prompt ─ "i just realized i don’t care if they’re the most perfect person in the world. they’re not you."
requested by ─ @midnightf thank you love for requesting <3 It's so hard to put so much content in a blurb less than 1K words but I hope it's decent lol!!
tw ─ confessions, smidge of angst, but fluffy and happy ending
words ─ 628.
The Stark expo. The place where many dreams came true. The place where technology nerds could rave about the up and coming tech until their little heart couldn't take it anymore. The place everyone visited, because the Stark expo would be the outing of the decade. Most people also brought someone - their family, a friend they knew would like it, a date...
Bucky was walking in front of you, his hat a little bit wonky on his head as he was raving about the supposedly flying cars Howard Stark was going to present. Connie's hand was gripping his arm, her eyes more focused on whatever Bucky was doing than the marvelous world of tech that was surrounding her.
Why did Bucky invite you to go with him if all his attention would be on Connie and her stupidly gorgeous dress that drew many eyes? You couldn't even be mad at Connie, who didn't want to be invited by one of the most handsome men in town?
Your sour mood prevented you from even trying to smile as the two in front of you finally came to a stop to watch the presentation. Though, the boyish wonder that was present on his face did cause a small crack in your facade.
Connie had a bored look on her face and said she was going to look for her friend to catch up. Bucky just nodded, his eyes immediately going back to the presentation as the girl disappeared in the crowd.
You sizzled up next to him, your shoulder purposefully hitting his to make him aware that you were there too. That he had invited you too and that he was behaving like an ass for making you walk behind Connie.
"I can't believe we're alive to experience this," his words rang in your ears. "We're so lucky."
"Yeah," you answered, an edge to your words as you bit on the inside of your cheek.
"Something wrong?" he asked, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder as he applied a little pressure to make you face him. "Is it the crowd? Should we look for a calmer spot to watch the presentation?"
His worry and the soft tone of his words quickly made you cave, as it always did. You finally looked into his eyes as his hat became even more crooked on his head, a small smile pulling on your lips because of it.
"I just don't understand what this is supposed to be," you admitted, feeling like you and Bucky had ended up in your own little bubble.
Bucky just looked confused, his eyes now looking at the podium instead of you.
"No, silly," you gripped his chin and guided it back to you. "Why'd you invite Connie? I thought we were supposed to go together?"
"Well, I overheard her talking that she really wanted to go and didn't have anyone," he quickly replied, a bit rushed as he realized what was going on. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. I didn't want to exclude her but I didn't realize I would be excluding you. The most important person in the world."
"So it's not because she's literally the most perfect person in the world? She's going to be a nurse, you know that right?"
Bucky took your hand and folded his over it.
"I just realized I don’t care if they’re the most perfect person in the world. They’re not you," he confessed, pressing a kiss against your knuckles.
"I've been so stupid," Bucky said. "I never wanted to lead you on or deceive you.
"You've always been my number one."
You just smiled in response and rested your head against his chest.
"And I don't need a nurse if I've got you as a guardian angel."
James Buchanan Barnes, a nice boy, a good brother and most of all, a perfect man. Living a dream life in the 1940′s, with his family and spending time with his friends. Neither him nor his parents knew what would happen to him. His story follows the world of the living and the dead.
40s!bucky
Warnings: wounds, funerals, one curse word.
Word count: 1,857
10/12/2019
‘James B. Barnes‘ masterlist - masterlist
A couple of days had passed before the family returned. They had a lot of empty cardboard boxes stuffed in the back of their car. ‘Strange,’ James thought, wouldn’t they need the stuff from their own home? It did not seem possible to take it with them if they only had empty boxes. The front door opened, the cold wind entering the rooms and flowing through the house. “February may be the month of love and Valentinesday, but I definitely don’t love this weather,” the older man mumbled, placing the cardboard boxes in the hallway. “Dad, come on. It’s not that bad!” There she was again, the girl that knew about him. He was curious to how she knew it, did she read it in a newspaper? That wouldn’t be possible, would it? It had been a while since that paper came out, all the copies were probably all ripped apart already.
“Where are we starting? The livingroom, maybe?“ The woman smiled before tightening her ponytail, taking one of the boxes, eager to start making the house their own. “I’ll start in my bedroom, is that okay?“ The girl picked up an arm full of boxes, walking up the stairs and checking the rooms before stopping in front of James’ bedroom which would now be hers.
“There we go.“
With a little bit of effort and balancing the boxes on her arm, Y/N opened the bedroom door. It was as if time stood still in this house. Obviously it got cleaned, but the interior was exactly the way how she imagined that it would have looked like. James knew all about what had changed in this room. The bed got replaced. He remembered exactly what the old bed looked like after he had passed, it was not a pretty sight.
A huff escaped her lips as she looked around, a bookcase filled with books stood in the corner of the room with a big, comfortable looking chair right next to it. The color scheme was not entirely Y/N’s thing, that was for sure. Her favorite colors changed from time to time, some days being dark with black and a burgundy, other days pastel colors were a go-to. But, right now the room was a mix of brown shades. The plan for the family was to put all the old furniture and decorations in boxes to move it to the attic. They didn’t want to get rid of it yet, maybe they could use it in the future for their experiments. Well, experiments? Y/N’s parents loved hunting. Hunting ghosts, demons and spirits. Since she was a little girl she kind of got sucked into the whole world of the living and the dead, so a house filled with originals from the 40′s was a dream for them. Maybe a spirit was still attached to some of the objects, and her parents would definitely try to find out what or who would be.
Y/N herself wasn’t as focused on the whole thing. It was interesting and she had a small collection of books and some interesting objects, but she did not go out to find spirits. If they would find her , she would accept it, if not.. Then it’s fine, too. Something that she did like a lot were old photographs. A lot of them were ones that she found in a thrift store, going from single photographs to full photobooks. It was fascinating to inspect and collect the pictures.
Around an hour and a half later most of the furniture was broken down and stored in the boxes, ready to be dragged and stored to the attic. Y/N chose to keep some things from the room, such as the books and the beautiful mirror that was on the wall. If that mirror truly was from the 40′s, then there would be a lot of memories stuck in it. Mirrors, very fascinating too.
“Y/N!“
James had sat down in the chair some time ago, hearing the mother stop in front of the door. After she had knocked, she entered the room, carrying some of the photo albums that used to be in the livingroom. “These were downstairs, do you want them? I flipped through them, look at this handsome man.” Y/N stood up, wiping her hands on her sweatpants before walking over to her mother, curiosity in her eyes. “He is quite handsome, don’t you think?” She had opened the book, pointing to one of the pictures in it. James recognized the album, so he stood up, curious to see who they had pointed to. “There are so many photos of him in here. I think he lived here before us.” James looked at the picture. It was one of his family together with Steve, he remembered that day quite well. They went out to dinner for Steve his birthday. Steve was at the Barnes house a lot, spending so much time with James that they were basically brothers at this point.
