shifts.

Swipe.

DEADPOOL: Winter grandpa, Kevin says assemble.

Swipe.

You lower the bill.

“James.”

“No.”

“Could be important.”

“It’s always important.” Bucky’s phone flips facedown. “I’ve appeared in every MCU phase. The other guy who managed that turned into a tree. Let me legislate in peace.”

🚫

Drabble #5 - Apocalypse Meow Rating: General Audiences

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve, preparing to face the end of the world was familiar. Everything after that was not.

“That was anticlimactic,” Steve said.

“They can’t all be Thanos,” Bucky agreed.

“Hardly worth coming out of retirement. This happen a lot since I left?”

“Fury’s cat’s saved the day before, but it’s a first for Alpine.” After a beat, Bucky added defensively, “She’s still a kitten.”

Kitten or not, her purrs almost drowned out Doom’s booming admiration while he pet her rather than lay waste to the world.

“Come on, Steve. Fight’s back on if I can’t rescue my cat!”

🚫

Drabble #6 - Them Rating: General Audiences

The ozone on his tongue was sharp and growing sharper by the second.

Something was wrong.

More than the battle chaos amidst the ruins of the Stark Expo grounds.

Bucky turned slowly, surveying his surroundings.

Then he saw them.

Each wore his face but not his history. One in a crisp, white uniform from some alternate century, a stillness to him like a wolf that knew every trick in the book and didn’t need to snarl. The other a grizzled wreck: gray at the temples, sleep deprivation tattooed under his eyes. Both sported the arm—his arm, that ugly, magnificent thing.

🚫

Drabble #7 – Tumblr to the Rescue Rating: General Audiences

He was dying. Fine. He'd done it before.

Then the portal opened. Blue. Tumbling. Chaos shaped like small circular portraits of strangers, cats, anime characters, and— unsettlingly— him. Long hair. Short hair. One arm. Two. Smiling, something he didn't remember doing.

One handed him a juice box.

Bucky stared at it. Stared at himself, multiplied, in eras he couldn't fully account for.

"This," announced an icon of a small white blue-eyed cat, "will not happen in Doomsday."

He had no idea what that meant.

Something about the cat felt familiar. He couldn't place it.

He drank the juice box anyway.

🚫

Drabble #8 – Fix It Rating: General Audiences

Bucky sheathed his knife when you walked in. 

“Bucky,” you began softly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna make the writers fix it.”

“Fix what exactly?”

“Everything,” he answered through his teeth. “Like Natasha dying.”

“Bucky…”

“And Steve’s ending.”

“Bucky.”

“And Sam and I being on the outs again.”

“Bucky!” 

He paused to look at you. 

“You can’t fix it,” you whispered. “You’re not supposed to be aware that you’re in a movie, and I shouldn’t even be here.”

He blinked, confused. “Then… what do I do?”

You smiled. “Leave it to the fanfiction writers. They’ll know what to do.”

🚫

That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!

Be sure to read the Explicit Drabble if you haven't already.

Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.

Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!

[sexy-people-contests-2026]

Tumblr Sexyman Contest 2026 Round 2 Part 7

Papyrus (Undertale)

Bucky Barnes (Marvel)

Westley (The Princess Bride)

Remaining time: 18 hours 29 minutes

[writer-in-a-cryofreeze]

Round 3 RUN-OFF!!!!

Well, we're as surprised as you! Two of our lessons plans are in a neck-and-neck race for the FINAL CRYOFREEZE.

We need you to help decide! Of the following two drabbles, which did you like best?

Even if you voted for a different set of fics before, that's totally fine--we need you to vote again here!

Which drabble did you like best?

Unsolicited Advice (Luis gives Bucky some advice)

Tie Your Shoes (Bucky teaches his son to tie his shoes)

Voting ended onJun 6

Need to check your notes? Don't worry, we got you covered--both drabbles are under the cut (and no worries, they're both General Audiences with nothing triggery involved).

Thanks for voting, and check in on Saturday afternoon for our author reveal!

Drabble #1 - Unsolicited Advice Rating: General Audiences

“Does all that stuff not bother you, man?”

