#107thsoldat

[cipherova]

@107thsoldat asked: “ i’m not letting you go alone. ”

Yelena’s   eyes   narrowed   just   slightly,   the   corners   of   her   mouth   twitching   with   something   between   challenge   and   reluctant   amusement.   She   didn't   look   at   Bucky   right   away—she   never   gave   that   satisfaction   too   easily—but   her   hand   paused   on   the   zipper   of   her   tactical   vest,   her   fingers   tightening   around   it.

"Of   course   you’re   not,"   she   said   dryly,   voice   thick   with   sarcasm.   "Because   why   let   the   scary   Russian   assassin   go   alone   when   you   can   follow   her   and   make   everything   ten   times   more   complicated,   yes?"   She   finally   turned   to   face   him,   and   there   was   a   glint   in   her   eyes—sharp,   calculating,   but   not   entirely   unfriendly.

She   looked   him   up   and   down,   like   she   was   deciding   whether   to   shove   him   into   a   wall   or   hand   him   a   weapon.   "You   realize   I   don’t   need   you   to   protect   me,"   she   added,   tone   quieter   now.   Less   mocking.   More   real.   "When   was   the   last   time   you   had   a   real   mission,   Barnes?"   A   beat.   Then   a   smirk.

[cmdrcap]

@107thsoldat asked: "The rest of the men are too far off to know…It's just us." - wartime stucky?

The   alley   behind   the   tavern   was   dimly   lit,   the   buzz   of   drunken   laughter   fading   behind   them   as   Steve   leaned   against   the   cold   brick   wall,   heart   pounding   harder   than   it   should   have   after   a   simple   night   of   drinks.   The   snow   had   quieted   everything—the   world   muffled   beneath   a   blanket   of   winter   stillness.   And   then   Bucky’s   voice,   low   and   certain,   cut   through   it   all   like   the   edge   of   a   blade:   "The   rest   of   the   men   are   too   far   off   to   know…   It’s   just   us."

Steve’s   breath   caught.   He   glanced   at   Bucky,   saw   the   faint   shimmer   of   frost   in   his   dark   hair,   the   glint   of   moonlight   in   his   eyes.   There   was   something   in   the   way   Bucky   held   himself—unusually   still,   the   smirk   gone,   stripped   of   swagger.   Just   a   man   standing   close,   too   close,   like   he   had   something   more   to   say   but   didn’t   know   how   to.   And   Steve…   Steve   had   never   been   good   at   not   feeling   things.   Not   when   it   came   to   Bucky.   His   hands   were   fists   in   his   pockets,   not   because   he   was   angry,   but   because   he   didn’t   trust   them   not   to   reach   out.   Not   to   pull   him   in.

“You   shouldn’t   say   things   like   that,”   Steve   said   softly,   voice   rough   with   everything   he   couldn’t   quite   bury.   But   he   didn’t   move   away.   He   didn’t   look   away   either.   “Not   when   you’re   looking   at   me   like   that.”   The   air   was   too   tight   between   them,   thick   with   words   they’d   swallowed   for   years   and   nights   like   this   that   begged   for   honesty.   Steve   stepped   forward,   heart   thundering   like   artillery   fire.   “Because   if   you   mean   it…   If   you   really   mean   it’s   just   us—”   He   didn’t   finish.   He   just   looked   at   Bucky   like   he   had   so   many   times   before,   only   this   time   he   let   it   show.   Let   it   burn.   Let   the   want   tremble   on   his   lips,   waiting   for   permission   to   fall   forward.

[wnterwolf-shieldcaptn]

❣️ + bucky and sam

@107thsoldat sent this SEND ME ❣️ + A SHIP AND I’LL TELL YOU… 

Who is the little spoon? Sam, but I think they switch between who is the little spoon so it could go either way.

Who sings in the shower? Sam, he's usually singing something by Marvin Gaye or Earth, Wind and Fire.

Who plays pranks on the other? I think they are both highly competitive and they prank each other, who starts the prank war varies from day to day.

Who is the one who listens to pop music? Sam, he calls himself polyjamorous for a reason.

Who brings the other a random cup of joe? Bucky, who has favorite coffee shops around the city that he gets coffee from and brings it when he meets up with Sam for lunch or for a morning coffee break.