“See, handsome!” The mother pointed to James again and James almost laughed. It was good to know that even after all the years, people still thought he was attractive. Quite a lot of girls fell for the man, at least, that was what he heard from Steve. ‘You’re a handsome man, Buck. Don’t be surprised!’ Steve would tell James after he would discover that a girl liked him. He never realised it, he thought the compliments were to be nice to him. Even though the girls were extremely nice, he didn’t feel a spark with most of them.
”Mom, I know now! Think about it though, is the age gap not a little too much,” Y/N jokingly said, flipping through the pages and looking at the portrait of the young male. “Oh, how old would he be now? Eighty? Ninety?“
Ninety-two.
James would be ninety-two right now, with his ninety-third birthday only three months away. “See, a little too old, mom. But I do have to say that he is cute, yeah.“ The two looked at eachother before bursting out laughing. “Well, I took all the photo albums, they also left a lot of books behind so you can look through them if you want, otherwise we’ll move them up to the attic.“
James looked over Y/N’s shoulder as she flipped through the albums that her mom left behind. He had watched the girl with her mother. He missed his own parents. He missed his mother giving him a goodnight kiss before he went to bed, his father giving him advice on how to be a gentleman, sitting around the kitchen table and talking about the day during dinner. Talking about dinner, the smell of delicious smelling food grabbed Y/N’s attention. “Dinner is ready,” she hummed excitedly.
She had placed her mattress on the floor, a pile of pillows and blankets already messily thrown onto it. Setting up her bed would have to wait, Y/N would do it after dinner. She stood up, stretched her arms and left the room to go downstairs. “Jesus, it’s cold in here,” she mumbled, entering her bedroom and running to her mattress to take one of the blankets before exiting the bedroom again. James was left alone in his old room, staring out of the window. Years had passed and James saw a lot of differences outside, but those differences had now entered his own, old house. His room was basically unrecognizable without the old furniture, but maybe change was exactly what he needed. The last couple of years he had lived his life alone, clinging onto the memories he once had. He didn’t want to forget, but he did want to move on.
In the meanwhile Y/N had entered the kitchen, the smell of the food flowing through the house. “Do we not have the heater on upstairs?” She draped her soft blanket over her chair before sitting down, it was a lot warmer downstairs. Her father looked up from the stove, furrowing his brows while placing the food onto the plates. “Hm, I think we actually do. Why?” Either Y/N was sick or the heating in her room had stopped working. “My room was freezing. Might have been me, though. I did have my window open.”
“I will look at the heaters tomorrow, let’s set up our beds tonight and then sleep. We are going to work all day tomorrow!” The family of three settled down to eat, talking about plans for the next days. Mostly moving boxes and painting rooms, the kitchen still fully worked and was a very nice aesthetic to her parents. After dinner, the dishes got cleaned, dried and put back where they belong. Not that they had a place in this house before, but they were being put in their new place.
=
“I don’t think you have to fix the heater.“ The room was not as cold as before, which was strange. She swore that it was freezing before, and nothing had changed. The window was still slightly open. It’s only a good thing, a thing that could be removed from the list of things that needed to be fixed. With the help from her father, the bed got set up and the mattress got placed on it. “Thanks dad!“ She yelled as he left the room, giving a thumbs up.
After around ten minutes, Y/N had finished making her bed. Soft pillows and fuzzy blankets and some stuffed animals decorated the cozy bed. So, what to do now? All that was left was more unpacking, painting the walls and setting up her desk. She had watered the plants that she put on the windowsill, adding some more color to her room. Maybe she could explore the house, she had only seen her room, the kitchen and the living room. So, that was exactly what she did. Turning off the lights in her bedroom, she stepped out to the hallway that lead to the stairs. The attic was stacked with the boxes with one corner left empty. It would probably become a corner for her parents, a spot to set up their communication devices.
After she had seen the attic, Y/N walked down to the lower level of the house, making a stop in the kitchen. After she had poured herself a glass of iced-tea, she made her way back to the hallway to go back to her bedroom. But before she left, she noticed a door underneath the stairs, hidden away in a corner. Curiosity took over and with slow steps she made her way to the door. Taking out her phone, she turned on her flashlight before opening the door and entering the room. After a couple of seconds of looking for the lightswitch, she found it and turned it on.
The room was a surprise. It was much bigger than she expected, and even more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. Two huge loungechairs sat next to a fireplace. A wooden desk together with a small stool, pieces of paper and pens left on it. Photographs, paintings and a huge mirror on the walls with a small, sparkly chandelier on the ceiling that lit up the room. A breathtaking sight. Y/N ran her fingers over the wooden desk, taking more steps into the room as she took everything in. “Is this what time travelling is like?” Standing in front of the mirror, she looked into it before inspecting the beautiful frame. Her fingers also ran over the frame, feeling the texture before looking back to her reflection, shock filling her eyes.
“Holy. Shit.“
-
next chapter will finally have james and y/n communicating! for everyone who might be confused about the whole ‘cold room’ situation, entities are said to affect the temperature in rooms and often make them colder.
TRYING TO TRANSMIT, CAN YOU HEAR ME? GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM.
PAIRING(S): Bucky x Reader | SOULMATE AU
WARNING(S): I actually don't remember whether or not there are curse words, sorry not sorry
WORD COUNT: 1451
Tagging: @baezen @oheleven @claritycas @obiwanker
AUTHOR’S NOTE: all i’m gonna say is 40′s bucky makes an appearance . . . and i love me my 40′s bucky.
PART TWO: BUT I STILL GOT JAZZ, WHEN I’VE GOT THOSE BLUES. PUT THE RADIO ON, HOLD YOU TIGHT IN MY MIND.
MASTERLIST ( ! ) • PROMPTS ( ! ) • ASK BOX ( ! )
MARCH 10, 1917
James Buchanan Barnes was born to Winifred and George Barnes.
George swiped his thumb across the collar bones of his newborn. As the blood began to clear, Winifred and George looked upon one another as they stared at their boy’s countdown.
0 : 0 : 0 : 0 : 0 : 0 : 0
Their son was made for no one.
—
SEPTEMBER 03, 1925
Eight-year-old James Barnes sighed at a scrawny blond boy on the dirt of the school’s playground. The brunette boy offered his hand. The seven-year-old boy muttered his gratitude as he dusted himself off.
“I’m James. But Ma and my sisters call me Bucky.”
“Steve.” Bucky’s eyes drop to the boy’s wrist.
17 : 8 : 3 : 0 : 17 : 32 : 16
—
FEBRUARY 19, 1933
Bucky’s eyes scanned the dusty old house which sheltered five cots. Four for his sisters and one for his mother. He held his sister tight as he shielded her from all the rain and thunder. “I heard a girl’s daddy should always be her first love. How can I have a first love who I can’t even see anymore.”
Bucky sighed at the makeshift bed made of old blankets across his own. His father’s bed. He brought his sister closer and rested his head above hers. “Oh, darling, I’ll be your first love.”
Little Rebecca manoeuvred her head from under his chin to look at his pretty blue eyes. “How do you love if you don’t have a soulmate?”
Bucky sighed again and pulled his sister closer. “With all my heart and then some.”
—
JULY 16, 1934
Bucky smirked at the pretty young girls on the other side of the courtyard. They all cheered for him. The day Bucky stopped playing Cops and Robbers was the same day he decided to try a new give-no-fucks attitude towards women — or, more precisely, the idea of soulmates.
