Summary: The heartbreaking pain of wanting someone you can’t have, and watching as their love is given to someone else. Someone who isn’t you.
Warnings: Angts, unrequited love, bad writing.
Word Count: 1,138
A/N: A little angst never hurt nobody, right? I’m not really happy with this but I realized that it’s been a real long time since I posted something...so this is me breaking the radio silence haha! I hope you’ll like it tho. I’m so afraid of posting this because I’m really not sure how to feel about it, so please tell me what you think. Tell me how much it sucks please! Feedback is VERY much appreciated!
MASTERLIST
She is perfect, everything about her is perfect. Each little detail about her can only be described as perfect. It takes you deeper than your feet could ever wander and it makes your faith ever stronger, all in the presence of your savior. When he smiles, your heart does a leap in your chest, but it falls to the bottomless pit deep down your stomach when you realize that he was smiling at her, standing behind you the entire time.
In the presence of your savior, everything will be destroyed. Everything will turn to dust when your eyes open up to see that he is not the person you wanted him to be.
Her sandy blonde hair drapes over her shoulders, like a waterfall of liquid gold caught in the afterglow of the rain. The mild breeze that hang in the air catch a hold of it, twirls it around like in a dance only between the two of them. It flows like velvet through the waves of the ocean, rocks cascading on the surface, white foam washing up to the shore.
His fingers at the nape of her neck, grabbing a fistful of it, delicately and yet passionate as he leans in to mend his lips with hers. The smile on her face, as she rubs her nose against his, is bloody perfect as well.
Her lips are pink and plump, always so ready to get back into the all too familiar harmony they play with his. So ready to fall back into the steady rhythm that they create together, their bodies connected by the hip; always together. Just the two of them, as one organism, one life, one love.
She has those ocean eyes, the kind that can stare into yours for eternity and seem to be able to see deep, deep into your soul. Truly see you and all your secrets, everything you try so hard to keep concealed come spilling to the top when she pulls her tricks on you, a wicked smile pulling on the corners of her lips. They are always looking into his; always shining with the love she holds inside, sparkling like a thousand diamonds caught in the moonlight.
Always for him.
Why did it have to be him? Why did she have to choose him? The one man you were not to fall for, man you were not supposed to see in any other way than a friend. Your teammate, your flat mate, your captain, and yet for what? There is no taking it back now, no resurrections for a fading heart. It has gone beyond the prospect of a passing crush, an overflow of feelings. It is deep and brooding, mad and hopeless.
It is all for him.
You fell for his quirks and talents and all his gifts, his flaws and the mistakes he makes from time to time. You fell for the bright blue eyes he hides behind and the wide smile he use to throw people off. The holy hands of a human god that could turn anyone into a sinner.
Captain America, the golden child, the lion boy who knows how it is like to conquer.
Captain America, the fearless one, the broken boy who knows what it is like to burn.
You never wanted the ridiculous persona, the propaganda and the parades. The real Steven Rogers is what your heart desired, the beaten little boy who grew up in Brooklyn, picking fights with people twice his size; the man who would never stray from one.
The thought that he shares all this and more, explicit details about himself that he will never let anyone see, with her, is unbearable. It is as if a wild beast is trying to claw its way to your trembling heart, only to devour it in one painful bite.
Your insides are but empty, hollow, aching. You tried so hard not to fall in love, you really did, but you only ended up falling harder and harder, and harder.
He is always, always searching for her. Like she always, always search for him. Calling for the other, beckoning them closer and closer until they are once again reunited. His face lights up when his eyes meets hers, when her hands are on him again. It never fails. The glimmer in his eyes, the fire and the light that shines so, so brightly, it always comes back. For her.
The pain that comes from looking into his eyes, the same eyes you spend so much time yearning for, is indescribable. When it is you who is searching for his steel blue eyes and he looks away, it hurts in a way that nothing else ever has.
They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, complementing each other to a fault. They are always around, holding each other, locking lips and caressing the others skin. They are always there, flaunting their love to the world.
He never even saw you.
All the times you said the words that lingered on the tip of your tongue, every time you put your heart on the line, he.never.saw.you. He only ever saw her.
Your melancholy mood hangs over you like a dark cloud, a darkness that consumes you and everything you are. It is like an insatiable fire that burns out all the oxygen in the room, and walls closes in on you, inch by inch.
