Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

45. BUCKY: In The Next Life

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"In my next life, I want to come back as a butterfly."

From beside you on the roof your boyfriend Bucky turns his head to gawk with confusion. "What?"

You shimmy on your belly to get more comfortable in your hiding space. Perched on your elbows you peer through the scope of your sniper rifle briefly before looking back at Bucky and explaining. "I said I want to come back as a butterfly. At first I thought I'd be a fish, but then I remembered that I don't really like swimming all that much. And then I thought—hey, why not be a deer? They're pretty cool. But then I thought about last Christmas when we went driving and you hit that one that was trying to cross the freeway. And then I said, okay—I'll be a tiger. Those are majestic as fuck. But, I've had enough carnage and blood in this lifetime. I don't need to see any more. So I want to be a vegetarian, undisturbed, land creature. So why not a butterfly? No one messes with butterflies."

"Birds eat butterflies," Bucky tries to stomp your theory with a grin creeping up his face. He pretends to be looking out his scope but instead he's looking over at you and how pretty you are in the low sunrise.

You frown. "Well, I'll be a careful butterfly. If I've made it this long in this life without being killed by a robot, alien, or Nazi—then I can last the few weeks as a butterfly without being eaten by a bird."

Bucky's laugh is more of a breathy snort. He shakes his head—dark hair swaying with the breeze—as he smirks.

"What? Tell me you've never thought about it before," you challenge.

"Never thought about it before," Bucky says. He looks down at the street below where Steve and Nat still haven't emerged from the building.

"That's fine. You don't have to. I've already decided what you're going to be." You reach into your pocket to grab a piece of candy. Bucky grins a bit wider at the sight of you chewing on chocolate while waiting to blast someone's brains out. You always carry candy with you everywhere—especially on missions.

"And what am I gonna be? Your butterfly boyfriend?"

"Hell no. You're going to be a cat."

"A wild cat?"

You shake your head. "No, idiot: a housecat."

Bucky frowns. "Why the hell do I have to be a cat?"

"Because it makes sense. You're a grumpy, misunderstood, yet lovable housecat. You need affection—but not too much—and physical contact is only okay with your favorite people. And you're adorable. So that's a reason, too."

Bucky stares at you, looking like a man in awe at a piece of art, before sighing and looking away. "You're distracting me, Y/N. We're supposed to be lookouts."

"And what do you think we're doing up here? Looking-out. We're lookouts. We're just having a conversation, too."

"You've never been a very good multitasker." Bucky takes another long sweep of the street with his scope and finds no trace of human life anywhere. A crumbled newspaper rolls down the sidewalk like a tumbleweed.

You offer Bucky a piece of candy even though you know he won't take it. He doesn't, of course, so you eat it for him. "Whatever. I'm good at other stuff."

"Like talking," Bucky hums.

"Exactly."

"You won't be able to talk as a butterfly, ya know."

You shrug. "That's why I gotta do as much while I can now."

Bucky chortles. "You kill me, doll. Ya know that?"