Bucky was raised in a house of four sisters and a wonderful mother. The day he stopped respecting women would be the day he stopped breathing. Sure, dames were beautiful, sweet and sugary — but Bucky Barnes was a young lad made for none, and none were made for him.
Who said so?
The buttload of zeros on his collarbones said so.
—
AUGUST 06, 1936
Bucky sat with Steve on the porch of his house. Buck had a toothpick hanging out the side of his mouth as Steve fiddled with one of his sister’s toys. Bucky had his eyes set on a pretty girl. “What do you think of Dolly?”
Steve raised his head, tearing his eyes away from the complex children’s toy. His brow raised as he looked between the girl in the sweet, summer dress, and his pal in the dirty white shirt, dark green trousers, worker boots, and a peaked hat. “I don’t,” Steve mumbled. “Heard her an’ Joseph are soulmates. Found out a week ago or somethin’.”
Bucky clicked his tongue and cursed under his breath. It had been known for those without soulmates to settle with people who were quite the the same. Besides, not all soulmates died together. Complications and all that yada yada. Last time Bucky checked, nobody had ever seen Dolly’s countdown. “Doss is as crazy as his old man. A damn tragedy a dame like her gets caught up with a damn fool bastard — “
Steve rolled his eyes. “Careful, Buck. You don’t watch your mouth and you’ll best end up with Bonnie — or Darlene.” Bucky snorted at the thought of the twin sisters across the road. Steve only reverted his attention back to Rebecca’s knickknack. He rolled his eyes to himself as he heard his best mate mutter something along the lines of ratty old witches.
—
JUNE 15, 1942
Bucky sighed at the crowded train station. His ma and sisters trailed behind him in a small, chaotic crowd. Bucky began to push and shove his way through the crowd of civilians and soldiers wearing identical uniforms to his. As cops attempted to settle the rowdy crowd of wailing and crying civilians saying goodbye to their soldier, Steve stood beside his mother with a sigh.
One by one, Bucky hugged his sisters all standing in a line. He stopped by Rebecca, his youngest sister, who now carried a pregnant belly. He knelt down, gave his little sister’s belly a kiss, then stood in front of her soulmate. Four out of four sisters had found their love. It was only John who came along to say goodbye. The others were pulling their weight at the factory or were already drafted. John nodded at his soulmate’s brother. “I’ll take care of all of them.”
Bucky nodded, a soft look on his face. He turned to Steve. Gave him a hug. Then the soldier gave his ma a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “We love you, Buck,” his mother cried. “You stay safe now, you hear me, boy?”
As Bucky settled into one of the seats by the train window, he glanced at all the lovers with a clock just like his. The only differences were the soulmates in each other’s arms. The sergeant pinched his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Pull yourself together.”
—
SEPTEMBER 23, 1942
Sergeant Dum Dum Dugan pinched the corners of his orange, fluffy moustache, curling it upwards as he stared at Sergeant James Barnes with squinted eyes. “How about you, Sarge? No special lady?”
Bucky snorted. He tossed Pinky Pinkerton his old lady’s picture. “That’ll be the day, gentlemen.”
A chorus of exclamations were released by the men in his cabin. Half of the men in the cabin still slept, so, the wild soldiers began to die down in volume. Falsworth let out a low whistle, “You have been cursed with a blessing, my friend.”
Bucky rolled his eyes at his British army brother. He turned and grabbed his pillow. Bucky raised his arms and slammed it down on a sleeping soldier. “Rise an' shine, rats. Get off your asses! Drill sergeants up an’ coming.”
—
MONTH OF BIRTH + DAY OF BIRTH, 1997
The Winter Soldier hadn’t been activated since 1991. Little did anyone know, the soldier couldn’t cry out, but he felt the pain. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. The assassin couldn’t remember his own war stories, but he just knew this pain was different.
It stung. It burned. It ticked. It felt like Heaven. It felt like Hell. His eyes were slammed shut, and his body was frozen. Literally. The soldier calmed his mind and began to attempt to locate the source of the pain. Just below the collarbones.
18 : 9 : 2 : 3 : 8 : 52 : 59
Someone was made for James Barnes.
—
SEPTEMBER 30, 2016
It wasn’t until the day Steve Rogers accidentally walked in on Bucky drowning in his own sweat, training alone and in the dark at twelve in the morning, did the two soldiers finally have a heart to heart. “Nobody blames you, Buck.”
“They will.”
“Who?”
Bucky sighed and pulled the collars of his shirt down. “Whoever this is.”
—
OCTOBER 01, 2016
Steve walked into the laboratory of the Avengers Tower. He placed a tablet onto one of the steel tables. Tony and Bruce barely spared them a glance. Tony threw a handful of nuts into his mouth. Without glancing at the man out of time, Tony hummed. “How can we help you today, Tinkerbell?”
Steve sighed. “I need your help.”
Tony’s brows shot to his hairline. “What? Gramps run out of old fashioned tricks up his sleeve?”
“I need to find Bucky’s soulmate.”
—
NOVEMBER 04, 2017
Bucky’s fists bounced off the punching bag repeatedly.
Steve walked behind the bag and held it securely in his arms in attempt to help his friend. “Buck.”
The soldier only punched harder.
“Bucky, I found your soulmate.” Then the punching stopped.
—
DECEMBER 31, 2017
You were in a red dress and champagne. Literally. Some jackass decided to slam into you causing you to spill your drink just seconds before the ball drop. You groaned inwardly at the thought of your awkwardness. It wasn’t until a metal arm was extended to your direction with a pile of folded napkins. The arm was only ignored as your ankles began to sting and burn. You dropped to the floor and clutched your burning ankle. It wasn’t until you saw your clock officially run out as the clock on your ankle turned into zero’s. Your mouth was gaping open. “Oh, my God.”
Bucky‘s head dropped in relief. He sighed in contempt. As his head raised, a soft smile appeared.
5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1
“You have no idea how long it’s been for me, doll.”
Summary: You deal with being coerced by Zola. The boys are put to work in the Hydra facility and are forced to come to terms with their internment.
Pairing: Bucky x Reader (eventually)
Warnings: language, *torture*, blood, violence, death
Word Count: ~3,837
A/N: *A lot of this chapter was taken from recounts of conditions at Auschwitz. If that is upsetting or triggering to you, skip the parts from Bucky’s POV. *
Disclaimer: I don’t speak German, in case that wasn’t obvious already. This is all google translate, so I apologize for any botched translations. (French is also iffy, but I actually speak some of that).
Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter
Zola came to a halt in front of a white door and opened it, motioning for you to enter. “Zis is the beginning of a fortuitous venture, fraulein,” he said, grinning at you as you entered what could only be described as the laboratory of a mad scientist.
As you studied all of the equipment- you had no idea what the purpose was for half of the machines in the room- a thought played itself over and over again in your head:
What have I gotten myself into?
“I know you do not vant to help. I understand zat. As a show of good vill, I vill gif more food to you and your soldiers the harder you vork to help me,” he said, as though he was the very picture of charity and kindness and not some mad scientist who worked people to death.