Some days you are empty, feeling nothing at all and other days you are a channel of streaming emotions, feeling everything all at once and all so suddenly.
That is the thing about love; you will let them get away with murder, even if it is your own.
The endless stream of tears when you are alone, knowing you would never and can never be her is tugging at your heartstrings. That you can never be her in the way he holds her when they kiss, the way he always holds her hand, always. When you hear the fondness in his voice whenever he talks about her, when he smiles because he thinks about her and you just know; you know he is always thinking about her because you are always thinking about him. The sting deep in the roots of your heart when you see that smile, knowing, just knowing that there is no other reason for it, but her.
You never knew what hit you, when you cried yourself to sleep one night, picturing him holding her close, cuddling her to sleep, resting his head in the crook of her neck. It is borderline hilarious knowing that he would never be like that with you, never holding you close to his chest, never miss you, never tell you he loves you.
1: Who was the last person you held hands with?My little brother! He’s one and a half years old and holding his hand while he walks next to me is the actual cutest thing e v e r.
25: What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with?Probably my wrists? Idk that’s a really random part of my body, but they’re really skinny and people always comment on them and it sorta makes me uncomfortable ahahaha.
46: What are you paranoid about?I like to think that I’m not a paranoid person, so I actually don’t know? Maybe the ocean. The Pacific Ocean is scary, man, it could 100% kill me in like two seconds lmao.
112: Who was the last person you cried in front of?I think my mom, actually. (She’s the best, I love her so much 💕)
7: Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?Noooooo lmao 😂 I’m only 16, so I definitely know a few people that are getting in relationships, but that’s not really where I am in life right now, ahahaha.
98: Do you tan a lot?Hell no 😂😂 I’m about as white as you can get, so I don’t tan, I sunburn lol!
(Thanks so much for the questions, love!) Ask me something here!
Summary: At the edge of the universe, a place without a beginning or an end, a Star-Lord discovers what true love really means.
Warnings: Literally no plot, just a bunch of talk of love, which I by the way know nothing about?!?! What the hell even is this?
Word Count: 1,306
A/N: Repost of what used to be a bunch of shittttt, I hope it’s better now haha. It was called Might be a sinner, might be a saint. I do not know how I feel about this one, but here we are! I know what you’re thinking; Was that GIF really necessary? Yes, yes it was. Feedback is much appreciated!
MASTERLIST
It is a funny thing; love.
In some dictionaries, it is defined as a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. They do not – and words fall utterly short when trying – define the feeling you get inside when you meet your perfect match, someone who awakens something deep in your bones, something that you have never felt before. Nor do they declutter the mess that roars inside of you, when the one person you just could not stand, suddenly becomes someone you cannot live without. No words seem capable of making sense of the irregular beating of your heart, when you know you have fallen and there is no going back.
Love is a word with many various meanings, always differing from person to person. You can love a painting, you can love shoes, you can love the way the stars illuminate the darkness that the night brings, and you can love the feeling of the warm sun kissing your skin. However, when that love is directed towards another being, it is something utterly, completely different. And that soul, may just, in a strange way, be the missing piece to complete your own.
Oh, the things we put our hearts through in a lifetime.
Peter finds himself in that particular mindset from time to time. His heart breaks asunder with the weight of all his love holding it down, he misses and he loves, he reminisces about the love you give him. As he lays down on his small bunk on the Milano, his mother’s music blasting through his headset, a familiar picture dance before his eyes.
He is a boy again, hardly old enough to know right from wrong. It is so dark outside. He feels the slightly wet grass through the fabric of his clothes as his eyes roam from one shiny star to another. The last song that played slowly fades out, a new one taking its place and it fills the shrill night air with its rhythm. Hooked on a feeling by blue swede, Peter’s favorite. His mother lays beside him, her hand firmly grasping his as she starts to sing along to the tune. It is faint, almost like a whisper. She looks over at him and smiles, her eyes glittering like diamonds beneath a billion lights. Peter starts so sing as well, his shoulders slowly moving side to side and his feet kicking along to the tune. Her laughter fills the space before them; his insides turn warm knowing he was the reason why.
“You remind me so much of your father, my little star-lord,” she says to him as the song ends and her laughter subdues.
Peter smiles weakly and he wonders, he dreams. What is his father like, will he find him one day so they can throw ball like all the other kids in his neighborhood do. Somewhere, out there in the vast universe, he sits around waiting, and Peter felt the excitement bubble.
