⛧⋆༺Whispers Of The Gifted Masterlist༻⋆⛧

Thank you so much! I definitely am now. We’ll see if their little matchmaking schemes pay off!

I’ll do my best to tag you when it comes out if you’d like. Thank you for reading!!! ♡

Mischief Meets Alpine

Summary: Bucky introduces Alpine to you and Mischief one afternoon. An intense, one-sided, stare off ensues with an interesting truce that practically leaves you speechless when they start influencing each other for better or worse. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.

Word Count: 2.3k+

A/N: To be honest, I wrote this one based on the idea given by @kissingkillercriminals in their reblog of the prequel. Hope it turns out to be a fun read for you and everyone else. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel

It was a slow afternoon in the Tower. Clouds had gathered thickly in the sky, casting a grayish hue through the windows. Rain pattered gently against the glass, the soft drumming filling the silence in the common room.

You were curled up on the armchair with a book in your lap and Mischief lounging across your legs like the possessive feline empress she was. Her tail twitched lazily every few seconds, ears flicking to the rhythm of the raindrops. Her eyes were half-lidded, content.

That is, until the elevator dinged. Her ears perked immediately. You looked up as footsteps echoed down the hallway. Familiar ones.

“Hey,” Bucky greeted from the doorway, a little damp from the drizzle. But he wasn’t alone.

Nestled comfortably in his arms, perched like a queen surveying her domain, was a stunning white cat. Blue-eyed, snowy-soft, and eerily calm, almost regal in the way she looked around the room.

Mischief went still.

Your eyes widened. “Is that… Alpine?” You had heard of Bucky’s cat before, but never seemed to have the chance to meet her until now.

Bucky nodded, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he stepped in. “She was pacing by the window when I left the room this morning. Figured she might want a change of scenery.”

Mischief lifted her head. Her pupils narrowed sharply as she fixed her gaze on the uninvited guest. A low growl began to bubble in her throat, barely audible to anyone but you.

You gently placed your hand on her back. ‘Easy’, You thought, not even needing to speak it aloud. She didn’t seem to pick up on your message because her entire body was locked, tense, and offended.

Bucky moved slowly, like he knew he was treading on sacred ground. “Didn’t mean to start a turf war. Just figured maybe it was time.”

You stood slowly, Mischief reluctantly hopping off your lap. Her tail whipped once in warning.

Alpine was unfazed. Her blue eyes landed on Mischief with mild interest. She gave a soft, courteous mrrrow, as if greeting a fellow royal.

Mischief’s eyes narrowed. She sat, but her body language screamed intruder.

“She’s beautiful,” You said gently, watching Alpine with cautious awe. “I didn’t know she was so calm around new places.”

“She’s used to traveling,” Bucky replied, setting Alpine down slowly onto the floor. “Doesn’t like being cooped up. Kinda like me.”

You watched with a held breath as Alpine took a few exploratory steps forward. Mischief didn’t move, but her eyes tracked every inch like a sniper zeroing in. When Alpine got within a few feet, she paused. Then, with the unbothered grace of someone who feared nothing, she laid down.

Mischief hissed. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even aggressive. But it was unmistakably territorial.

“Mischief,” You warned softly, crouching next to her. “She’s not a threat.”

Bucky crouched too, beside Alpine, who had begun grooming her paw without a care in the world.

“Look at them,” He said, his voice hushed like it was a secret. “It’s like they’re trying to decide who owns the building.”

You laughed under your breath. “Mischief thinks she owns it.”

“Alpine knows she doesn’t need to prove it.”

As the two cats stared each other down, you caught it, soft and calm, threaded right beneath the silence.

She’s dramatic.

You blinked. Wait… That voice, sleek, composed, feminine, was Alpine’s. Not a meow, not a growl. Words.

You glanced at Bucky, but he was oblivious. Still watching the feline standoff like it was a chess game. Mischief’s growl rose slightly. Alpine remained still.

She likes you. That’s why she hasn’t lunged yet.

Alpine added, her voice as silky as her fur.

But I don’t back down either. So this should be interesting.

You noticed Mischief didn’t seem to hear your telepathic conversation with the newcomer. So you didn’t respond aloud, instead responding in your mind. ’You’re really not bothered, are you?’

He smells like snow and blood, but his hands are gentle. She’s possessive, not of the tower. Of you.

You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. ‘I can see why.’

Mischief hissed quietly, and you caught a flicker of Alpine’s tail.

She wants me to leave.

’Will you?’ You thought, unsure if you were asking out of hope or curiosity.

No. But I’ll wait. I’m patient. She’s not the only one who’s bonded.

The two cats remained still, locked in a silent standoff. Well, more like a one-sided standoff. A slow, deliberate blink passed from Alpine to Mischief.