With a snap of his fingers a Hydra soldier walked in the lab, a tray of food in his arms. It may have only been a hunk of bread, lukewarm watery soup, and a cup of terrible coffee, but just then it looked and smelled like a five star meal. It took everything you had not to pounce on the pathetic meal and devour it in seconds; you hadn’t eaten in at least a day, probably two or more.
“I don’t know how I can help you. The weapons you have far exceed my own designs,” you said coolly as you walked around the room, assessing all of the equipment. You had to admit, it was an impressive setup. It made your lab back home look like a child’s toy by comparison.
“Ve vill start wif what you know about Doctor Erskine’s formula, yes?” he said, tone leaving you little room to argue.
Still, you had to try. “I’m not a chemist. I never understood Abraham’s work,” you said shrugging helplessly.
“Yes, but our intelligence suggests you vere very close. No doubt he talked wif you often about his formula for ze serum?” he asked, raising a wispy eyebrow at you.
“Well, yes, but-”
“Zen you may haf information we do not know,” Zola said stubbornly, throwing a file onto the desk in front of you.
Somewhat hampered by the cuffs, you opened the file and rifled through it. It was all the data they had on the serum. Some of it was in English, but most of it was in German. Bits here and there looked familiar, but it was obvious they hadn’t cracked Abraham’s formula yet. Not completely
“I’m telling you, him talking to me about his serum was like placing a first grader in college-level organic chemistry. It was beyond me,” you said despairingly. It was the truth; you weren’t a chemist! You were an inventor! Technology was your forte, not the chemical makeup of the universe!
“You vill try,” he said coldly, glaring at you through his round spectacles. “Read ze files by noon today. I vill return shortly after midday to check on your progress. You vill have helpful imput, or there vill be consequences,” he said dangerously. “Zese men will keep you company so zat you do not get any ideas,” he said, motioning to the two soldiers behind him. Your eyes flicked warily to the guns they held, then back to Zola.
His threat was clear: Don’t help him and someone dies. Try to escape and you get hurt or killed... or someone dies.
You glared at him. “Understood,” you said, flicking open to the front of the file, and began reading.
Satisfied, Zola left to go do god knows what, leaving you in the stony silence of the laboratory.
Bucky’s POV
As soon as you left, Bucky moved to sit down again, but Falsworth caught his arm, shaking his head minutely at him. “Stay standing, or they’ll beat you,” he said quietly, eyes straight ahead.
Bucky straightened and faced forward, jaw working anxiously as he looked around the room. Nearly all of the prisoners were standing eerily still. Some weren’t standing though and, upon closer inspection... weren’t even moving. Bucky’s blood ran cold at the sight. He’d heard a bit about Nazi work camps, but he never imagined-
Movement on the opposite end of the room caught Bucky’s attention. There, flanked by two guards with those crazy blue guns, was a cruel-looking man with a clip board. He seemed to stop at each cell, working with agonizing slowness.
“What is he doing? Why are we just standing around?” Bucky whispered as quietly as he could to Falsworth. Though they didn’t say anything, he could tell Gabe and Dum Dum were listening close to his answer.
“Roll Call, or at least that’s what everyone calls it. They’re just taking inventory, though... of us. They drag the dead out of the cells and put new men in,” Falsworth whispered, sounding disgusted but resigned.
Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides as he bit back his anger. They treated them like cattle and once they died they were simply tossed into the trash. Their captors weren’t human; they were demons.
“Where are the other wardens?” Bucky whispered, not able to see any other signs of movement.
“There’s only one,” Falsworth said solemnly, eyes flicking to the warden, who’d only managed to move past two cages since they’d begun talking.
“But there are hundreds of cages! We’ll be standing here for-”
“Hours, yes,” Falsworth whispered, nodding almost imperceptibly. “It’s not uncommon for men to die during roll call, especially on colder days. They don’t care, though. They just bring more prisoners in,” he whispered despondently.
Bucky remembered the pathetic excuse for a dinner they’d served just before you’d shown up last night; a minuscule hunk of bread, a piece of moldy cheese, a tiny piece of salami and a cup of watery, cold soup to wash it down. Even after he choked all of it down at the insistence of Falsworth, he was still left feeling hungry. He had a sinking feeling he’d never feel full again. The bitter cold, the restricted amount of food, the unsanitary living conditions, and now, standing for hours, their intentions were made clear. This place was meant to crush a person’s spirit and cause you wither down into a husk until you finally died.
It was hard to bite back the bile rising in his throat. When he signed up to fight in war, he never really thought he’d actually end up a prisoner of war, you know? Sure, he knew it was a possibility, but...
He tried his best to put on a brave face. He was a Sergeant of the United States Army, and they could make him work, but they couldn’t make him fear them.
Bucky considered himself to be pretty strong, even before he joined the army. The work they had him and the other men doing, though, made his lungs scream for oxygen and hot sweat cascade down his face, even in the freezing facility. The sheer amount of machinery they had to move by hand was appalling and there seemed to be a nearly unending amount of it. He couldn’t even begin to guess what the weapons and parts he was moving could do. They were so beyond anything he’d ever seen that they may as well have been alien.
Bucky learned quickly to keep his head down and work. Looking around too much, talking, or asking questions resulted in being struck hard with a guard’s metal baton.
At some point in the day- what must have been around noon- they were ordered to stop and head to the mess hall. Guards on catwalks trained their guns on him and the other inmates, while guards on the ground shuffled them into the mess hall.
There weren’t any seats or tables, just a huge room with a giant open panel on one end, where the smell of food wafted from. Prisoners worked the kitchen, watched closely by guards; the penalty for stealing food was death. Dugan, Gabe, and Bucky followed Falsworth and Dernier into one of the lines, the lot of them looking practically dead on their feet.
Halfway through their “meal” the doors they’d come through earlier opened, and a man flanked by at least six guards entered. Immediately, the other wardens flocked to him. Bucky could see them all talking tensely. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this man was important.
“Who is he?” Bucky asked Falsworth quietly, jerking his head in the direction of the wardens.
Falsworth glanced towards where Bucky had indicated and blanched. He looked away quickly, suddenly very interested in his tray of food. “That’s Colonel Lohmer. He’s in charge of keeping track of the prisoners here; the head warden,” Falsworth whispered. Obviously Lohmer was someone you didn’t want to cross.
Bucky glanced surreptitiously back at the Colonel, who seemed to have finished his conversation with his underlings, and was making his way back out of the mess hall.
Only ten minutes after they’d received their food, they were sent back to work again. Bucky’s muscles and joints were already crying out in protest, and it was only his first day.
Your POV
Just like he said he would, Zola reappeared just after noon, followed by a man carrying another tray of food. The tray from this morning lay empty beside you; you’d tried to deny the pitiful meal out of spite, but your stomach wouldn’t let you focus.
“Haf we made some discoveries, fraulein?” Zola asked curiously, smile on his face as he studied you through his glasses.
“Yes,” you said bitterly, setting down the file as you glowered at him.