Bucky glanced at the excitable Mexican in the front seat, and pretended he hadn’t heard him. Unfortunately, that did not deter Luis.

“HYDRA, Thanos, the five year blip thing,” he continued. “The way Congress just chucked you out after you saved the whole of New York.”

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, and wondered how he always seemed to draw the mission short straw.

“That’s not really-"

“You know,” Luis carried on blithely. “My Abuela always said bad days are like dead rats. There’s always gonna be a couple in the garage.”

“What?”

*

Drabble #2 - Tie Your Shoes Rating: General Audiences

“Okay, Jamie. Take both shoelaces and cross them together.”

Jamie did so carefully. 

“Good. Now wrap this lace around and under the other and pull them together.”

Bucky’s son nodded. 

“Now we make a loop. Like a bunny ear.”

Jamie giggled. “Bunnies are soft.”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, they are,” he agreed. “Wrap this around the bunny ear.”

“Am I doing good?” his son asked. 

“You’re going great,” he replied sincerely. “Now pull this lace through the hole there and pull them together.”

Jamie gasped. “I did it!”

“Proud of you, son.”

You smiled softly at Bucky.  

First of many lessons. 

*

Thanks for reading, and don't forget to scroll up and vote! See you on Saturday!

[writer-in-a-cryofreeze]

Round 4 Drabble Post #1 (of 2)--Teachable Moments (clean)

Good morning, class, welcome to another week of Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have twelve amazing anonymous authors ready to take you to school with the prompt of:

Teachable Moments

Our authors were asked to have Bucky teach someone something new--or be taught in turn. There's all sorts of fun learning in store!

Once again, we present our twelve lessons in two different posts. The first ten lessons are rated General Audiences through Teen, and can be found on this post. The final two lessons are for our more advanced students, are rated Explicit and can be found in the Mature-locked post over here.

Please read all the drabbles/lessons you are comfortable reading, and head over the voting post linked at the bottom. (You'll also find the link to the other lessons below, too.)

So get out your pens and papers, get ready to take some notes, and happy learning!

Drabble #1 - Unsolicited Advice Rating: General Audiences

“Does all that stuff not bother you, man?”

Bucky glanced at the excitable Mexican in the front seat, and pretended he hadn’t heard him. Unfortunately, that did not deter Luis.

“HYDRA, Thanos, the five year blip thing,” he continued. “The way Congress just chucked you out after you saved the whole of New York.”

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, and wondered how he always seemed to draw the mission short straw.

“That’s not really-"

“You know,” Luis carried on blithely. “My Abuela always said bad days are like dead rats. There’s always gonna be a couple in the garage.”

“What?”

Drabble #2 - Communication Is Key Rating: General Audiences

"Why the hell is it shouting like that?" Sam grimaced, as he dodged the batting paws of the small white feline.

"She's a girl, not an it." Bucky scolded, slapping Sam across the back of the head, "And she's not shouting, she's communicating with you."

Sam scoffed, "You're losing it man."

"I'm not." Bucky grunted, "It's a scientific fact that cats only learned to meow to communicate with humans."

"So what's shes saying then if you're so smart?" Sam grinned, crossing his arms over his chest with a raised brow.

"That you're annoying and to get out of her seat."

Drabble #3 - Dismantling History Rating: General Audiences

You dragged Bucky into the hall by his sleeve before he could drop another conversational grenade into the kitchen. He came without resistance, keeping that faintly offended look he got when he thought he’d done nothing wrong.

“You cannot tell Bob things like that,” you hissed

“Why not?” he asked.

“He’s not equipped for it.”

Bucky frowned. “It’s true.”

“I know.” You signed heavily

“Then what’s the problem?”

You stared at him. “The problem is you cannot casually dismantle someone’s entire understanding of history before lunch.”

He paused. “So… after lunch?”

"No." You rubbed your temple. “In supervised discussions only.”

Drabble #4 - Namesake Rating: General Audiences

"Don't wike bullies," little Steve grumbled, watching two kids argue over a swing, the bigger one posturing menacingly. "Don't care where they're from."