To your utter shock, Mischief paused for a moment before blinking back. A beat passed before she turned her head and sat down with a huff. Not surrender. But perhaps a reluctant acknowledgment.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Was that…?”

You blinked. “I think that was the feline equivalent of a handshake.”

He grinned, proud. “Progress.”

You looked down at both of them, one lounging and one sulking. You rose to your feet now, and as you did, Mischief brushed your leg with her tail, circling your feet like she was claiming you. Alpine simply hopped onto the rug and began inspecting a string toy left forgotten from Tony’s latest failed bribery attempt.

“So,” Bucky said after a moment, straightening. “What are the chances our girls end up tolerating each other?”

You glanced down at Mischief, who gave you a look that seemed to say, I allow this only because you do.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” You murmured. “But… It’s a start.”

Bucky stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “They’re like us,” He said quietly. “Cautious. But… maybe not beyond letting someone in.”

You turned your head toward him slowly, heart skipping.

“Maybe,” You said. “If they’re lucky enough to find the right person.”

And beneath the steady sound of rain, the two of you watched the loved cats learning the quiet language of trust across the room.

-

Though, you didn’t know what that trust would actually entail. The first incident began with silence, which, in your experience with Mischief, was never a good sign.

The Tower was unusually quiet that morning. You were sipping tea in the kitchen, reading reports while waiting for the coffee machine to finish sputtering its way through Bucky’s drink order. Mischief had been suspiciously absent since breakfast. Alpine had vanished not long after.

You glanced toward the hallway only to find nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, a crash, coming from the direction of Tony’s lab.

Not a small bump or a gentle thud. No, this was a metallic, shattering, the Tony-will-not-be-pleased sort of crash.

You bolted upright, nearly spilling your tea, and sprinted toward the noise. Bucky was already there, jogging in from the elevator, sweatpants loose, hair damp from his time at the gym.

“You heard that too?” He asked, eyes narrowing.

Another sound followed. A high-pitched zip-zip-zip noise, like drones activating. Followed by… pawsteps?

You and Bucky skidded to a stop at the entrance to Tony’s lab. It looked like a bomb had gone off.

Three of Tony’s prototype micro-drones were hovering erratically midair, one of them twirling in panicked circles. The rest lay in pieces scattered across the floor, wires tangled like a crime scene. And in the middle of the chaos sat Alpine, tail curled delicately around her paws, completely unbothered.

On the counter nearby, Mischief crouched with a gleam in her eye that could only be described as unrepentant. She looked directly at you, then at Bucky, and gave a soft meow as if to assert her innocence.

“I think we just missed the heist,” You said breathlessly.

Bucky muttered, “Alpine was supposed to be the calm one.”

“I never said Mischief was a good influence.”

You both stepped forward carefully, surveying the disaster. Mischief had clearly pried open one of the drawers, Tony’s "Do Not Touch" ones. Wires were dragged out like spaghetti noodles. A spilled jar of who knows what rolled lazily across the floor.

“Is that my cloaking device?” Came a voice from the hallway.

You winced as Tony rounded the corner before stopping dead at the sight.

Alpine jumped gracefully down and walked over to Bucky’s feet, brushing against him as if she hadn’t just helped dismantle a small fortune in tech.

Tony's eye twitched. “Why are your cats smarter than my interns?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Bucky said, scooping up Alpine. “You didn’t leave any exploding gadgets out, right?”

“Not this week,” Tony snapped, waving a tablet like a club. “Do you even understand what they’ve broken? That drone was programmed to help defuse bombs.”

“I’m sure they had a good reason,” You offered, not that it helped, gently lifting Mischief off the counter. She purred, content and absolutely smug.

“Ask her what the hell kind of reason that would be,” Tony snapped at you.

You looked at Mischief, questioning in a flat tone. “Why?”

Mischief stretched lazily, flicked her tail, and in a nonchalant, mental whisper, said:

It blinked first.

You groaned at the excuse, hesitating before giving the answer. “She says it blinked at her.”

Tony blinked. “It blinked? That’s your defense?”

“She’s a cat, Tony.”

“Whatever.” He pointed at Bucky. “And your cat?”

Bucky looked down at Alpine, who yawned wide and graceful. She murmured to you with eerie composure,

I wanted to know if it could fly backward. It couldn’t.

You snorted before you could stop yourself.

“What?” Tony demanded, head snapping towards you.

You waved him off. “You… don’t want to know.”

Later that evening, after Tony had barricaded the lab and implemented new retinal scans to keep out the feline menaces (his words, not yours). You found Bucky in the living room with Alpine lying beside him with a toy and Mischief perched on the back of the couch.

“They’re lucky they’re cute,” You muttered, flopping down beside him.

Bucky glanced sideways. “I think they’re bonding.”

“They broke a drone.”

“Exactly.”