“Oh, wunderbar! Please, tell me all about it!” he said as he took the seat opposite of you. You had to fight the urge to strangle him with your bare hands; you wouldn’t succeed before you were shot or restrained by his guards and it wouldn’t end well for you or any of the guys.
“Food first,” you said stubbornly, nodding your head at the tray. You wanted at least something to go your way. “And I want to hear you say again how you’ll uphold your promise about giving the soldiers more food. I want to see it,” you said, glaring at him.
Zola shrugged and waved the guard carrying the food forward. “Fine, zat is acceptable... if you haf relevant information,” he said, eyes glinting wickedly.
The food was set down in front of you and you immediately tore into the chunk of bread. The earlier meal hadn’t done much to settle your angry stomach, and you were soon hungry again. The stale bread tasted way better than it had any right to.
You opened the file and turned to the page you’d been looking at earlier; a bastardized version of Erskine’s formula looked up at you.
You pointed to a specific spot on the huge molecule. “This chain, right here. It’s wrong. This should be a double bond with oxygen. And here, here, and here-” you pointed to each spot in turn, “-these are wrong. I can’t remember exactly what that chain is supposed to be or which element that molecule bonds to, but I know it’s not that one,” you said, despondently.
“Sank you, fraulein. That is most illuminating. Is zat all you have discovered?” he asked, slimy smile making your skin crawl.
“... Yes,” you said stonily, hastily scooping the soup down your throat.
“Now, fraulein. I thought you would be smart enough to know that lying to me will only hurt you,” Zola said, frown replacing his creepy smile.
“That’s all I know about the formula, I swear!” you said stubbornly, glaring at him as you shoved the tiny slice of salami in your mouth; you barely chewed it, swallowing thickly.
“I believe that. However, I vill gif you one last chance to tell the truth. If you choose not to take it, I shall be forced to take drastic measures,” he said darkly, sending a chill down your spine.
You clenched your jaw and flicked to a different page, where they had pictures of the lab where they’d tested their failed serum. “Your setup is part of your problem. The reason your last test failed is in part because your serum wasn’t ready, but also because you didn’t have a cradle,” you said angrily, jabbing your finger at the pictures.
“A ‘cradle’?” Zola asked, eyebrow raised.
“Oh, right. Your agent killed himself before he could report back. You guys didn’t know about that. That explains why I don’t see plans for one in here,” you said bitterly. Shit. There went another secret. Just how long could you continue to selfishly save yourself and the guys if it meant that Hydra would gain an army of super soldiers just as strong as Steve, but without his conscience.
Your fists clenched tightly at the thought.
“You vill build one of zese cradles, zen,” Zola said, looking at you expectantly.
“The cradle was Stark’s brainchild! Not mine!” you panicked. I mean, you had worked on it a lot, but you didn’t know if you could make one from scratch! You’d been mostly working on your own projects while Howard tinkered away at the Vita Ray Cradle.
Zola didn’t seem to care about your protests. “I vant the first draft of blueprints and a preliminary draft of materials needed by tonight,” Zola said, standing. “My assistant vill get you vhat you need. Seven hours, Miss (Y/L/N).”
You watched in horror as he left without another word. You had seven hours to figure out how Stark’s cradle worked. You’d worked on it a bit and done some tests, but-
“Bugger it all,” you muttered angrily, throwing your head down on the desk.
By the time Zola returned, you’d made a rough blueprint of the cradle. To your relief, it seemed like the list of materials you needed would take even Hydra a while to collect. It would give you time to sabotage the construction of the cradle without Zola noticing.
Zola looked over the blueprints with interest, asking you for clarification in a few places. Eventually, though, he seemed satisfied and rolled them carefully up and set them back on the table. “Very good, fraulein. As I promised, your soldiers will get extra food tonight,” he said, although his smile was tight and cruel; it made your stomach flip with grim anticipation. “However, zer is one other matter,” he said lightly, but your heart was racing.
You didn’t know how, but you knew whatever he was about to say wouldn’t end nicely for you.
“You lied to me, Miss (Y/L/N), and I need you to know that that is not acceptable,” he said, turning his slimy smile on you once again. “I tried being nice, vut that does not seem to vork. So, you vill be taught a harsh lesson.”
You barely had time to process his words before the rough gloved hands of two guards clamped down around your upper arms and literally dragged you from the lab, kicking and screaming.
“Let me go! Ire Bastarde! Zola!” you raged, trying to rip yourself free from their grasp, to no avail.
“Zis could have been easy for you, fraulein. I’m sorry you have made it so hard on yourself. Please do not make me do zis again,” he said, walking a few feet behind you and your guards.
“Du bist ein dicker, sadistischer kleiner Mann und ich bring dich selbst um!” you screeched at him. You’re a fat, sadistic little bastard and I’ll kill you myself.
At that, one of the guards gave you a full-power sucker punch to the gut.
Your breath left you in a whoosh and you nearly vomited on the spot.
Zola tsked. “No threats please, fraulein. It is unbecoming,” he said as you were dragged deeper and deeper into the facility. You struggled the entire way; if they were going to beat you or torture you, you’d at least make it difficult for them.
All too soon they turned into a small room that forcibly reminded you of the room you’d first woken up in, except the only things inside if were a single chair with restraints and a table laden with what you could guess were torture instruments.
You were shoved into the chair and your wrists and ankles were secured before you could even put up much of a fight. A thick strap across your chest officially ensured you couldn’t move more than a few millimeters in any way.
A man whose face was hidden by a mask approached with a filthy, tattered rag, which he unceremoniously shoved in your mouth after one of the guards had pried your mouth open.
“Ich bin sicher, deine Schreie sind hübsch, aber wir wollen nicht, dass du dir die Zunge abbeiust,” he said almost sensually. You could hear the sadistic smile in his voice. I’m sure your screams are pretty, but we don’t want you to bite your tongue off.
“Berühre nicht ihre dominante Hand oder ihren Kopf; Ich brauche sie in der Lage zu arbeiten,” Zola told the torturer. He nodded at the orders, fingers ghosting over his tools. Don’t touch her dominant hand or her head; I need her able to work.
His words sent a chill of horror down your spine. This was really happening. You were about to be tortured by Hydra.
You wanted to beg for mercy; promise you wouldn’t lie again. You’d work all night to make up for it... but you knew that it wouldn’t help. You tried to keep a brave face, but your eyes betrayed you and tears leaked from your eyes and left tracks down your cheeks.
“Lass uns anfangen, junger Fräulein.”
Your brain was going into overdrive and you barely even heard his words.
No no no no no, was all you could think.
Then, the pain began, and all you could do was scream.
Bucky’s POV
“Just eat it, Bucky,” Dugan said as he rolled his eyes at Bucky.
Zola and a warden had dropped by the holding cells earlier and thrown them an entire loaf of bread. It was small, but easily a days worth of rations for the five of them. They’d divided it evenly and even threw some of it to the men in neighboring cages when the wardens weren’t looking.
Before he’d left, Zola had left them with some troubling parting words. “When she comes back, make sure you tell her that I held up my end of the ze bargain,” he’d said, his voice grating on Bucky’s ears.
