Bucky Barnes Oneshots

Scribbles

November 12, 1943

My dearest Y/n,

It's raining pretty heavily outside. My tank top is sticking to me because of the humidity in the air. The chatter of the men lessens the rumble of distant bombs but does nothing to stop the shaking of our tin cups from the explosions. A quick flash of lightning makes me jump, it crawls across the sky like a savage spider and the loud crack of thunder sets me on edge. Then again, it could be a bomb, I'm not sure. Mud hugs my boots like they're sweethearts, and I can hear the men's boots squelch as they walk around the tents. My uniform is wet and wrinkled, jumbled into a pile in the corner of my bed. Hopefully the sun comes out soon so I can hang it up. Steve has dirt woven into his hair, it seems like it was born there. The days are—

Crack! Bucky sighed as his pencil broke. He twisted around, looking for his knife, his dog tags lightly clanking together. His paper lightly crinkles as he searches for the essential tool. He groans as he remembers he lent it to Falsworth for something. He sees Pinky and calls to him.

"Hey, Pinkerton! Can you toss me your knife?" Bucky asks, his blue eyes examining Pinky's muddied face.

"Sure thing, Barnes!" He says before searching his damp pockets for the knife. "Here."

Bucky takes the knife from him with a smile. "Thanks."

The days are long and the weeks seem like years. I can't wait to get back home and wrap you in my arms. I can practically smell the apple pie your Ma makes so well. Save me a slice? The men love sleep. 'Cause then we can eat in our dreams and be within safe and warms walls of our loved ones. Jones says he dreams of potato soup, but I can't stop thinking about how nice that pie will be when I get home. And how wonderful it will be with my doll cuddled up by the fire.

"Barnes! Get ready to move out!" Dum Dum yells before going to get the others.

I miss you so much doll.

I love you,

Your Bucky