It seems foolish now. In his desperate need of a fathers love, he failed to see the psycho hiding behind fake promises. However, no matter how strong the hatred grows towards his true parenthood, Peter’s love for the two strongest women in his life will never falter. Whenever he runs too warm, you are there to cool him down, and his mother’s memory will always guide him on the right path.
Before you came into his life, he slept around; he never saw the seriousness is anything. A new girl warmed his bed every night, different planet but always the same way. But when you sauntered into his ship, the battle gear only making you appear the more badass than what was good for you, his heart did a leap in his chest. He would never admit to it, he hated how awkward he was around you, and he began to hate on you for bringing out that side in him.
In time, you soon became a teammate, a companion he found himself enjoying the company off. He beat himself up for even allowing his mind to wonder to the women he had been with, when you were the only one who made him feel love. Rocket says you bring out the human in him, the not so fucked up part of a whole. The terran, the cave dweller.
Much to Peter’s delight, you are a dancer, just like him. He never realized just how different he and Gamora were, until he met you and everything just clicked. The universe never seemed as small as it did when he looked into your eyes, no star ever shined so bright. After he saw the warm smile you always wore, like a spell on your lips, the one Gamora offered him did no longer compare. You changed everything in his life, and as a result, he could not have been happier.
Obviously, he would like to think he knows everything there is to know about love. He knows what women want, how to lure them in with his pelvic sorcery and how to make them stay for the night. However, in time, he learned that is not love at all. To Peter, love is when a big smile breaks out whenever he sees you, hell, even hears your name. He knows every little quirk of yours, every bad habit and he can always tell what kind of mood you’re in just by looking at you. All this makes up some of the magnitude of the feeling you arouse deep in his heartstrings.
The multiverse always seemed so large, cold and lonely when you have none to bask in the warmth with. You soared into his life, almost like this divine creature, and rescued him from the demons in his mind. Had you asked him if he would feel this way for someone a few years ago, he would have laughed in your face. Nevertheless, your crazy matches his crazy. He is such a hopeless romantic and you love to point that out.
When your eyes meet someone the ones of someone else, or your hands touch, if only for a second, it is electric. A powerful sensation wash over you and you just know that something amazing is about to happen. Every moment with Peter is like it. However, amongst all the happiness, there is heartbreak. Moreover, Peter sure knows how to mess it up, time after time. You always take him back, kiss and make it better and pretend it never happened.
The unspoken thing between you remains, the three little words you are both so utterly scared of saying. When he holds you close, his warm breath fanning over your skin and his lips connect with yours, your forehead resting on his, the need to speak them aloud is ever stronger. Your heart beats a second faster, your throat dries up and your voice seems to disappear.
“Pete,” you say so faintly you fear he will not hear it. Peter’s eyes are closed; his hands lay protectively around your waist as he sways you side to side. There is no music playing, but it is not necessary. There is no one else on the ship. He hums and you can feel the beating of his heart, the vibration his voice leaves.
“I love you,” you whisper. He stops dancing, his eyes stare down at you and his mouth is slightly agape. You beg him to say something, embarrassment flooding in your veins. Your hands fly up to cover your flushed face, apologies flowing from your lips as you try your best to cover up what happ-
He laughs.
Your brows furrow, tears almost threatening to make an appearance as you think the worst. And then he says it, as if it’s the one thing that will set him free;
Summary: It’s such and ancient pitch, one he finds so hard to resist. It’s so easy, so comfortable and so much more than what he ever could have hoped for. Slow dances and slow touches, slow kisses and slow hands are all that Steve wants for his birthday. 40′s AU + My prompt was “Optimistic”. Slightly based on “Witchcraft” and “Summer wind” by Frank Sinatra.
Warnings: Steve finally learned to dance, at least in this au, Professor Rogers, fluff upon fluff upon fluff and more fluff.
Word Count: 1,423
A/N: Written for @redgillan ‘s Steve Rogers’ 100th birthday challenge. I hope I did this some justice! And i hope it all makes sense and that i met all the requirements to the challenge and that you’ll like it. And I think I may have taken the prompt in a slightly different way than most but here goes nothing. I tried to put in some small refs to what living in the 40s would actually be like and I hope I didn’t fail miserably at it! GIF is not mine, all credit goes to the rightful owner. Feedback is VERY much appreciated!