You looked at the two cats now comfortably sharing the space, Alpine nibbling at the feather toy, Mischief eyeing the object like it had wronged her.

You shook your head. “It’s like watching spies team up.”

“They are spies,” Bucky corrected, definitely not taking this seriously, evident by the grin he wore. “Tiny, furry, manipulative spies.”

Mischief flicked her tail in agreement as Alpine blinked slowly. And for a brief moment, peace, albeit temporary, settled over the Tower.

-

However, while the first incident was annoying for Tony, the second was catered more toward you and Bucky.

It started small to the point where you didn’t notice it at first. Mischief, your eternally territorial shadow, began to behave… differently. She still took up her usual place on your lap, still growled at anyone who got too close, and still owned the Tower like she paid the bills. But she started following you and Bucky when you left rooms. Lingering in the halls, appearing on counters and ledges when the two of you happened to be in the same space.

Alpine, meanwhile, watched everything from a perch of regal detachment, or so it seemed. But you knew better since you heard her.

Don’t hiss this time. Just watch. Let him sit next to her first.

You had paused when you heard it the first time, over breakfast. Mischief was on the table (illegally), staring daggers at Bucky as he walked in. Alpine, curled on the windowsill, barely flicked her tail, but her voice unintentionally slipped into your thoughts again as she directed the ‘secret’ information to Mischief:

She likes it when he brings her things and when he calls her 'trouble.' You should let her admit that.

You almost choked on your toast, but didn’t say anything when Bucky looked over at you with a questioning, concerned gaze.

That was the first clue.

The second clue came two days later, when Bucky was helping you patch up a cut you'd gotten during training. It was nothing, barely a nick, but he'd insisted. Kneeling in front of you, his gloved hand cradled your wrist while the other applied antiseptic.

Mischief watched from the armrest, her ears twitching. It was clear she was tense, jealous… until Alpine hopped up beside her and gently nudged her with her head.

Now. Purr. So she relaxes.

Mischief blinked slowly, tail twitching. Then, shockingly, she purred. Loudly and deeply. You actually laughed, easing into the moment, and Bucky glanced up at you with that rare, boyish half-smile that made your chest ache.

You knew that had been Alpine's doing. And Mischief, traitor that she was, seemed fine with it.

The third clue? Bucky confessed it.

You were sitting together in the lounge late one night, watching the rain tap softly at the windows, each of you nursing mugs of tea. Mischief dozed between you on the couch. Alpine had curled beside her, touching, no less. A miracle in itself.

Bucky tilted his head toward the sleeping cats. “You know, Alpine's been… weird.”

“Weird how?”

He hesitated. “She… keeps pushing me toward you.”

Your heart did a very stupid, very hopeful thing. “She told you that?”

He gave you a sheepish look. “She doesn’t talk to me like she talks to you, of course. But she’ll nudge me when I move away too soon. Block seats unless I sit beside you. Once she knocked my phone out of my hand when I was trying to leave the room.”

You could feel your heart beat faster, but tried to cover up your nervousness with a laugh, joking a little. “She’s matchmaking.”

“I think Mischief’s in on it, too. Last night, she dragged your hoodie into my room.”

Your eyebrows shot up. So that’s where your hoodie went, of all places.

“And then Alpine slept on it like it was a peace offering.”

You looked down at the two curled balls of fur, now subtly pressed together. Mischief’s tail lay loosely draped over Alpine’s back.

“Is this what a truce looks like?” You whispered.

Bucky’s fingers brushed yours, and you didn’t pull away.

“Looks like,” He murmured.

You didn’t answer this time, but your fingers curled around Bucky’s gently as Alpine purred softly and Mischief, even in sleep, didn’t object.

That was enough of an answer until either of you could act on the same thing both of your hearts wanted.

LOL, the fact that I can imagine them breaking out into song and dance 😭

Thank you for reading!!! ♡

Oops, I Joined a Cult Again

Summary: You joined a cult. That’s it. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)

Word Count: 900+

A/N: Same as the unhinged/chaotic reader series, supposed to be shorter but then I added more group chat shenanigans. I wanted something quick while I work on other stuff. Sorry if it’s messy. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | Original Fic

Bucky Barnes had one job: watch your back on the infiltration mission.

He didn’t know that meant literally watching you disappear into a torchlit temple deep in the mountains and emerge forty-eight hours later in robes, glowing, smiling cheerfully, and being worshiped as the reincarnation of a snake god.

“They call me The Hissening,” You whispered, eyes far too wide, far too smug.

“I told you not to touch the statue,” Bucky muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as the robed people behind you chanted in perfect sync: “HISSSSSSS.”

-

48 HOURS EARLIER

The briefing was simple. Infiltrate and investigate a rising cult rumored to be a Hydra front. No weapons. No overt powers. In and out.

Naturally, Tony turned to you and said, “You’re on distraction duty. Just… go be yourself.”