Bucky's blood ran cold. Then warm.

He crouched down, studying the dark brows, the classic Barnes nose, the complete unearned confidence of a six-year-old who'd never thrown a punch in his life, who would absolutely try to.

"Where'd you hear that?"

Steve shrugged. "Nowhere. S'true."

Eighty years of guilt, grief, making things complicated— and here was his first-born son, carrying Steve Rogers' words in his mouth like they weighed nothing at all.

Because to him, they didn't.

Drabble #5 – 100 Words Rating: Teen

“Okay, strange fact time. Go Buck,” you said. 

“Spanish moss is neither Spanish nor moss. It's a member of the pineapple family,” Bucky said without batting an eye. “Your turn.”

“Avocado tastes like clean dick.”

“That's not a fact that's an opinion.”

“It is fact. But whatever. Avocados were named after testicles because of the shape. Your turn.”

“A writing drabble is 100 words on the dot. No more no less.”

“Bullshit. It can be a few hundred words.”

“Look it up if you don't believe me,” he said with a smug grin.

You did. He was right. Yet again.

Drabble #6 - Survival Skills Rating: General Audiences

Bucky crouches beside a patch of mushrooms and gently brushes aside leaves like unveiling a masterpiece.

You fold your arms. “I thought this was survival training.”

“It is.”

He points at a big mushroom with white umbrella-shaped top. “This one you can eat without cooking, but this one,” he points at another one, “kills you faster than a bullet.”

“They are the same.”

“The poisonous one is slightly greenish.”

You crouch beside him, nodding solemnly.

“Let me teach you something, too,” you say as you lean over and kiss him.

Bucky freezes, swallowing hard.

“What was that?” 

“Mouth-to-mouth breathing lesson.”

Drabble #7 - One Good Punch Rating: Teen Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Bucky realises early that his Steve is all moral outrage and sharp elbows, with no self-preservation worth mentioning. So, after dragging him out of too many alleys, he teaches him how to throw one good punch.

“Stop aiming for his face,” Bucky says. “You’re too short and too angry. Ribs first, then run.”

Steve spits blood onto the pavement and nods.

The man Bucky has just pulled off him staggers upright, stupid enough to try again.

Steve's bony fist lands badly, beautifully.

The man goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Bucky stares.

“Don’t make me regret teaching you that.”

Drabble #8 – Housemate Barnes Rating: General Audiences

You and your housemates are excited to room with Congressman Barnes.

With the rent prices in D.C, it is no secret that junior representatives rent together.

All notions of him are wiped clean.

There are his questionable eating habits — cereal with yogurt and hot sauce,  spinach right out of the bag, and boiled hot dog and pasta with ketchup.

The common closet is full of his suits. You all agree not to question why.

But he is exceedingly considerate and generous.

Barnes is puzzling but this is a fact: Howling Commando, ex-Avenger, Congressman Barnes is a raccoon of a man.

Drabble #9 - Fair Rating: General Audiences

“You taught me how to throw a punch. It’s only fair to return the favour.”

Bucky eyed the shield dubiously. “Not sure it’s the same, pal.”

Steve demonstrated his new move, knocking the shield off two trees before it bounced back to him.

Bucky braced himself. He’d seen the Howlies pretend not to struggle under the shield’s weight. But it remained light in Bucky’s hands, same as it had ever since Zola.

It wasn’t fair. Steve’s serum made him a superhero while Bucky—

Bucky clamped down on that thought. He picked up Steve’s shield.

Life wasn’t fair; war doubly so.

Drabble #10 - Tie Your Shoes Rating: General Audiences

“Okay, Jamie. Take both shoelaces and cross them together.”

Jamie did so carefully. 

“Good. Now wrap this lace around and under the other and pull them together.”

Bucky’s son nodded. 

“Now we make a loop. Like a bunny ear.”

Jamie giggled. “Bunnies are soft.”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, they are,” he agreed. “Wrap this around the bunny ear.”

“Am I doing good?” his son asked. 

“You’re going great,” he replied sincerely. “Now pull this lace through the hole there and pull them together.”