MASTERLIST
That sly come-hither stare, your fingers in his hair. Your lips only inches away from his own, his hands around your waist. It’s such an ancient pitch, one he finds so hard to resist, and when he looks at you, all the little control he has vanish into thin air.
His back rests on the counter, pants hanging low around his hips. A silly grin dance across his features, his eyes gleam with joy, and you bite your lip as a wicked smile of your own claims its place. Your head snaps back, only slightly, as an idea fills your mind and you untangle your hands from the back of his neck, pushing away from him. Steve watches as you move away from his warmth, your eyes set on the record player he got for more money than what he could afford.
He has no defence for it. His heart beats so intensely in his chest when the music begins to play. The vinyl scratches as the needle hits it mark, the record spinning around and around, almost hypnotical. You turn to him, your arms held out wide in a silent invitation for him to take. Steve just cannot resist it when you arouse the need in him. The need to feel your hot, sweaty skin on his. To feel your chapped, breathless, breaths against his lips and to feel your arms around his body, clinging to him as if he is your only lifeline. He has never danced as much as he does when he is with you; never felt the pull to it, the crazy urge to get it out of his system. Working as an art professor, Steve does not get all the exercise his body craves, and his toned muscles scream in agony after a long day spent in an office chair, or on a small stool before a blank canvas, they beg for some kind of release.
And when it all seems broken, when the world’s judgment lie upon his shoulders and the scrappy economy of your time weighs him down, his body may say no even though his heart says yes to take a spin around the living room floor. He keeps on hoping, that it will all be enough, that you will be happy with him even when things are this rough. He hopes that he can give you everything you want, even if you have to ration out everything you eat and look for coins underneath your mattress every day. That smile you wear on your lips, like witchcraft, calms his mind and confirms what he so desperately needs to know. That you are happy, and you will always be as long as you are with him.
His conscious is stripped bare just by looking at you, feet already moving along to the steady rhythm. Your arms sway side-to-side, so unimaginably graceful, and the way your skirt flows along the lines of your body, the fabric seems to obey your every command, makes his head buzz.
You stop briefly to turn the volume up, your fingers dancing upon the buttons with such ease, it is close to enchanting. Steve looks at you with stars in his eyes, all the love they hold within them threaten to spill over for each second that goes by.
“Do you mind, professor?” Your voice is sultry, low, and dangerously close to making him interrupt you and the music, making him interrupt it all. His eyes meet yours from across the room, and he feels it again: the need, the urge, the pull.
Steve swallows hard, his jaw clenches and he allows the music to take control over his body. Each chord, each word, each beat seeps into his veins, into his heart, into his soul. He knows the words like they are his mantra, his prayer, and like they are the only thing that keeps him afloat. His mind races, you always play this song; you always dance to this song, your song.
“Proceed with what you’re leadin’ me to.”
He unconsciously snaps his fingers along to the tune; his feet take him over to where you stand, over to where your hips slowly sway side-to-side. The French doors of your shared apartment stand agape, the small balcony with the rusty railing stands as the only barrier between you and the buzzing city. The birds tweet happily outside, and the high sun is only climbing its way further up the sky, its rays shining through the shear white curtains that hang in front of the chipping doors. His left arm find its way around your waist, your eyes search his face and map its every detail, store it away in a vault so secure you can never forget them. Steve’s right hand grabs a hold of your own, it is warm and rugged and it fits so perfectly with your smaller one, like a puzzle finally being completed.
The two of you sway back and forth, slow at first, then quicker and quicker as you pick up your pace. And you let out a sigh of relief when the summer wind came blowing in from across the sea, when it lingered there, to touch your hair and whiff it around as Steve dips you down. It fills your gasping lungs as you let out a bright laugh, and his heart flutter by the sound of it. He brings you back up, his head coming down to meet yours, and it rests there, his forehead on yours, like a silent promise between you, two sweethearts dancing in the summer wind.
The heat is too intense for it; you are both out of breath. He brings you closer to his chest, press a kiss to your temple and he holds you, he just holds you. Your chest is heaving up and down, and the next track on the record starts to play. Even if none of you want to, you break away from each other, stretching your worn limbs and wiping down the beads of sweat glistening on your skin.
“Let’s go again, sugar,” he says and walks over to switch records, to find the next song you always dance to, make out to.