You took it as a compliment. It was not.

You and Bucky parachuted into the outskirts of the mountains under cover of night, both in tactical gear. Silent and focused… until you turned to him mid-descent and yelled, “DO YOU THINK CULTS HAVE SNACKS?”

“…What?”

“LIKE HOLY GRAHAM CRACKERS OR- wait, no, Blessed Chex Mix!”

He didn’t respond. He just stared straight ahead, wondering for the millionth time what cosmic punishment he was paying for to be partnered with you on this particular mission.

The problem was never that you were bad at missions. In fact, in combat, you were terrifying. Strategic. Surgical.

But in deep cover? You were yourself, which is how exactly five minutes after entering the temple courtyard, you said:

“Nice snake statue. Can I boop it?”

And when the head priest responded, “Only the Chosen One may lay a finger upon the sacred Fang of Enlightenment,” You touched it immediately, whispered “boop,” and passed out.

When you woke up, glowing faintly with what may have been divine energy (or some type of poisoning), the cult declared you their prophesied leader.

You didn’t correct them.

-

BACK TO PRESENT

Bucky had finally gotten inside. Posing as a new recruit, hood up, mouth shut, inner turmoil vibrating at a ten. He spotted you instantly. You were standing on a golden platform, arms open, and being fanned with palm leaves.

“Hey,” He hissed when he reached you. “Mission. Hydra. Ringing any bells?”

You waved vaguely. “They have really good soup here.”

“This is not the time for soup.”

You nodded solemnly. “There is always time for soup.”

Someone handed you a ceremonial staff. You took it. It was sparkly.

You then whispered to Bucky, “So here’s the thing… I might’ve said we should cleanse our enemies in a fire of spiritual rebirth. Which they interpreted as actual fire. So, like… maybe be cool about that.”

He blinked at you.

“You started a holy war, didn’t you.”

You smiled brightly. “Only a small one.”

That night, under cover of darkness, the two of you escaped; you still in full ceremonial garb, Bucky dragging you by the elbow while you shouted goodbye to your “disciples.”

One of them threw a snake at you in farewell. You caught it. You named it Gary.

Steve, upon your return, asked what happened.

You saluted and said, “I was a god for three days and it changed me. Also I have this soup recipe now.” You handed him a scroll. When he opened it, it was blank.

Bucky looked at you, exhausted, covered in ash, a little bruised, holding a snake in one hand and your glitter-covered robes in the other.

“…You are the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me,” He said.

You winked. “But I’m your weirdo.”

“Yeah, you are.”

-

Bonus Debriefing.

Group Chat:

Tony: Okay, so. Roll call. Who let them start a religion??

Clint: AGAIN?!?

Sam: Are we seriously ignoring the snake?? Why does she still have the snake?

You: his name is Gary, he chose me

Bucky: The snake did not choose you. You caught him and said “I am your mother now.”

You: and he accepted me

Wanda: Did you eat something weird again? The last time you said a goat “chose you” we had to evacuate a whole town.

Steve: Back up. How did we go from “infiltrate Hydra cult” to “being crowned a divine prophet of the hiss age”?

Bucky: Because she touched the sacred artifact. While they were giving a warning not to.

You: i wanted to boop it 🐍✨

Bruce: [Image attached: Security cam still of you dramatically booping a snake statue and passing out like a Victorian child seeing ankles.]

Tony: Okay but why are you glowing in this?

You: i think I absorbed a minor god

Sam: Define “minor.”

You: likeee a demi-snake. A snack god

Bucky: You said, quote: “Let the hiss of salvation whisper in your soul or something.”

Tony: You started preaching???

You: they gave me a podium! what else was I supposed to do? NOT use it!?

Natasha: …Yes?

Clint: wait, so did we ever find out if the cult was a Hydra front or…

Steve: Nope. She gave a sermon and declared Bucky her “divine enforcer.”

Bucky: Yeah. Still mad about that.

You: srry Prophet Punchy

Tony: We are never letting you go on recon again.

Bruce: I still want to know how you pulled off a glowing aura with no tech or magic.

You: I ate three glowsticks on accident.

Wanda: …

Steve: …

Bucky: This is not a joke. I watched it happen.

You: I thought they were minty tubes.

Sam: Was anyone else weirdly inspired by her speech though?

Steve: Sam.

Sam: I’m just saying I felt something 🐍

Bucky: I felt betrayal and secondhand shame.

You: don’t worry guys, the cult disbanded peacefully. i left them a doctrine :)

Tony: A what.

You: [Image attached: Crayon drawing of a snake with sunglasses saying “BE NICE. EAT SOUP. HISS IF THREATENED.”]

Bruce: This is shockingly coherent.

Clint: I hate how effective it is.

Thor: I would like to join this religion. It seems wise. HISS.

[Thor has been muted again.]