Jamie gasped. “I did it!”

“Proud of you, son.”

You smiled softly at Bucky.  

First of many lessons. 

Well, class, that's all the General Audience/Teen lessons we have for today. Make sure you head over to our Advanced/Explicit lesson (drabble) page for the final two installments if you're ready for those.

Otherwise, please head over for your Final Exam (aka, the poll) to tell us which three lessons were your favorites.

Voting will open until approximately 4pm on Friday, and we'll announce which authors win a brand-new shiny Cryofreeze!

Thanks for reading!

Line dividers by @pxrce-lain on this post

[bubbarnes]

such a messy eater

[sexy-people-contests-2026]

Tumblr Sexyman Contest 2026 Round 1 Part 23

Jean Descole (Professor Layton)

Bucky Barnes (Marvel)

Voting ended onJun 8

[mostbelovedqueer]

Most Beloved (non-canon) Queer Ship Tournament - Round 3

Which queer ship do you love more?

Clarisse La Rue x Silena Beauregard (Ruegard) (Percy Jackson and the Olympians)

Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers (MCU)*

how dare you make me choose

Voting ended onJun 2

Disclaimer: This tournament is based on submissions! Please respect all identities, characters and fandoms! Hate or aggressive language (even if jokingly) will get you blocked instantly!

[apolladay]

Fanfic readers, how do you feel about second person pov?

I love it

I like it

I'm neutral

I dislike it

I hate it

Not fic reader/infinite nuance

Fanfic readers, how do you feel about second person pov?

I love it

I like it

I'm neutral

I dislike it

I hate it

Not fic reader/infinite nuance

Voting ended onJun 3

[rogers-carter]

#you're covered in blood?! like some kind of s*ut?! 

[lonely-moons]

⁀✶enough forever | bucky barnes x reader

summary: (technically a pt 2 to this but can be a standalone!!) bucky finds himself sleeping in your room more and more often. but the bed is strictly off limits.

tags/warnings: bucky barnes is a cutie patootie, nightmare but no details, idiots in love

wc: 1.6k

a/n: this was written ages ago so kinda sucks but i'm starting to write again which means i am resurrecting my account 🙏 writing a longer fic though and wanted smth to post so here you go yayy

masterlist

Bucky Barnes had formed what he would call a weak habit. Unfortunately for him, the pull of it wasn’t weak. Instead, the weakness was imposed on him as he so desperately tried and failed to resist the temptation.

But the only thing to truly work, to finally give him a grip on discipline, was getting caught.

Two weeks pass after you catch Bucky asleep on your floor. Despite the insistence that you hadn’t minded, and what you thought was his acceptance of that fact, he doesn’t return. You might think you imagined the whole thing, if not for the awkwardness that lingers when you bid each other goodnight.

You question if it can even be called that; he throws out the word like a bomb, darting to his room before it can detonate. You’re left with the explosion and it rattles your thoughts, crashing into you as you wonder: Had you been too pushy? Did you make it awkward? Is this the end of your friendship?

The sting of rejection isn't quite fair, you know that, but still there's some deep part of you that takes a hit. However, you follow his lead and don’t bring it up, don’t invite him back to your room. After a while, accepting it is easy - or at least that’s what you tell yourself. This doesn’t mean he hates you, and it’s not like it’s something you should have come to expect. The two of you are best friends, nowhere close to the realm of... anything else.

Yeah, maybe his simple presence had provided you with the best night’s sleep in a long time, but so what? A strong drink could knock you out too. It didn't mean you should rely on it every night.

You try to shove the memory of it all out of your head as hard as possible, but it’s pushed so far that the bitter taste of it reaches your throat. It resides there, causing the occasional stutter when you speak to him, a frown to tug at your lips more often.

But you don’t care.

The day it happens again, Bucky’s arm is acting up. You’d noticed that afternoon how he winced when reaching with his left hand, how he’d closed all the windows without a word. The air is bitingly cold, which is always the worst for him.