Who picks the cheesy movies for date night? Sam, he loves introducing Bucky to movies he hasn't seen yet. They have a list of ones they're watching through together. (Sam is secretly a big romcom fan)

Who is more likely to feed the other in public? Sam, he tries to let Bucky taste his food to see if he likes it constantly.

Who gives the other random little compliments? Bucky, who loves saying random compliments whenever he can and touching Sam's waist anytime they are alone.

Who is always stealing food from the other’s plate? Sam, especially if there's french fries.

Who is more likely to let the other borrow their car? Sam very reluctantly shares his car but knows Bucky would much rather take his bake anyway so it usually isn't an issue.

Who makes the list before they go grocery shopping? Bucky, who makes a list in advance and will usually pick up what they need to make supper the next night. Sam does a lot of cooking so Bucky tends to do the shopping to help out.

Who makes sure the other takes their meds when sick? Bucky, mostly because the serum prevents him from catching most common illnesses and he knows Sam is more susceptible and likely to be working and forget to take something.

Who watches sports and has to teach the other the rules? If it's baseball then it's Bucky, if it's football then it's Sam.

Who pulls the other to their feet for a dance in the living room? Bucky for sure, dancing and dance halls were rather big in the forties and loved going dancing with friends. You bet he's a romantic and will randomly dance with Sam when he can.

Who has to keep reminding the other to hurry or they’ll be late? Sam, he is the kind of person that if you aren't early then you're considered to be late in his eyes.

Who is the one most likely to get a tattoo with the other’s name? Neither of them really seem like the type but I can see Bucky doing so because of his past memory issues and fearing he'd forget the name of someone he loved.

[chingonaclawsarchive2]

@107thsoldat. bucky.

The motel room is dim, lit only by the flickering neon sign bleeding in through threadbare curtains. Laura sits on the edge of the bed, her elbows on her knees, hands clenched tight. Her knuckles are pale. She can still smell blood...not hers...and it coats the inside of her skull like a film she can’t scrub clean.

She doesn’t flinch when the door creaks open behind her. She knows it’s him. She can feel him. Smell him. The quiet, steady presence she hasn’t decided if she wants close or far away.

“Don’t,” she says before he speaks. Her voice is sharp, quiet. Cracked around the edges. “Whatever you’re gonna say, just...don’t.”

She turns her head just enough to catch him in the corner of her eye. Her posture doesn’t shift. She stays still, rigid, like if she moves too much, she might come apart.

“You don’t get it, Barnes,” she murmurs, the name bitter on her tongue, not out of hatred, but familiarity. “I was made to kill. Not to be held. Not to be looked at like…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. The words taste wrong.

Her jaw clenches.

“I’m not something you save.”

[hijadelaniebla]

@107thsoldat .

Bucharest. Rooftop to rooftop. 3:14 A.M. THE AIR SMELLS LIKE SNOW AND OLD GUNPOWDER.

She’s been following him for three days. No heat signatures. No chatter. No name. But she knows it's him. The weapon. The myth. The ghost they made her forget.

Wilhelmina moves like a breath through the dark--leather gloves, suppressed pistol, and that unnerving calm she wears like perfume. Dama Roja.

She finds him on the edge of a rusted scaffold, profile caught in the halo of a neon sign three stories below.

The Winter Soldier.

He doesn't flinch. Doen't run.

She aims anyway. Not to kill. Not yet.

She doesn't lower the gun. Not even when her breath catches. Not even when she realizes he recognizes her...

[svoyadovaarchived]

@107thsoldat. slightly plotted.

Yelena knows she should have left by now. She told herself that an hour ago. Right after the second drink. Right before she noticed the way Bucky’s eyes lingered when she laughed --not like he was trying to flirt, but like he didn’t want to miss a single second of it... and it terrifes her.

The booth is too warm. The air too soft. The music low and pulsing like a heartbeat in the background. She tucks her legs beneath her, fingers wrapped around a glass that’s gone warm with neglect. Ice melting, condensation stinging her fingertips.

Bucky hasn’t moved either. He leans back against the booth like he lives there now, watching her with that easy, quiet gaze that’s harder to shake than it should be.

"I should --- We should go..." considering they both inhabited the Tower as of late. It's not the first time she's said it tonight.

