Just a little something I cooked up for our favorite assassin’s 100th.
You didn’t really know much about Bucky Barnes, other than
the few details that Steve had given you over the years since you had
befriended him after joining the Avengers; you knew that they were best friends
when they were younger and you knew about Bucky’s fall, but beyond that, the
Captain was pretty tight-lipped. There
were a few moments here and there when certain dates that were significant
would pass and Steve would feel particularly emotional, sharing just a bit more
in his weakness, or sparks of insight flashed in his eyes when a news report
would catch his attention, only to see him grow despondent when it gave him
nothing to go on in his search. When the
day came that he found his friend again, it wasn’t exactly a joyous time, with
the team fracturing under its own strain, fully broken by the weight of Steve’s
unwavering commitment to his fugitive friend.
When Bucky comes home, the apartment is empty, which, admittedly, isn’t exactly what he had been expecting.
For as long as Bucky’s known him, Steve has never once failed to greet him when he’d get home on his birthday. Not back in Brooklyn, and certainly not since Bucky came back to live with the guy here in the Twentieth century.
Steve takes birthdays very seriously. Even when he shouldn’t – something Bucky has experienced first hand, more than once. Like that time Steve had insisted on baking him a birthday cake, despite the fact that Steve’s the kind of guy who can’t even boil water successfully. The mere memory makes Bucky’s throat constrict, and he quickly pushes the thought away before it can grow all too vivid.
He sets his bag down by the door and toes off his shoes. It’s a weird rule, but he knows that Steve will throw a minor fit if Bucky walks in with his boots on – especially seeing as it has been pouring rain all day long.
Bucky’s jacket is still dripping a little as he hangs it up. He pulls his metal fingers through his hair, knowing that it’s wet, even though the sensation registered by his nerve endings doesn’t translate exactly the same way as it would have with his other hand. It’s still an odd feeling. Tony’s been working hard on this new sensory module for his arm, and so far, Bucky is now able to actually feel a whole range of different things compared to what he had been before. Heat, cold, and pressure had always been there, but the little things… Those are what throw him off, still.
Like being able to feel the rain, for example. Which had been the reason why he’d decided to walk home in the first place, rather than take a cab – with the left sleeve of his jacket pulled up all the way to the elbow, just because he could.
The rain is his favorite sensation so far, and he’s already relishing in the thought of the similar, falling water in the shower he’s going to take in a matter of minutes, when he spots the Post-It note that’s been stuck to the center of the hallway mirror.
It’s in Steve’s handwriting – soft and curvy – and Bucky tugs it from the mirror with a curious frown. The note says a single word.
Summary: Bucky wants Steve to help him get what he wants for his birthday.
A/n: Happy Birthday Bucky! My Bucky muse is still evading me so I hope this is okay. I want to give a shout out to @captaincentenarian for her amazing gif that inspired me. Also shout out to @overlordred for the fic inspiration.
“Please Steve! It’s my birthday!” Bucky followed Steve down the hall beging his lifelong best friend.
Steve refused to turn around and entertain Bucky’s idea. He just kept walking down the hall to the living room. “I won’t fight you Buck.”
Bucky let out a sigh, he knew this plan was foolproof. All he wanted for his birthday was a chance with Y/n, the avengers personal nurse. She assisted Dr. Cho and had become fast friends with each of the avengers. Bucky had quickly fallen for her, after she had fixed up a nasty stab wound for him.
She was sweet and caring, and best of all knew Bucky’s history and yet treated him no different from anyone else. That of course was part of the problem, the only time he got special attention from her was when he got hurt. He couldn’t keep faking injuries because Y/n had caught onto that.
He had gone to her office almost every day complaining of a headache, stomach ache, or cough. Finally she told him under no circumstance, that he should come to her office unless he was bleeding, bruised, broken, or could possibly be dying.