Your room is kept warm. Bucky can do the same with his, has access to the heating system. But your room exudes warmth in a way that isn’t just heat. While his is all barren walls and bleak curtains, you’ve got fairy lights, fluffy pillows, sticky-taped pictures. The space is lived-in, not just a spot that exists between other moments.

Most warm of all, he thinks, it has your presence.

You fall asleep that night completely unexpecting, though some deep part of you might be waiting. Your senses are finely tuned, even when you’d tried slicing the wires with pliers as sharp as your own cutting thoughts. But your eyes peek open in time with the door.

Bucky’s steps are tentative, like the doorframe is a trip wire. He hesitates, scanning the room for any threats the way he does on missions. You give no indication that you’re awake. Half of you just wants to see how this plays out, while the other is sure that even breathing too hard will shatter the moment.

He crouches onto the floor slowly, as if he might startle himself or you with any sharp movements. The scene from last time is recreated, his  limbs curled up with a small, thin blanket over his torso. It’s so bunched up that it only goes to his knees, and his arms have no cover at all. He tosses and turns for a while, plagued by an antsy energy.

It’s only when he turns so vigorously and knocks into your nightstand that you can’t keep up the pretense anymore. Your phone crashes to the floor and he fumbles, sitting up, attempting to salvage the damage as you crack your eyes open properly.

“Not very stealthy for a super soldier,” you say, biting back a laugh.

His shoulders slump as he sits there, staring at the floor like he wants it to swallow him. He holds up your phone between two flesh fingers. “Not cracked, at least.”

“Good, or I’d make you pay for the damage.” You take it from him, noticing how he favours his flesh hand despite the metal one being closer. Despite knowing the answer, you ask, “Your arm acting up?”

“Mm. Cold weather.”

You wordlessly grab your heating pad and lean over to drape it against his shoulder. He lets you, eyes remaining on your face, even though the smile he gives you is rueful. “Thanks… sorry for waking you.”

You keep your own gaze on the pad, not quite sure how to handle eye contact at such close proximity. “What do you mean?” you ask, releasing a small breath as you retreat to lay back down. “I’m still asleep right now.”

He knows what you’re doing. How you refuse to give him any more interaction to overthink when he doesn’t want to be pushed. He’s being given a choice, something that was ripped from his hands for seventy years.

And while the heat seeps from the pad into his shoulder, really it’s the way you understand him so deeply that warms him.

He stays the night, still on the floor, but closer to your bed than usual.

He comes back three nights later. Once more the next. You start leaving a little extra space on the side of the bed closest to the door. It’s a silent invitation, one you refuse to acknowledge even in your own mind.

There’s no pressure. It’s simply there. Something that lingers, floats in the air like a whispering breeze instead of a billowing wind.

Sometimes you notice his stare, like he runs through all the outcomes in his head. Apparently it never weighs out in his favour. But eventually you wake and his head rests on the mattress at the foot of the bed, body slumped as he leans against the frame. You shift slowly to swipe away a piece of hair that flops over his eye, then drape a blanket over his shoulders.

You think you get away with it and don’t wake him up. But what you don’t notice is how Bucky holds his breath at the contact, all of his  willpower focused on not leaning into your touch.

A few nights later, you lean against the headboard, knees drawn to your chest as you perch in the middle of the bed. There had been a little nightmare, followed by a lot of overthinking. It casts shadows into the caverns of your mind, leaving you unable to close your eyes.

It’s one of the nights where Bucky chose not to come - or so you’d thought. Those nights are becoming much more scarce, to the point he’s now here more often than not.

“Oh -” he says, almost swallowed by the creak of the door as he peeks his head in and notices you’re still up. “Sorry… I can -”

You shake your head, hoping the action might force some of your thoughts out too. “No, no, come on in.”

He makes it to his usual spot but doesn’t sit down. Instead he stands there, eyes studying you in a way that makes your shoulders curl in but your heart call out. “You okay?”

The shrug that comes out is weak. “Been worse.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head.

He doesn’t add anything else - he doesn’t have to. In this line of work, nights like these aren’t rare. But you’re not hyperventilating or crying, just a little spooked, so he knows not to push. What he does do is grab the bottle of water on your nightstand, holding it out like an offering. Even when you take it, he doesn’t move away. You notice his eyes are on the mattress in that way they sometimes do when he’s analysing.