“We don’t even know what happened to (Y/N). You heard Zola,” Bucky said obstinately, glaring at the bread in his hand like it had insulted his mother.
“Well, not eating the bread isn’t going to help her. Just eat it,” Dugan said exasperatedly.
Bucky sighed. Dum Dum was right, but it didn’t make him feel any less guilty as he tore into the chunk of bread. At least this way he might be able to keep his strength up; he could barely move after the grueling work they’d put him through today.
One word from Zola’s demand stuck in Bucky’s head. “When” not “if”. She was coming back, it was just a matter of time. He hoped Zola hadn’t been lying about that. He tore through the piece of bread in seconds.
Movement near the doors caught everyone’s attention, hundreds of eyes turning to stare, lamp-like, at what was going on.
The guys leaned against the bars of the cage, trying to get a better view. It was only once they were about fifteen feet away that Bucky knew why he felt sick to his stomach. He was finally able to discern exactly what the odd shape approaching them was: you being dragged by your arms by two guards. Even from this distance, Bucky could see that one of your hands was a bloody mess and your skin was horribly discolored from fresh bruises.
He thought he’d be relieved when he saw you again... but he never expected this.
The closer you got, the worse he realized your injuries were. The guards stopped in front of the cage, one of them dropping you unceremoniously to point his gun at them. “Treten Sie zurück,” one of the guards ordered. Bucky had learned that one quickly. Stand back. But he was frozen, staring at you in mute shock. Your eyes were staring straight ahead, completely devoid of emotion. It was like you couldn’t even see. Luckily, he was saved a beating by Dugan pulling him roughly back away from the cage door.
One of them opened the barred door quickly and literally threw you inside. Bucky and Jones caught you before you could hit the ground and the cage slammed shut, guards leaving without another word.
Bucky and Jones carefully lowered you to the ground. Bucky balled his jacket up and laid it under your head while Jacques assessed your injuries. Bucky glanced over you, too. A few of your fingernails were missing and the ones that weren’t were a bloody mess. Your thin shirt had holes burned into it and he could see the skin beneath wasn’t much better off. Your arms and legs were swollen with bruises and if he had to guess from the way you breathed so shallowly, your ribs were either badly bruised or fractured.
“Little miss...” Dugan said sadly, looking down at you as though you were about to shatter at any moment. You gave no sign that you’d heard him, though, gaze far away.
“Doll... (Y/N)...” Bucky said quietly.
At the sound of your name, you blinked slowly and seemed to come back to yourself slightly, eyes sliding from the ceiling to Bucky. Your gaze was unfocused and you blinked, as though you were trying to get it focus on him.
You opened your mouth to speak, but only your hissing breath came out. You’d screamed until your voice died.
“Shh, shh. Get... get some rest, Doll,” Bucky said, running his hand gently over your messy hair.
You didn’t have the energy to argue and simply nodded once, eyes closing, and fell asleep almost immediately, your body unable to keep itself conscious any longer.
Bucky prayed you would wake up.
“I’m going to kill them all,” he whispered, brow furrowing in anger as he stared down at your prone form.
“No,” Dugan said quietly.
“I don’t care, Dugan. Look what they did to-”
“We’re going to kill them all,” Dugan said, clasping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.
“Count me in,” said Falsworth, staring at you sadly.
“Me, too,” said Gabe, jaw set in determination. He turned to Jacques. “Et vous? Voulez-vous tuer des méchants?”
A nearly manic grin lit up Jacques’ face at the question. “Ah, oui, mon ami. Ce serait avec plaisir,” he said, grinning wickedly.
“We’re in,” Jones said, grinning.
Bucky nodded at each of them, taking solace in their support of his insanity. “Then we have some planning to do.”
Next Chapter
Strikethough indicates uncooperative tag.
If you’d like to be tagged in this series, like this post!
PAIRING(S): 40's!Bucky x Reader, Dum Dum Dugan x OFC Dotty
WARNING(S): Curse words
WORD COUNT: 1973
AUTHOR’S NOTES: I wrote this on a whim and I love it so much fvlgffbnefjnf Bucky is actually my most favourite thing in the planet like he could punch me in the face with his metal arm (or what used to be his metal arm) and I would thank him for it.
Listen to How About You by Judy Garland (1941), then You’ll Never Know by Alice Faye (1943)
MASTERLIST ( ! ) • PROMPTS ( ! ) • ASK BOX ( ! )
1943, SOMEWHERE BEHIND THE ENEMY LINES
War was a mean place. You knew that better than anybody.
You were an army nurse, straight out of your father’s farm in England. But simply put, you were an army brat. Your father, an old veteran, now a farmer. Your mother, an old army nurse, now a wife of a farmer. Your brothers were also soldiers of war, like your grandfather, and his father before him, and his father before him.
1939, the army was recruiting. It was not voluntary. Anybody over the age of 18 and unmarried were expected to enlist. Your brothers saw it as an opportunity to mean something – to be a part of something bigger than themselves. But truth be told, they probably left to impress the ladies in town.
Nevertheless, your brothers run off with their heads held high and brave faces, but your father was not glad. He was not proud. He did not wave them goodbye with a smile on his face, his arm was not around your mother’s waist with a look of pride and joy. In fact, your brothers had left in the middle of the night, through the window, leaving all but a light kiss on your forehead before they had run off to the save their country. Four years had passed, and you had not heard from then since.
You hated them for it. And then you didn’t, because soon enough, you had done the same thing. You followed your mother’s footsteps like your brothers had followed your fathers. You had left with all but a daisy on your bed, and a red stained lip kiss on your favourite handkerchief your grandmother knitted you.
Now, you hated yourself for it.
Your lovely parents only ever wanted you to be safe – all of you. Your brothers, yourself – your parents always said they hated every second they ever spent in war.
Now you were somewhere in Italy, far, far, away from the safety of home. You, along with a dozen nurses you soon began seeing as the sisters you never had, were kidnapped and captured and became prisoners of war. You along with hundreds of Allied soldiers.
Many had come and gone. None came back. They were taken for something. Torture, interrogation, experiments, whatever it was it couldn’t have been good. You and your girls had been there for months. You didn’t speak German, but a Dorothy did. She was your friend.
SEVEN MONTHS AGO FROM TODAY, FOUR DAYS AFTER BEING TAKEN:
“What are they saying, Dotty?” You whispered towards her.
Dotty brushed her blonde hair away from her face. “They refuse to touch us.”
Mary, another friend of yours, whispered beside you. “Like what they’re doing to the soldiers?” She raised her brow.
Dotty nodded. All of you sat on the floor of the cage you were locked in. Her hand was raised on the bars as she stared at the NAZI soldiers. “Yes. Not until they capture more of us.”
You raised your brow. “Pardon me?”
“They need more women to experiment on, but they don’t have enough. They’re waiting until they catch more of us.” She gulped and spun around. “Then they’ll begin.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
The newest set of soldiers were American – mostly. You and the girls were used to British and French soldiers, actually, you’d met a couple of Australians along with way, too. They were all dead now.
Winifred had already made friends. She was another nurse from your infantry. She asked them the same questions she always asked the newbies. What infantry are you from? How many of you? Any women with you? And, will there be anyone coming to save us?
