✨i Said What I Said✨

Honestly this is so good i cried for the entire time

thanks for the memories

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,002

summary: Bucky’s lived a long life.

warnings: Some h*ckin’ words.  Angst with a happy ending.

a/n:  So like.  This is kinda short.  At least it feels like it is.  It’s also an idea from that fake fic ask meme I did.  But I cried writing this.  Let me know what you think!

Bucky took a deep breath as he came to a stop.  The trek became harder and harder to make every week, but nothing short of death could stop him from coming.  A bouquet of red roses hung from his hand.  The same flowers he brought every time.

“Hi, angel,” he said, his voice cracking.  It was the first time he’d spoken in a few days.

After all, his children and his friends were dead.  He didn’t have the energy to make friends with the new members of the Avengers or anyone else.  The most human interaction he got nowadays was when his grandkids called once a week to catch up.

But there was no one he wanted to talk to except for you.

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Avenging Angels AU

(Yes, Tony’s are metal ones he constructed after his got damaged in Afghanistan)

My other Avengers AUs

I would like to see it

—Marvel — Lockscreens Edits made by me :)

wandavision icons!! (b&w)

like or reblog if you save/use.

P4RKERVHS on twitter.

#chris evans #in where he is actually steve rogers

And that heart, how it b l e e d s.

— Joe Russo

AMAZING

Guiding Light (8)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 8.1k warnings: angst™, cannon violence, mild reference to passive suicidal thoughts, description of a panic attack 🖤series masterlist // series playlist

Bucky took in a steady breath; a cold, calculated inhale as he focused his scope on a target sitting at a table outside a quaint café in Brussels. A light breeze filtered through his hair, enough for him to adjust the positioning of the rifle a few millimeters to the left before he took his shot. The man, dressed in a navy suit and dark tinted glasses, took a sip of coffee from the mug on the table, steam visible through the end of Bucky’s scope.

He positioned his finger on the trigger, the soft click of the safety as it released, and Bucky narrowed in his aim, ready to make that final pull, the difference between life and death with a single flinch of his finger.

“Busy, Barnes?”

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