He waits until you take a sip and then nudges your shoulder. “Come on, move over.”

You blink at him, figuring you’d misheard. But he’s avoiding your gaze, which is confirmation enough that you had heard correctly.

You scoot over to your usual position, and this time he follows you in. You take another sip of water to stop from staring stupidly at him.

“The floor finally catching up to those old bones?”

He rolls his eyes, elbowing you as he adjusts the pillows. “You’re the one always complaining about a sore back.”

“Not all of us have that super blue shit in our veins.” As you slide to lay down, he joins you.

Some nights you’d imagined what this would be like. If awkwardness would engulf you, or you’d miss the luxury of a full bed. But you just feel safe, grounded in a way you’ve never experienced. Your bodies don’t touch, except for the occasional brush of an arm, and you spend the next half an hour talking, not about anything important.

Even though your brain urges you closer, you don’t quite dare. Bucky looks at you with soft eyes, crinkled at the corners, and for now it’s enough.

It’s enough when his laugh is closer than you’ve ever heard it.

It’s enough when you’re able to watch his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones.

It’s enough when you don’t think he’d trust anyone else enough for this. 

And then you fall asleep, unsure how to make it enough forever.

[n1ght-mares-from-h3ll]

I don't like the dark.

Winter Soldier x Reader

Masterlist

Synopsis: a storm caused a power outage in your building. Winter seeks you out as he's afraid of the dark.

Triggers: storm, nightmares. This one is fluffier and not as dark.

Author's note: this one's short. But it is cute. I try not to force myself to write something long when it doesn't want to be.

Blank blogs DNI, or you'll be blocked.

A cruel storm was waging war over the city.

Harsh wind kept furiously blowing against the walls of the building, the rain fell so hard the roads below were barely visible. From time to time, lightning would crackle on the sky, almost as if it was splitting in half, then a deafening boom would soon follow.

You went to bed hours ago, so did he.

But he wasn't asleep.

The commotion in the sky outside made his body and soul tremble and fear. The thundering outside was all too similar to the sounds of explosions, gunshots and bombs.

Like when the helicarriers fell apart.

Like when he was left behind on a mission, because he didn't get to the extraction point in time, due to the weather's vengeful nature.

He remembered the cold. The silence. The dark. How he was soaked to the bone, shivering like a leaf left in a hurricane. He could barely see from his own wet hair and the endless drops ravaging his skin.

He fell to his knees, into the mud.

He was almost relieved to hear his handler's dissatisfied voice.

"If you can't even handle a bit of rain, what good are you then?"

This one pesky memory kept him from seeking your presence out like usual.

He knew, or at least hoped you wouldn't berate him, but still, the conditions were all too similar.

His hand kept wandering to his steel shoulder to claw at the junction, yet he made a conscious effort to keep himself from further worsening its condition. He also didn't want to see your face when you had to clean him up again.

You didn't seem like you minded, yet he didn't want to become a burden to you more than he already thought was.

He huddled close to the salt lamp you put in his room for him, saying it's good for him, and you haven't used the thing in forever anyway.

Little did you know, he was drawn to its light like a moth to a flame.

He hated the dark so much.

It reminded him of there.

In the dark, his defenses lowered, allowing the ghosts of the past to worm their way into his mind again.

Suddenly a loud boom echoed above the city, making his light flicker and die. The sound alone made him twitch, but seeing his only light source gone, he panicked further.

Ditching his belief that he was a burden, he scurried to your bedroom, clumsily pushing the door open further to see you awake as well.

The sound must've woken you too.

You switched your flashlight on after you realized the power was out, as your bedside lamp refused to come to life. You wanted to check on Winter, and jumped when he was lit by your flashlight.

"Winter! You scared me..." you said as you pressed a hand to your chest to calm your heart.

All you saw was his hunched position and his fearful eyes.

He wasted no time in walking up to you and hugging you close.

He has never initiated contact so suddenly and so closely before. You could only assume the storm had brought up some unwanted memories.