You laugh, again, louder this time as your breathing evens out.
“I need to sit down,” you say with a small chuckle and move over to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. “It is too warm to dance, it is too warm to do anything.”
He smiles over at you, his hands lingering over the stack of vinyl records that are stacked in piles on the floor. Steve knows exactly what he is looking for, and he doesn’t hesitate to rummage through them all, searching for that perfect song for a perfect day.
“Baby,” he says, almost pleadingly. “One more time,” he says and puts in a pause. “Please?”
You can only sigh and smile at his soft ask, his puppy eyes burning into your own. A far bigger smile finds its way to your features and you put the glass down, condensation dripping down the sides of it, your feet forcing their way over to him.
“We can make one more before we collapse of heat stroke,” he says and you cannot help but to laugh. “One more, I know we can.”
“Why do you always have to be so optimistic?” You sigh lovingly, your teeth grazing your bottom lip, trying to keep the smile at bay as you snake your arms around his back.
“You love that about me,” he tease and turns around in your arms, a small smile playing on his lips. “Please?” he whispers, and place a small kiss on your temple, once again, while his strong hands holds you tightly against his chest.
“Fine,” you say and throw your head back in an exasperated manor. “Since it’s your birthday and all, what harm can it do?”
He lights up, his lips connect with yours, at long last, and you can’t help but to smile wide into the kiss. His lips feels like velvet against your own and his fingers gently brush against your cheek.
Like painted skies, those days and nights went by flying, dancing, living; the world seemed new under a blue umbrella sky. You danced once more that night, and then again and again until you lost the track of time.
And he loves it, he loves and he thrives in every second of it. He swears, it’s witchcraft, and there is no nicer witch than you.
Summary: Sergeant Barnes is leading his men on one last mission. He is so close to going home to you, he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. But bad things always happens to good people. Will Bucky be able to keep up his one promise to you?
Warnings: Angst, character death, blood, gunfire, PTSD and well, my writing.
Word Count: 2,238
A/N: Repost of an old fic, it’s been slightly edited but is mostly the same. It was called 1945 for those who have read it before. I’m still so proud of this one, I think it is one of the best things i have ever written, ever. (Yes two evers! that’s how much I love this one)I hope you all can like it as much as I do. Feedback is VERY much appreciated!
MASTERLIST
The low summer breeze caressed the weather stained faces of the soldiers as they marched on below the treetops. To say they marched would be wrong; it was more of a slow stroll, basking in the quietness of the wild. The moss and green grass was soft below their feet; it hugged their tired soles and embraced them like a blanket. The warm summer sun peeked out from between the branches, kissing the tinted skin of the men in the platoon.
Flowers covered the forest ground; wild berries of all sorts grew all around them. The trees stood close together, like a wall between them and what laid beyond. The leaves ruffled in the low wind, and the only sound that could be heard was the birds singing above them. The smallest of streams flowed on their right hand side, following the creak down below, far into the green.
Broken branches and the crushing of leaves sounded as their feet forced their way through the terrain. It was not clear to say what went through their minds as they fought one foot on front of the other. The smell of a warm summer day, the warm and soft grass swimming in sunlight and scent of wild flowers was calming on their nerves. Perhaps their thoughts travelled home; to the people they missed so dearly. Or the thought of the men they had to leave behind weighing them down with every step as their feet carried them further and further away.
All walked in a single line, making sure they had each other’s backs covered. Their green uniforms clanged to their sweaty, tired limbs. Even the smallest raise of a hill felt like a marathon. Panting and breathless they fought the urge to dive head first into the little stream. To feel the cold mountain water caress their hot skin, cool them down as they could finally breathe at a normal pace again.
They came to a halt about three clicks from their destination. A campsite appeared from beyond the trees, tucked below a large willow. A fire had been burning, the black coal and slightly burned grass proved so. The grass and branches on the forest floor were laid down flat, as if someone had stepped on them repeatedly. No one was in sight and no sound could be heard from anywhere.
The sergeant, who was leading the platoon, went ahead to check their surroundings. The remaining men had their guns up, locked and loaded in case of enemy contact. They stood waiting for word from their leader, who was still walking around, checking every crevice and every branch.