Picture Perfect

Summary: You’ve always loved photography but never dared to try until your boyfriends encourage you to pick up a camera and capture the world through your eyes. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 700+

A/N: Another self-indulgent mini fic. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

Despite your quiet love for photography, there was always a voice inside you holding you back. A whisper of doubt that never quite went away. It wasn’t just about not having a camera or the technical know-how; it was something deeper, rooted in old fears you rarely admitted aloud.

You’d spent so much time playing it safe, afraid to try because you didn’t want to fail. What if you picked up the camera, clicked the shutter, and nothing came out the way you imagined? What if your photos were just… ordinary? Unremarkable? Worse, what if trying and failing made you feel small and invisible all over again?

There were memories tangled in that fear. Times when you had dared to put yourself out there in other ways by trying new things, opening up emotionally, yet it hadn’t gone well. Moments when your efforts went unnoticed, or worse, were quietly dismissed.

You worried that photography, something so personal and expressive, might expose that part of you you kept locked away; the part that wasn’t sure if you were good enough.

Even more, you feared that your love for it would fade if you faced disappointment early on. The idea of giving up on something you cared about felt like losing a piece of yourself, and that was terrifying.

That changed one Saturday afternoon. You sat curled up on the couch, flicking through an old photo album filled with faded memories containing snapshots of laughter, adventure, and the quiet moments in between. The nostalgia settled warmly over you, like a soft blanket, and for once, you felt a spark. Some sort of urge to capture moments yourself.

Steve noticed the way your eyes lingered on a black-and-white picture of a city street and smiled gently. “You’ve got a good eye for this,” He sat down beside you, presence steady and comforting like an anchor.

Bucky, lounging on the other side with a book, looked up and nodded. “Yeah. You’ve always been the one who sees the little things. The stuff most people walk right past.”

You glanced between them, cheeks warming at the encouragement. It wasn’t often they focused on something so small and personal. Steve reached over and lightly squeezed your hand. “Why don’t you try it? Start small. I bet you’d be amazing.”

The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. But watching Steve and Bucky’s easy confidence in your abilities was like a gentle breeze breaking through your self-imposed storm. They saw you clearly, without judgment. Their encouragement wasn’t just words, it was a promise they believed in you when you couldn’t fully believe in yourself.

Bucky put his book down, his gaze sincere. “We’re here to help. Hell, we’ll even be your models if you want.”

You laughed softly, the weight of hesitation lifting just a bit. “I don’t even have a camera,” You admitted, feeling slightly vulnerable.

Steve’s eyes twinkled with that familiar determination. “We’ll fix that.”

It wasn’t long at all before the next day where Bucky surprised you with a simple but reliable camera. A gift wrapped with a note that said, “For all the moments you’re ready to capture.”

You ran your fingers over the smooth body of the camera, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. It wasn’t just a piece of equipment to you; it was a chance.

That evening, the three of you went out for a walk, Steve and Bucky encouraging you every step of the way. Steve pointed out the soft glow of the streetlights, the way shadows played on the walls, while Bucky suggested interesting angles and compositions.

With every click of the shutter, you felt a little more confident. Your breath caught when you caught Steve’s smile in a candid moment or when Bucky’s steady gaze was perfectly framed against the fading light.

“You’re a natural,” Bucky said, ruffling your hair as you reviewed the shots.

Steve nodded, wrapping an arm around you both. “To think this is just the beginning.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were stepping into something that was truly yours. Something that was worth exploring, with the two people you loved cheering you on every step of the way.

The Loop You Won’t Let Die

Summary: Bucky is fatally wounded on a mission. You rewind time again, again, and again, hundreds of times. Each loop, you lose a little more of yourself. Finally, Bucky realizes what you’ve done. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to manipulate time to a limited degree. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Death. Memory Loss. Emotional Deterioration.

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: I am hoping y’all will like this because I sure did. Happy reading!!! ♡

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You’ve never been good at accepting the things you can't control. It’s a trait that’s followed you for as long as you can remember. From the moment you first realized your power to manipulate time, to rewind, reset, undo, you were thrilled. However, you came to realize that you held something dangerous in your hands and that it came at a cost. You were never able to rewind it all away. Not the pain, not the guilt, not the consequences.

It was supposed to be simple at first to test your power. No one expected you to use it on something so… delicate. You didn’t understand the gravity of it, not when you first rewound time to save a child who wandered too far into the street. The child's life was saved, and everything went back to normal. At least, it felt that way. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been lost in the process, your ability to forget.

And then came Bucky.

The first time you met him, it was on a mission. Some joint operation between S.H.I.E.L.D. and a few of the Avengers. You’d been part of the team tasked with gathering intel from a Hydra facility that was holding someone important who had crucial information on a new weapon. The mission wasn’t supposed to be complicated. But that’s how things always go, isn't it? You weren’t prepared for the chaos.