On average, it took the Germans months to get through one infantry since there were hundreds of soldiers. Currently, your girls and the 107th infantry were on standby. They had arrived two months after you and your girls, making a total of five months of being imprisoned together.
Beside your cage, was a group of soldiers, none too savage and pig-headed, in fact, they were gentlemen. When they first arrived, they ratted you tired from their questions. None of which were about their safety, but instead, about yours.
“Are you ladies hurt?”
“How long have you been here?”
“Did those bastards touch you?”
“We’ll fucking kill them if they did.”
“C’mon, doll, don’t shy away, tell us the truth”
James Buchanan Barnes.
Oh, he was a dream. Mocha brown hair, bright blue eyes like heaven. His face was as handsome as he was kind. A total dreamboat, in your opinion. Young, handsome, brave, intelligent, and his smile was the brightest out of all. He became your best friend. In his cage, there was four of them left – once upon a time, there were twenty-two. When the Germans return, his odds weren’t so great.
He first met you when you were sat on the floor with the girls. The soldiers of war were crying, wailing, screaming, threatening. The 107th was new then, and one thing you and the girls had realised was that soldiers all went through the same stages. Anger, more anger, frustration, sadness, then acceptance.
And you were just about sick of it. Sure, you let them be, you allowed them to be men – to be human. But these men, goodness me, they’re anger lasted at least three times more than all the others.
Dotty’s head was on your lap, the other girls were also sitting and fiddling with each other’s hair. “I miss my victory rolls.” Dotty pouted.
You smiled softly and continued to brush your fingers through her blonde hair. “I know, darling.” Before you could say more, the sound of angry men fighting interrupted. Your words died before they were born. You remembered your life back at the farm; picking flowers, collecting eggs, milking the cows, picking strawberries. The sun seeped through your skin as the fresh, clean wind blew past your face. You’d be wearing a clean dress that always got dirty before noon arrived. Even then, there wasn’t anyone to judge you. And to past the time, you’d sing. You took a deep breath.
“When a girl meets boy / life can be a joy / but the note they end on / will depend on little pleasures they will share / so let us compare.”
Soon enough, the men of war began to silence. Dotty’s face turned to awe, and hundreds of eyes were on you.
“I like New York in June, how about you? / I like Gershwin tune, how about you? / I love a fireside when a storm is due / I like potato chips, moonlight and motor trips / How about you? / I’m mad about good books, can’t get my fill / and Franklin Roosevelt’s looks give me a thrill / holding hands at the movie show / when all the lights are low / may not be new, but I like it / how about you? / I like Jack Benny’s jokes / to a degree / I love the common folks / that includes me / I like to window shop on 5th Avenue / I like banana splits, late supper at the Ritz / How about you?”
“Doll?” Bucky’s voice broke through the crowd of soldiers.
Your eyes turned to his. And suddenly, it was only you and him. “Hi, Buck.”
He beamed. His eyes were just as tired as yours, and his heart probably as heavy. “What was your mother like?”
You smiled at his question. “Well, she was beautiful. A strong woman. She was also an army nurse, like me.” You smiled at the thought of your mother. “She’s every bit as hard-headed as I am.”
He held your index finger through the holes of the cage. “She sounds wonderful.”
You nodded, brushing your [Y/H/C] hair behind your ears. “She would have liked you.”
A soft and playful look washed over his face. “You’d want me to meet your Ma?”
You giggled and nodded once more. “I think you’d be the first man my mother would approve of.”
His posture straightened ever so slightly in pride. Then he paused, frowned, then turned to you. “You bring home men a lot?”
“No, silly.” You smiled, wiggling you finger that was in his hand. “I lived in a farm. Not a lot of guys like a lady who gets dirty.”
Bucky huffed. “I do.”
Your smile widened. “I know.”
Silence came from the both of you, comfortable silence, anyway. You listened to the conversations of the others. Dotty had gotten herself an older fellow. She was as fond of him as he was of her. His name was Dum Dum Dugan. You received a wink from him as you caught his eye. You grinned. You hadn’t even noticed Bucky’s eyes on you until he spoke again.
“They’ll be back soon, doll.”
Your face fell. No, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening. “Don’t say that, Buck.” You whimpered.
His brows narrowed as he turned to you in concern and sadness. The tears in your eyes were threatening to fall. “Doll, don’t cry.” He whispered. His grabbed as much of your hand as he could, rubbing his thumbs on your skin. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t you do that to me, sweet girl, look at me.” And so you did. “Now, you know I love the sound of your voice. And your eyes, man that has to be one of my favourite things about you.”
Well, that was it. A tear had escaped and there was nothing you could do to stop it. “Buck … ”
He sighed, then chuckled drily. “I really wish I got to take you on a date.”
You sniffed then shook your head. “You will.” You nodded at him through your tears. “Oh, James, you will. Just survive, and when we get out of here, take me to dinner at your favourite restaurant. Take me to meet your ma, and your pal, Steve. You said they’d like me. You know how much I like being praised.”
Bucky’s eyes brightened. “That punk.” He chuckled. “Alright, I’ll even take you to meet the fellas at my barbershop. I already know Ma’s gonna love you. So will Rebecca.” – his baby (and favourite) sister out of four. You sighed and nodded. The comfort from his fingers seeped through you. “Can you do me a final favour, doll?”
Your eyes bounced from his left eye to his right. You’d already memorised the difference. The iris on his left eye was slightly larger. The one on his right had specks of darker blue. There were creases on the sides of his eyes. This man smiled so much, they left permanent evidence of it. The sides of his mouth twitched up as he noticed your stare. You had memorised his face as he had yours. “Sing for me, doll.”
You didn’t have to be told twice.
“You’ll never know just how much I miss you / you’ll never know just how much I care / and if I tried, I still couldn’t hide my love for you / you ought to know, for haven’t I told you so / a million or more times / went away and my heart went with you / I speak your name in my every prayer / If there is some other way to prove that I love you / I swear I don’t know how / you’ll never know if you don’t know now – ”
You couldn’t finish your song.
The Germans had come to take him in their arms.
THREE DAYS SINCE YOU’D SEEN BUCKY:
The sound of footsteps woke you up.
You blinked rapidly, your eyes desperate for clear sight.
“Who are you supposed to be?”
You began searching your surroundings until you spotted the source of the voice. A man was perched over the cages, hands ruffling in a bag. The commotion had gotten everybody’s attention.
“Captain America.”
Dotty cocked her head from beside you. “Are you wearing tights?”
(A/n- I actually have had this in my head for a while no summary though xP Enjoy!!)
Bucky x reader
Song- The Night We Met by Lord Huron (bolded)
-----------
I am not the only traveler
Who has not repaid his debt
I've been searching for a trail to follow again
Take me back to the night we met
Before Bucky had entered the war he fell in love. No one knew about his lover, not Steve, not his family, no one knew. They dated for about a year before he proposed to her. Still he never told a soul about her. Even to this day, as Bucky climbs up the hill to a small cemetery, no one knows of his wife. As he nears the tombstone, he moves the small white rose from his hand and places it on the stone. [Y/n] Barnes was born on May 25th, 1918. She died a year before Bucky had escaped Hydra, he never got to see her.