Your own arms circled his shoulders as you began soothing him.

His metal arm was very cold, but trying to suppress your shivers one hand travelled up from his spine into his hair, all the while you kept whispering to him.

"You're okay...it's just a storm and the power went out." He burrowed his face further into your shoulder as he was shaking all over.

You reluctantly let go of him, hands lingering at his shoulders. "I'm going to check some things, would you like to come with me?" You asked gently, hoping to redirect his attention and soothe his nerves.

He reluctantly nodded, and kept holding your hand while you went to the window to check the streetlights.

Despite the rain obscuring everything, the streetlights were visible, and the hallway lights worked fine too, so seemingly only your apartment was affected.

You turned to him.

"We're gonna have to unplug a few devices to avoid damaging them when I reset the breaker box. Would you like to help?" You inquired.

He was reluctant to agree. He didn't want to let go of your hand. But he didn't want to refuse either.

Sensing his trepidation, you reassured him "We don't have to split up. You can come with me," you whispered.

That seemed to calm him a bit, and he nodded as you both went to unplug the TV, your laptop, the charger and all the like.

You reset the breaker box, and soon enough, the power was back in the home, his salt lamp flickering to life.

"There. All done," you said gently as you turned to him.

His flesh hand was still tightly wrapped around yours, not showing signs of planning on letting you go.

"Are you okay?" You asked, as he seemed to withdraw into himself, while still clutching your hand. He didn't respond.

You reached up to touch his face, to hopefully gain his attention again.

He was still alone, in the rain, in the cold, soaked to the bone.

His scruffy cheek was warm against your palm, and he flinched briefly at the contact, wide, glacial eyes snapping to yours.

He seemed to hold his breath for a second, before he eased his head into your hand, metal palm coming up to hold your hand closer. He was slightly trembling, breaths shaky and shallow through his nose.

You began stroking his cheek with your thumb as his eyes slowly closed, tension bleeding out of his system slowly, but surely.

"Come on, let's go to bed." You gently interrupted the moment. As your hand fell away, his eyes flickered open, panicking for a fleeting moment.

You gently pulled him towards your bedroom, where it was dark, your blinds shut.

He stopped at the threshold, making you stop too when you were moving but he wasn't.

You looked back at him, slightly confused.

"What is it, Winter? You can tell me," you whispered to him.

He stood still for a few seconds, seemingly out of it again.

"It's...dark..." he whispered, haunted. It was so low, you nearly missed it.

Ah.

"Then we'll just flick this on..." you said, letting go of his hand and walking to your bedside lamp. You adjusted the light to be dim enough to not disturb either of you, but bright enough to see.

"Now, come on..." you coaxed him with open arms. He hesitantly set foot into your room, walking over to you. His eyes were filled with a strange mixture of trust and trepidation, and his hands still shook lightly from time to time.

As you both settled into your bed, he didn't lay on the opposite side, facing away from you, but instead laid his head on your chest, metal arm draped over your form.

This caught you off guard, but seeing his distress you didn't comment on it.

He snuggled his face further into your shirt as he held on tighter.

He was still lightly shaking.

"It's okay, you're okay..." you soothed, pulling the sheets up to his shoulders, tucking him close to you. As you rubbed slow circles into his back over the sheets, he let out a content sigh, body easing into yours.

Your hand soon moved up from his back his nape, lightly scratching at his scalp, your nails drawing swirls and circles on his skin. He nearly shuddered at the contact, and fearing you might've did something he didn't like, you lifted your hand away, but he followed it with his head, letting you know he liked the contact.

Gently smiling, you continued your gentle touches, twirling his soft strands inbetween your fingers until he finally drifted off, breathing deepening and evening out, his weight settling on you. He was heavy, but not crushing. It was soothing in a way, like a weighted blanket.

You pressed a soft kiss to his hair, the soft strands tickling your nose as you finally drifted off too.

Taglist open! Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded any time.

Winter Soldier taglist: @missingddeanw @insomniac-astronomer @hagridshaircare @kasairnalkaelith

General taglist: @calzone-d