The explosion rocked the compound, sending you flying across the ground. You were dazed, but before you could register the pain, you saw him. Bucky was already moving to shield you, taking the brunt of another blast, the force knocking him down. You'd heard the stories, seen the flashes of the Winter Soldier’s past. But this was real. This was human, a man who had been broken, rebuilt, and forgotten.

You reached him instinctively, adrenaline spiking. You felt the sharpness of his blood in the air. The metal arm, the familiar, haunted expression in his eyes; the man you had read about in the files was here, right in front of you, struggling to get up.

He looked at you, and something passed between you then. Not recognition, not understanding, but something else. An acknowledgment of something lost. A silent kind of empathy.

"Stay down," You said quickly, hands already at his side, pressing against the blood that began to spill. "I can help. Let me help."

His expression didn’t change, but he nodded, as if he knew you could. As if he knew you wouldn’t let him die here. You didn't realize how true that would become.

It wasn’t long before you began to notice things about him. It was small things at first like how he seemed to stay on the perimeter of conversations, never quite fully engaging. How he always looked like he was on the edge of a nightmare, his eyes haunted even in the quietest moments. How he never quite trusted himself, not really, not after everything Hydra had put him through.

You, too, understood that weight, though you didn’t wear it the same way. Your power, the ability to manipulate time, had long since been a burden. But you didn’t carry it in silence the way Bucky did with his past. You didn’t need to ask him why he closed off. You understood it in ways most people wouldn’t. You understood what it was like to feel broken, to have the world try to take away something fundamental from you. So, you never pushed. You stayed in the background, offering quiet support during missions, sharing small conversations where he could let his guard down a little.

But it was when you first showed him your power that things began to change.

It was during another mission that went wrong, a hostage situation where things got messy, and you were forced to make a choice. There was no way to save everyone. But you saw Bucky, standing there, his arm pinned under rubble, the enemy advancing. You felt the panic of the moment, his life slipping away in real-time. So, without thinking, you rewound it. You manipulated the timeline, reset the scene, and in an instant, the world around you shifted.

When you opened your eyes, you were back before the blast, before the rubble, before the threat. But this time, you acted. You moved faster, knew the exact sequence of events that would unfold. You saved him.

It was the first time you showed Bucky the extent of your power.

“Did you…” He was breathless, looking at you like he couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened. His hand that had once bled from where the rubble had crushed him moments ago was normal, it was as though it had never happened. You felt him staring at you, processing the truth.

“I can rewind time,” You explained quietly, meeting his gaze. “Change things. Undo them.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, voice rough and raw. “What does that mean for you?”

You had to think about it. Your ability was both a gift and a curse. You couldn’t rewind everything. Not the pain, not the way time bled into your mind. Every reset took something from you: memories, emotions, the strength to keep going. But you kept doing it. For all of them.

You were unable to provide an answer, but he didn’t need words to understand.

The relationship between you and Bucky grew slowly after that. He began to understand you in ways you didn’t even know how to explain. You never talked about the toll your power took on you, but somehow, he always seemed to know. He’d ask you about it with a careful quietness, never pushing too hard, but always aware.

It was a delicate balance. You both walked around each other’s fragility, never forcing things, but always aware that there was something unspoken between you, an understanding that transcended words. You both had scars. But he was the kind of man who never let you carry the weight alone. And you, in turn, made sure that when his nightmares got too loud, when his mind fractured from all the things Hydra had done to him, you were there.

And one day, it all fell apart.

This mission was supposed to be straightforward.

Bucky and you, side by side, infiltrating a Hydra base to disable a weapons system. Nothing the two of you couldn’t handle. He’d been in worse situations and so had you.

But there’s always that one variable, always that one thing you can’t account for. The moment when the mission goes wrong, and everything unravels in the blink of an eye.

Bucky takes the first hit.

You’re there, just a step behind, but it’s too late. The bullet hits him right in the shoulder, spinning him off balance. You hear him grunt, feel the tug of his body as he collapses to the ground. Blood, dark and heavy, stains the concrete below him, it wasn’t any ordinary bullet. His metal arm is a blur of motion as he tries to pull himself up, but it’s no use. His movements slow. His breath becomes ragged.

You don’t even think. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your mind screams. You don’t want to lose him. Not like this. Not when there’s so much more you need to say. To do. To live for.

Rewind.

The world shudders around you, pulling you back to the beginning. The mission resets. You find yourself in the same place with everything the same, but you know what’s coming. You know what you have to do.

This time, you’re faster. More prepared. You have to be.

You move ahead of Bucky, keeping your focus sharp, anticipating the angle the sniper will shoot from. The plan is simple. You’ll get to the control room first, disable the weapons system, and clear the path for him. He won’t get hurt this time.