And then I can tell myself
What the hell I'm supposed to do
And then I can tell myself
Not to ride along with you
His memories slowly came to him when he was away from Hydra, of them dancing in dimly lit bars. Her long dress moving side to side as they moved together, swaying to the slow beat of the music. Bucky’s wedding with her was small. No one came to it, they wanted it to be kept a secret. The night of their honeymoon was spent in the park, stargazing. They both made a wish on a shooting star, that they would be happy for the rest of their days. Bucky and [Y/n] got a small apartment where they lived together for a few months before they found out the involvement of the US in the war. Bucky didn’t tell her that he enlisted a few days after the news reached them. He wishes he was able to see her before she died, he read that she was constantly sad when he left. Her family wrote in her obitchuary that she went into a small depression after the war before beginning to sell flowers which seemed to make her happy. She never remarried.
I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you
Take me back to the night we met
I don't know what I'm supposed to do
Haunted by the ghost of you
Oh, take me back to the night we met
The night Bucky told [Y/n] he enlisted, was the night of their first fight. They yelled, saying words they did not mean out of worry for the both of them. She tried to convince him to stay, he said it’s already been done. After they had cooled down, Bucky sat next to her on the bed an she cried into her hands. He hugged her closely, kissing her forehead and rubbing her back gently an she repeatedly said don’t go. That night, they didn't sleep. They kept a hold of each other the whole night.
When the night was full of terrors
And your eyes were filled with tears
When you had not touched me yet
Oh, take me back to the night we met
Bucky eyes trail along the stone, the wind rustles his hair and blows the grass surrounding the grave. A small engraving lies under her name and dates of her birth and death, “He holds my heart, the moon. He keeps me company in the dark of night,” it reads. He smiles, she often said that when Bucky had a rough time sleeping after getting Steve out of a tough situation. He wishes he could have been there for his wife when she died, he wished he still had his wedding ring, he wishes he still had a lot of things. He mainly wishes she was still alive, for she still holds his heart.
A sad smile makes it way onto Bucky’s features an he lowers his head and presses a small kiss to the stone whispering an I love you before turning on his heel and slowly making his way down the path and away from his lover. He’ll see her again in his next life., he won’t leave her again.
This is my first published fan fiction so I’m new! Yep! This is only an excerpt, and depending on the notes, we’ll see about getting serious about it ;).
Feedback of any kind is overly appreciated <3. Please feel free to comment or send me a message or anything. Any ideas? Comments? Do you want me to continue?
Synopsis: A 40′s!Bucky fan fiction taking place in a small German town where Bucky runs into Y/N and no one can deny the chemistry between them. It’s been said war walks hand in hand with death, so can anything really survive in times like these?
Please enjoy!! <3
_________
Whenever the sun set in the mountains, the sky turned a vibrant pink color interrupted only by the high peaks of the mountains and the tallest of trees, the light pouring over the open fields and across the roofs of the buildings collected in the tiny town. The sunset could be seen through the window in the kitchen and it cast the last light day into the kitchen. The window, however, had specks of dust and smudge and were only occasionally cleaned when the flowers by the window were watered.
Nighttime was usually peaceful with the occasional glowing window from the neighbors across the street and the streetlamp and stood in the shadow of the tall chestnut tree that stood next to their quaint cottage. Cars could be heard at night, rattling down the dusty road right next to the house, their headlights reflecting in the windows, but most of the time, it was tranquil and quiet. The stars could be seen and crickets chirped at night. Now, however, not even the crickets can be heard.
Since the way started, the lights in the windows don’t burn at night, and on bomb raids, the streetlight disappears. Everyone only worries about their own business and how they’ll make it without certain rations and what will happen if they stop getting an income. Working as an assistant at a sewing shop, Y/N worried about this day, especially being one of the only members of her family that had a consistent job.
Y/N poured some fresh milk into three chipped mugs and set them on the table under the weak blue light pouring from the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Her eyes darted outside to the path that you could see from the window. Her mother should be coming home about now. Dusk was falling outside as Y/N opened the small cupboard under the stove next to the pile of wood and grabbed a loaf of bread, breaking it into three pieces and pulling out a chair and sitting at the table, where her sister had been impatiently tapping her nail against the wooden top. They took the bread and began eating, her sister, Anne Marie, helping their younger brother, Jonah, with his food.
Just as Y/N stuffed the last piece of bread into her mouth, a loud wailing began that caused her to grip the table before jumping to her feet, Anne Marie following suit and grabbing Jonah, hurrying downstairs into the bedroom, the “safest” room in their house, as they didn’t have a basement in the house.
Jonah jumped onto the mattress on the floor, crawling under the blue flowery and covered his ears, Anne Marie lying down next to him and singing a song quietly to calm herself and Noah down. Suddenly, Y/N remember- their mother. She wouldn’t know what to do, walking across the open field by herself. She would die. She wouldn’t make it.
Y/N knew Anne Marie knew how to take care of Noah, she had been doing so her whole life, and so she leaped to her feet, hurrying outside, grabbing a key from her skirt, the cute red one she always wore with her blouse, her best attire for when she was at work, not having had time to change. She jammed the key into the front door and scurried outside and down the dusty road next to their house and lead into the field, calling out for her mother, trying to make out a figure in the falling darkness. She heard a droning up ahead and the sirens pounded in her head, go, go, go, go, and her brain screamed go back, go back, go back, you’re going to die, YOU’RE GOING TO DIE
Y/N tried to call out her mother’s name through the sounds, seeing a small spot in the horizon. Airplanes. She swallowed, her throat dry, and stopped, staring at the sky. The next thing she knew, a hand was on her mouth and another around her waist and she was pulled against a body, a man, if she was guessing correctly. The hand around her mouth was calloused and strong, she could tell that much, and his clothing seemed to be light but sturdy. Who was this? Another drunkard? But she couldn’t smell any alcohol on him.
She screamed and struggled, trying to kick him when she suddenly felt a whispered by her ear and heard him whisper, “Stay still.”
She didn’t comply, instead biting his arm and he released her with a sharp intake of breath and she whirled around, on edge and was taken back at what she saw. A soldier. An American soldier. Here. In Germany. That couldn’t be any good. She took a step back, studying him up and down and then noticing how handsome he actually was. Do all American men look like that? Jaw and eyes and-
She narrowed her eyes, and he bit his lip, glancing at her. “What do you want?” she spat. “What the hell are you doing here?” His eyes shifted away for a moment before giving a small smirk.
“Sergeant Barnes at your service,” he said, kindly enough, but Y/N shook her head. He shouldn’t be here, because- suddenly her stomach plummeted, and she glanced back at their cottage, the airplanes flying overhead and then she was running, not even aware of the man running behind her, running back to the house, to her brother and sister, and-
But she was too late. The block lit up in flame and dust, a small mushroom forming over the buildings and she stopped, gasping for breath, her lungs on fire, her hands and feet dirty with dust, her hair falling over her shoulders as she watched her town turn to dust.
