#bucky's 100th

[little-nutmeg]

Here’s the big reveal for my Beefy Bucky Exchange ( @beefybuckyswap ) in honor of Bucky’s birthday! My son deserves a break and something fluffy like a relaxing bath was requested. 

My recipient was @frau-argh, and I hope you enjoy it! 

[also let me know if you want me to post it on ao3 as well. I’ve never posted art there before so I wasn’t sure it would work. :P]

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

I wonder if Sebastian Stan has plans for Bucky Barnes’ 100th birthday

[zimniysoldat-fiction]

Red Wine & C

So, uh, I just noticed this in my drafts? This is old, man. So old. I don’t know why I never posted it. I don’t even remember what the title was supposed to be, it certainly doesn’t make sense. So. Uh. Enjoy?

Summary: Bucky’s late returning from a mission.

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: allusions to smut? I didn’t actually write the smut for this one.

Word Count: 785

A/N: Why is the smut not cooperating?! I’m gonna blame the Beatles. And the term paper I’m supposed to be writing on the Beatles. I don’t think sexy when I think about Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, not gonna lie. Long story short; Beatles ≠ Smut inspiration or Beatles = smut blockers. You choose. ANYWAY 48- I Love You; 100 kinks for Bucky’s 100th (via @bucky-plums-barnes)

Six months ago, you and Bucky started dating. Four months ago, Bucky left on a ‘need to know’ mission in the Finnish Lapland. Six weeks, four days, and eighteen hours ago, Bucky was supposed to be back.

He missed his two-week check-in, except to say that he needed to go dark—complete communications silence—and to ‘tell Steve to not do anything stupid and take care of my girl.’

Tell Steve to not do anything stupid and take care of my girl.

Were those going to be the last words you heard from him? Two years of therapy, three years of friendship after that, and six months of dating and that would be his last words?

You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since the night after he was supposed to be home. You simply couldn’t sleep until he was home, or you knew what happened. Those nights progressed from worry, fear, sadness, and devastation to anger and bitterness in these last few days. Especially after translating foreign intelligence communications that detailed a man fitting his description.

Tonight, you were trying to get your emotions under control, trying to help logic and rationality prevail. You were doing this by drinking an old bottle of Malbec and reading the latest offering from Neil Gaiman. When you heard the elevator doors chime, you didn’t jump up and go see who it was, like you did the first few weeks Bucky had been late. You didn’t even turn around on the sofa to take a peek, as you’ve been doing lately. You simply kept reading, red wine cradled in your hand.

“Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” The voice was lower, more fatigued than you remembered, but that old Brooklyn accent was unmistakable.

Still, you didn’t look up from your book, making a point to take a sip of wine so as to obscure the tears flooding your eyes.

“Doll?” His brow furrowed as your chest grew ever tighter and he bent forward, trying to see your face. “C’mon, kitten, it’s me here. Please just look at me?”

You closed your book, but still didn’t look up, instead shutting your eyes and breathing deeply.

“Seven weeks, James. Its been nearly seven weeks since you were supposed to be home.” Your voice quivered more than you would’ve liked.

“The communications hub was destroyed.” His voice was a strange mixture of apologetic and amused. “I basically had to hitchhike across the arctic to get a message out. It was actually kinda funn—” You stood up so quickly he immediately stopped talking.

“Funny? Nothing about this has been funny, Bucky.”

“Doll…”

“I thought you were dead! For six weeks you let me think that you were dead!” The dam had broke, and the tears that had welled up broke free.

“I’m sorry, doll face, but you know better than most that it’s a risk of the job.” He winced as he said this, knowing that it wasn’t helping. “So why are you acting like this?”

You gaped at him for a second before guffawing in disbelief over his question. The bitterness you had been feeling now flowed as freely as your tears and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Because I love you, you stupid idiot!” You shouted with anger and malice.

“You l—what?” It was his turn to gape at you, and your eyes quickly fell to the floor, scared and embarrassed.

“I love you,” you whispered timidly, unable to even look at him.

You didn’t hear him move—not a creak of a floorboard, the soft padding of boot against wood, or even the rustle of clothing—so you were taken by complete surprise when his hands cupped your jawline and he pushed you back against the wall with the intensity of his lips crashing against yours.

His lips were chapped, warm and rough as they rubbed against yours, begging for something more. As you took his bottom lip between your teeth, his tongue darted into your mouth, massaging yours passionately, hungrily. His hands moved from your face to your wrists, pinning them above your head, grinding his pelvis into yours. He was already hard.

Both of you had forgotten about the glass of wine in your hand until you heard it smash against the floor. In the same instant, Bucky gripped your ass and lifted you up, encouraging your legs to wrap around his waist. You could tell he was fighting a smile, still kissing you deeply, pulling you away from the wall.

“I’ll clean that up later,” he murmured against your lips, the vibrations tickling the sensitive area and causing you to laugh into the kiss as he carried you to the bedroom.

TAGS: @oneshot-shit; @marvel-ash; @bovaria; @hymnofthevalkyries; @archangel-trauma; @bionic-buckyb; @lostinspace33; @bucky-plums-barnes; @lauisspntrash

[antisocialraccoon]

(Click for larger views.)

A dream which won’t be coming true.

Sorry for the sads. 

But today I’m a little emotional.

Happy 100th, dear Bucky.