Bucky Barnes Microfic

The reflection blinks, but isn’t him.

Or, it is, but this version bears a weary soul and hair that brushes low against his shoulder.

A haircut promises to return him to the young man that shipped out in ‘43. He knows, inside, he’d be the same battered soldier that returned.

but right now tony give him a glance and big smile. bucky do the same. probably it's funny, but morgan did the best pigtails in his life with the glitterest pink hair pins. and that's it

w.c. 49

He dreams of red. Red hair, green eyes. Deadly.

Natasha.

Steve's friend. Traded her life for the soul stone.

He dreams of her and feels in his heart (love? happiness?).

He barely knew her.

They're not memories, long forgotten moments of the Winter Solider.

So why do they haunt him?

for @buckybarnesmicrofic: in the stars

Prompt: in the stars

How do you participate? Write a fic in 50 words or less and tag @buckybarnesmicrofic. You can also post it to the AO3 collection: BuckyBarnesMicrofic.

Fanart (incl. moodboards/aesthetics, fake texts/social media, icons, ect), podfics, fanvids, gif sets, crafts, song playlists, rec lists, comments, ect, are also welcome!

Rules and FAQ / AO3 Collection

The arm is more weapon than prosthetic.

Natalia has seen it punch through doors and crush men's throats.

Nothing that came from Karpov was meant for gentleness.

So the brush of it against her cheek, the weight of it on her waist, drawing her close… that came from her Soldier.

Sometimes, he looks skyward and squints.

He knows that he will not find Steve there. Knows that the man he’d once called brother is lost in time, not space - even if that moon rumour slides through Internet chatrooms and sticks hard.

But still he stares at the stars, and wonders.

(For @buckybarnesmicrofic)

In the stars, we’re meant to be together.

Like when the moon kisses the sun

Or when the sky embraces the ground.

Like when my bullets clang against your shield.

When you hold my hand

And your eyes meet my eyes,

I’m with you until the end of the line.

Lil silly message from Bucky to Steve.

'Living with what you've done...'

Cap's words meet a dead nazi, Bucky's knife through his throat

'Other people just like us...'

A man was living, now he's dead. The day saved! (Hurrah!)

He's fine, really ('just like us').

He's supposed to feel... (guilt? remorse?)

(Is it supposed to feel easy?)

@buckybarnesmicrofic

It had seemed impossible, back when they were both weapons, that they'd one day spend a lazy morning in bed, together. No guards, no orders, no hiding.

Across from him Natalia smiled and then wrinkled her nose.

"Morning breath. Go wash."

"Love you, too, Talia."

"You too. But go wash."

It was the eyes, he thought. Always the eyes.

The eyes that challenged him back to combat over a London bar.

The eyes that squeezed together painfully, powerless, as he fell.

The eyes that stared, unblinking in shock, across a New York City street.

The eyes that brought him back.

It’s these early hours that suit best.

The quiet calm - the still of the air - the way the city beneath hasn’t yet awoken.

He takes to the roof, Sam’s daily ritual leaving its mark though the man himself remains out of reach.

The sun rises, and he greets the day.

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: written for @buckybarnesmicrofic's prompt "pillow talk". Thank you to my dear @multyunervisesuperfan for letting me know about this🤭💖

His heart was steady underneath your ear, the soothing rhythm lulling you to sleep.

It felt like the perfect moment.

You take his palm and hold it over the little heartbeat that longed to match his.

He smiles, a shaky little thing that reaches his misty eyes— a smile that tells you he knew already.

"That's our love, sweetheart," he whispers against your skin.

"That's our love growing."

people..It's hard to write just 50 words, i think it's a little over that I'm sorryyy. Best believe I'm gonna do whatever prompt comes next 🤭🤭

It is a complicated relationship, to say the least.

Better to have it than not, he thinks, but despite the sleek Wakandan design it weighs heavy in more ways than one.

Those occasional nights that pass without a call to arms see him eschewing his own - finally, wholly, merely himself.