She glances down — at his hand near hers, at the way his knee brushes against hers and doesn’t move. It would be easy to leave. It always is. She’s trained for escape, for clean exits and tidy goodbyes.

But she doesn’t want to.

And God help her -- she thinks he doesn’t either.

"You know," she starts softly, "if you’re waiting for me to be the brave one here, it’s a bad strategy."

He mutters something along the lines, that she's already brave...

The silence stretches, but it’s warm. Full. She looks at him -- really looks -- and he’s already halfway toward her, like maybe he’d been waiting for the green light.

When he kisses her, it’s not fireworks. It's different. Better. It’s something gentler. Deeper. Like a promise whispered under breath.

Yelena breathes in like it startles her. Like she forgot how to hold anything that felt this soft. And when they pull apart, she doesn’t go far. Her forehead brushes his. Her lips still tingling with him...

She allows a breathy laugh to escape and sighs, "We should go," she insists."

[lazurasd]

@107thsoldat asked: "Are you okay kid?"

Jason   grunted   as   he   sat   on   the   metal   table,   blood   slick   on   his   gloves   and   seeping   through   the   tear   in   his   side.   The   voice   had   come   softly,   almost   too   softly   for   someone   who’d   likely   seen   worse.   He   looked   up,   skeptical,   eyes   narrowed   beneath   the   edge   of   the   Robin   domino   mask.   “Kid?”   Jason   echoed,   half   scoffing,   half   daring   Bucky   to   say   it   again.   “I'm   not   a   kid,   tin   arm.”

Bucky   didn’t   flinch.   He   just   kept   cleaning   the   wound   with   a   steady   hand,   a   practiced   calm   to   him   that   reminded   Jason   too   much   of   Bruce   when   he   was   in   a   mood—quiet,   methodical,   and   maddeningly   unreadable.   Jason   shifted   under   the   touch,   not   from   the   pain   but   from   the   sudden   realization   that   this   guy   wasn’t   just   some   washed-up   soldier.   He   knew   how   to   fix   people   up,   like   Alfred   did.   That   made   Jason   sit   a   little   straighter,   even   if   his   ribs   protested.

“Didn’t   think   you’d   be   the   one   to   find   out,”   Jason   muttered   finally,   voice   low,   softer   now.   “Robin,   I   mean.   Thought   I   was   doing   a   pretty   good   job   staying   under   the   radar.”   He   winced   as   Bucky   pressed   gauze   into   the   gash.   “Guess   I   got   sloppy.”   There   was   no   self-pity   in   his   voice,   just   frustration—at   himself,   at   the   city,   at   the   fact   that   he   had   to   keep   proving   he   was   more   than   the   legacy   he’d   inherited.  

“You’re   not   gonna   tell   him,   are   you?   Captain   America   or   whatever?”   His   tone   dropped   further,   uncertain   now.   “I   can   handle   myself.   I   really   don't   need   Batman   to   show   up   and   give   me   a   scold   for   letting   someone   see   who   I   am.”   Because   if   they   know   who   he   is,   connecting   the   dots   is   easy   and   if   he   outed   Bruce   with   his   mishap,   he   fears   getting   kicked   up   to   the   streets.   "It's   not   your   secret   to   tell   anyways.   We   have   masks   for   a   reason."

[heirceleste]

@107thsoldat + atlas

atlas would never say that they miss the soldier, that would imply a sort of friendship between the two killers. and yet atlas defected months after they did, killing whoever the handler tried to make her work with. eventually atlas had killed their handler and left, using skills that had been beaten into her and abilities she’s rarely had to navigate on their own. she works to find the winter soldier, and in the process remembers more and more of her past missions.

each night they had worked to explore the dreams of those near by. learning about the world and the winter soldier, the information that had been leaked about hydra as well. atlas didn’t get much rest, but it did allow them to track the soldier down in only two months.

wearing a soft sundress and sandals, atlas looked like no more than a tourist as she entered a run down apartment building. everything in their training called for sneaking in with more weapons than she could count, but atlas knew it would get her killed. there was no mission here, for the first time atlas was making a choice for themself.

raising their hand to the door atlas knocked softly; careful to ensure it was not a knock that had been previously used for a code. when the door cracked atlas kept their body language neutral and spoke softly to not alarm her former coworker.

“i do not know what to call you if you are not the soldier.”