But something goes wrong. A twist, a misstep. The shot rings out from a different angle, and Bucky is hit again, this time in the chest. He crumples to the floor with a choked gasp, blood pooling around him. His eyes lock with yours, wide with shock and pain.

“Not again,” You mutter under your breath. "Please."

Rewind.

The third time is no different. No matter how many angles you try to cover, no matter how many ways you attempt to divert the sniper’s aim, Bucky always falls. Every time, it’s the same. Every time, you lose him. And every time, you’re forced to go back. Your mind becomes a haze of timelines, of trying to change the same sequence of events that always ends the same way.

By the tenth loop, the crushing weight of the failure begins to take its toll. You can feel it in your bones, the exhaustion of it all. The tension in your muscles, the faint tremor in your hands. It doesn’t matter how many times you reset. The result is always the same.

The bullet. The blood. His body crumpling. His eyes losing their light.

Rewind.

By the thirtieth loop, you're no longer just running through the motions. You’re starting to lose yourself. Every time you reset, something is chipped away. Maybe it’s your clarity, your sanity, your sense of time, or maybe all three. You can’t remember if you’ve already tried this particular strategy or if it’s the first time. You’ve forgotten the feeling of his hands in yours when you weren’t on a mission. Forgotten the sound of his laugh.

And yet, you keep doing it. For him.

But no matter how you try, no matter how you fight, he dies again. And again. And again.

Rewind.

The fiftieth time is when you break.

You’ve tried every strategy, every variation, every distraction. You’ve shot the sniper first, thrown grenades to create chaos, tried to fight through the whole base alone, but nothing works. Every loop, the result is the same.

Bucky dies, and you’re the one who has to watch it. Over and over.

You find him in the same position again. The same injury. The same wound. His hand, trembling, reaching for you in his final moments. His voice, strained and broken as he mutters your name. The world spins, distorting in the corners of your vision. It’s too much.

“Stay with me,” You beg hopelessly, tears burning your cheeks once again.

His eyes flicker. He’s fading. You can see it in the way his chest rises more slowly. His lips barely form a smile, and it breaks your heart. "I’m sorry," He whispers. "I’m so sorry."

Rewind.

When you wake again, you’re in the same place. The mission has started over, but it feels like you’ve been doing this for a lifetime. You know exactly where you are, what you need to do. But it doesn’t matter. You’re exhausted. Broken. Every reset feels like a piece of you is being torn away.

You barely register his presence next to you. The way his arm brushes yours as you move through the base. He’s always there, always close, but you don’t look at him. Not anymore. You can’t.

This time, he dies again.

And it’s then that you finally realize something: it’s not just the mission that’s killing him. It’s you. Your power. Your need to save him, to do whatever it takes, even if it means losing yourself.

Bucky’s last breath is quieter than the others. This time, he doesn’t even speak your name. When the world shifts back again, the weight of everything crashes down on you. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep losing him. You’re falling apart.

He’s alive in like normal at the start of your next loop, but you can’t meet his gaze. You can’t pretend anymore. His presence is suffocating now, and you can’t stop the dread from creeping up your spine.

“Hey,” He says softly, his voice full of concern. “You good?”

No. You’re not good. You’re shattered, and the weight of his repeated death is too much to bear. You give him a short lie that you’re fine only to watch him die again later.

-

By the hundredth loop, you stop trying to fix things. You stop trying to make the perfect plan, to save him. Because each time, you lose a little more of yourself. A little more of who you were before this madness.

You’re no longer sure if you’re even human anymore. You don’t recognize the face in the mirror. The loops have become your reality. And the more you rewind, the more you forget. What’s real? What’s memory? What’s a life worth saving when you’re already so broken?

The next time Bucky dies, you don’t even speak. You just let the world crumble, knowing that you’ll try again. And again. And again.

During one of your next loops, Bucky can feel something’s wrong. He’s always been able to read people, even before everything that happened. You’re different now in the sense of being much more distant and quieter than you were a few hours ago. You still move with precision, and you still have the same sharp focus on every mission. But your eyes, those once bright eyes that shone with warmth, now carry a depth of sorrow he can’t quite place.

It’s subtle at first. The way you recoil when he touches your arm. How you don’t meet his gaze for too long. How your voice, when you do speak, trembles just enough for him to notice. He watches you. He’s seen this before. But this time, it’s different. There’s something more. Something deeper.

-

It happens after the hundred and thirtieth loop. You’ve grown so tired, so worn down that you can barely keep track of the details. It’s becoming harder to find the motivation, the drive, to reset. But you push yourself, as always, because he needs you to.