The quietness, as fair and welcomed as it may be, was alarming. Whoever was there first, were they long gone or close by, perhaps lurking behind a tree? Their rifle pointed straight at the group? The men grew uneasy. This was their final mission before they could head home. Home to their families and friends. To the life they once left behind, when the war broke out.
Their mission was to locate and retrieve a small group of soldiers who were captured by the enemy. As the sun began to go down, they got closer and closer to the country boarder. It was a standard op, one that did not require backup.
Sergeant Barnes returned to his men with no news. Tired and sore they made the call to stay the night at the site. They took turns keeping watch, just in case the original inhabitants would emerge back. One by one, they drifted off to sleep, all but Barnes. The man they called Bucky, who they trusted with their life, could not afford a moment of shuteye. Memories and flashbacks of what happened at some point in the war haunted his mind. He could not close his eyes without the picture of his dying comrades clouding his thoughts.
Bucky set out with twenty-three men, but he would only return with eleven. Most of them had said their dying words to his face as their bloody hands grasped his uniform, moments before their grip on him gave out. The sergeant was determined to get their final words and goodbyes home to their families. Those men, his men, deserved more than that. But it was the least he could do, and if he died trying, he would come back from the dead to haunt the living until those messages were heard and received.
Their words echoed in his mind at all times. Filled with sorrow, because they would be unable to say them for themselves. A hint of hate, mostly for the people responsible for the gruesomeness that defined the war and ended their life. And the worst, at least to Bucky’s ears, gratefulness. To hear how thankful they were for his duties as both sergeant and friend made his chest heavy with guilt. He was guilty because he was unsuccessful to save them. To bring them back alive to the people who loved them instead of in a wooden box.
The gore of war was forever etched on his brain. The horrors he had seen, the horrors and death, in which he played a massive part would always stay with him. He blamed himself for the lives lost and lives ruined because of what he was forced to do. Bucky never thought he’d have to shoot an innocent man at close range, but was left with no choice but to do just that. The look on the man’s face as the light in his eyes faded out was probably something he would never be able to leave behind.
Bucky would be bringing home a lot more than just his fallen soldiers. He would bring back all the horrors he had seen. All the death and misery, he would still have the same flashes and jump at every sound that seemed alarming. He was trained that way. To respond to every threat and act accordingly. But no matter how trained and prepared he was to go to war, there was nothing that could prepare him for coming home from it. There wasn’t a program in the world that could take the memories away or justify what he had done.
None of that, of the things he’d be bringing back was fair to you. You, his lovely and beautiful wife, waiting patiently for your man to return. Your brave soldier. Bucky was afraid he could never be more than that soldier ever again. What if he could never go back to being the husband you once knew? The man you married all those years before any of this started. What if that man died along with his fallen comrades?
The ‘what ifs’ drove him insane. He knew he shouldn’t be allowing them to cross his mind, but when you had seen what he had, lived through what he did, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Bucky heard stories of soldiers who returned unable to be the same person who left. He heard the stories of PTSD and how it ruined lives, how hard it was to deal with it. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t help but ask himself: What if? What if that happened to him, that he could never truly leave the war behind, but relive it forever.
He remembered the day he got home with the news. When he told you he got enlisted. He remembered the sobs that escaped your beautiful lips when his words hit you. The tears that spilled as he held you close, promising that things would be okay. The look of worry as he got on the train, the teary eyes and sad smile broke his heart. Bucky left the comfort of your arms to participate in one of the worst events in history.
They were told that what they did would shape history and centuries to come.
Bucky’s eyes landed on the small fire in the middle of the campsite. The flames danced before his eyes, bringing back a horrifying image. It was early days, most of the men had just arrived and they were still on edge by having to leave their families. Out of nowhere, a bomb went off close to the base. Bucky and his men took cover in a trench just on the corner of the compound. Flames and smoke surrounded them, debris floated in the air and dead bodies covered the ground. Just when they thought the coast was clear, another bomb went off. Sergeant Barnes could only stand and watch as his men flew through the air, unable to catch them or help them.
The men awoke at first light. They had another three clicks to walk before they could bring the hostages back and go home. Bucky longed for you and your touch. Your sweet lips on his, your arms around his waist. He could picture you sitting there, listening to him rant about his service, his hat on top of your head. The cherry red lipstick you always wore when you wanted to look pretty for him, and the way you styled your hair would always make his heart flutter; drive him crazy in the best way.
A quick breakfast was cooked on the small fire that Bucky had managed to keep alive overnight. They sat and ate in peace, watching the sun once again shine through the treetops.
“Sergeant Barnes?” The voice of a man called Chapman rose over the cackling of the fire. Bucky rested his eyes on the tall, dark man, silently gesturing him to go on with his question.
“What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get out of here?” The men all smiled to themselves as they thought of what they would do. Bucky offered the man a tight lip smile and sighed, poking around the fire with a stick.
“I’m gonna kiss my wife,” he said and looked back up at Chapman. “Like my life depended on it.” The men laughed and whistled at his response. Bucky grinned big as he turned his attention back to the fire.
“I’m gonna hug my boy, he turned five the other day.” Chapman reached inside his jacket and folded out a picture of a small boy. He had the same brown hair and brown eyes as his father. The boy smiled widely in the picture, embraced by his mother and father. “I miss him like crazy. Both of ‘em.”
Conversation faded out, and soon they were on the move again.
They reached what was said to be their destination, but nothing was in sight. They stepped carefully around, kept their eyes up and ears on guard. Bucky scratched his head in confusion. The enemy base and the hostages should have been right here. But his eyes reached nothing but forest. Tall trees, wild flowers and the sun shining like a beacon.
Shouts erupted, from all over: right, left, behind and ahead. Gunfire broke out, the sound blasting in their ears. Worst of it all was that there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to take cover, nothing the men could do to defend their lives better than the tip of their guns.
One by one, they fell to the ground. High-pitched screams of pain burned in Bucky’s ears as he too fell on his back. A cold shiver run down his left arm, blood pooled all over and all too sudden, Bucky had no feeling in it what so ever.
If he turned his head to the right, he saw nothing but blank eyes staring right back at him. On his left, poor old Chapman coughed on his own blood. He reached out his hand, groaning and struggling profusely as he did, to Bucky as his eyes glinted with fear.
“Tell-“ he began but coughed again. The green grass beneath him turned red. “Tell my boy…” He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Tell hi-hi-him… I-“
Bucky searched his face in desperation for any sign of life. But there was not. A broken sob escaped his lips, but it was interrupted by a disturbingly cold laughter.
“Sergeant Barnes, is it?” A man with a cold voice spoke up, a broken Austrian accent with a hint of Russian seeped through as he spoke.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Your future,” the man said and followed his remark with a menacing laughter. Other men clad in black surrounded Bucky, panic flowed in his veins but he could not move without a sharp pain shooting through his arm. One had a syringe in his hand; Bucky’s eyes grew wide at the sight of it. He squirmed under their strong grip on him, he tried to fight back, but it was no use. The syringe made contact with his skin, the unknown man laughed in success in front of him. After a few minutes his eyes grew heavy, his body numb.
“You getting tired there, son?” Faintly, Bucky saw the man kneel beside him, the sounds of the forest becoming blurry, along with his eyesight.
“Prep him.”
He focused hard enough to make out that he was being moved. Dragged off to the unknown by these evil strangers. Bucky only had one thought on his mind, one regret that he could never make right.
He failed keeping his promise to you. Not everything was certainly going to be as okay as he thought. The image of you smiling faded out as everything turned black.
Sergeant Barnes is leading his men on one last mission. He is so close to going home to you, he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. But bad things always happens to good people. Will Bucky be able to keep up his one promise to you? Bucky x Reader | one-shot
I am now (I feel so official right now adksdfhj) taking imagine requests! I was thinking I would do a string of imagines for various characters from several fandoms, and I would LOVE to hear your ideas and thoughts hope I don’t butcher them in the end tho
You know the drill, send me an ask, anon or not, telling me your idea. I’m going for a type off (ex, Imagine Bucky holding your hand) drabble sized fic based around that idea. Idk if this makes sense haha!
“Imagine Bucky telling you he loves you” - “Imagine kissing Bucky” It would be great if you could send some of these, but if you have an idea for a full length fic (why chose me tbh i suck) i would totally be down for that!
I will have to ask for some patience with the fics, I am not a fast writer and I am very self-concious about my stories. I will need some time on each of them, plus I got like a thousand unfinished wips that lay around hahaha.
I’ve recently been thinking about starting writing for The walking dead, soooo, maybe someone could be interested? I will literally write for any fandom, as long as I am familiar with the character ofc, so send away!!!!!