Once again, you’ve failed. Bucky is dead. Again. The blood pools around him, his breath fading into silence. His final words are a shadow in your mind, repeated over and over: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

You reset the timeline, but this time, it feels different. The world doesn’t reset as quickly. It lingers. You’re slow to stand, slow to move. The pressure in your chest is suffocating. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve done this. But then you feel a hand on your shoulder, warm and firm. You know it’s him without looking. The touch is a relief in its familiarity, but it also makes your heart ache more than it should. You don’t want him to feel this. Not like this.

“Stop,” Bucky says quietly. His voice is low, but the command is there. It cuts through the fog in your mind.

You don’t respond. You can’t. You’re terrified of him seeing you, seeing what you’ve become, what you’re willing to do to save him. You’re terrified of the way you’re slowly losing yourself in this, and the last thing you want is for him to understand.

But he does.

“I know what you’re doing,” Bucky continues, his hand tightening on your shoulder, forcing you to face him. His gaze is sharp, the deep blue of his eyes searching yours with a depth of understanding that makes you want to collapse.

“No, you don’t,” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” He says quietly, his voice breaking just a little. “I do.”

You shake your head, turning away. "You don’t get it. I… I can't lose you, Bucky. I can't-“

“Stop,” He interrupts, his voice firmer now. “Stop trying to save me.”

Your body tenses. “I have to. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re killing yourself to save me,” His voice is full of raw emotion. “You’re breaking, and you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep doing this for me.”

“I’d rather lose myself than lose you,” You say quickly, too quickly. The words come out of you without thought, without any real sense of control. It’s all you’ve been trying to do, isn’t it? Save him at all costs. You’d sacrifice everything for him, even if it means losing yourself in the process.

But Bucky, he doesn’t want that.

“No,” He says firmly as his hand cups your cheek gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I won’t let you destroy yourself like this. You can’t keep trying to save me like this.”

For a long moment, you stand there, frozen. His touch grounds you, even as the weight of his words presses down on your chest. It feels like the world is spinning too fast, like everything you’ve done, everything you’ve sacrificed, is suddenly meaningless.

“Bucky,” You breathe, the tears finally coming. “I don’t know how to stop anymore. I can’t… I can’t let you go. I can’t-“

He pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do this by yourself. I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please… stop doing this to yourself.”

You close your eyes, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, the steady rhythm grounding you. “I can’t… I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried to fix it. I don’t know how to stop it.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “Let me help. You’re not alone in this. I’m not going to die again, not if I can help it. But you have to trust me. Trust us.”

The weight of his words crashes over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself believe, just for a moment, that there’s another way. Another chance.

“You won’t die,” You murmur, as though testing the words on your tongue.

“I won’t die,” He affirms, his voice soft but firm. “But only if you let go of this loop. Let go of the pain. Let me be here with you.”

The silence between you two is heavy with the unspoken promise. The possibility that, maybe, there’s a way forward that doesn’t involve sacrifice, doesn’t involve losing yourself. That maybe, just maybe, you can live without having to rewind the world every time something goes wrong.

“Together?” You ask quietly.

“Together,” Bucky answers, holding you close.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to believe that it’s true….

Until you don’t. Because he lied. He dies again. It was futile.

You stop counting.

Somewhere between the hundredth and thousandth reset, numbers stop meaning anything. You've tried ambushes, distractions, extraction before contact, calling in the others earlier, shielding him, shielding yourself, leaving. You've tried pretending you were never there. Tried running. Tried fighting harder. Stronger. Smarter. He always dies.

And now he knows. Bucky sees it in your eyes even before you reset. You don’t have to say it anymore. The moment things go wrong, he just looks at you, and there’s this helpless, aching resignation in his voice when he mutters, “Don’t.”

But you always do.

The loop consumes you like erosion that’s slow and invisible. You forget details. You forget whole days. You forget what smiling used to feel like. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. As long as he lives.

Rewind.

-

This time, you're quiet when the bullet rips toward him. You don't scream his name. You don't even blink. You step in front of him.

The impact knocks the air from your lungs. Your body hits the ground before the pain registers. Heat blooms across your ribs like fire. And for some reason, Bucky manages to take out the sniper this time, the threat gone. He drops down beside you instantly.

His hands pressing into the wound, voice shaking. “No. No, no, no. Stay with me. Stay with me!”

Your mouth tastes like iron. Your fingers twitch, reaching weakly for his cheek.

“I did it,” You whisper.

His hands are covered in your blood.

“What are you talking about?” He breathes. “You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get help. You’ll be-“

“I broke the loop.” You manage a smile, cracked and fleeting. “You’re alive.”

His breath catches. He knows. Of course he knows. “You can still rewind,” He begs. “Please. One more. Just one more.”

You shake your head faintly. “No. This is the only way I could win.”

Tears slip down his face as he holds you closer, his voice growing frantic. “You can’t leave me. I don’t want this. Not like this. I’d rather die than lose you.”

You reach up, your blood-streaked hand brushing his jaw. “I’d rather lose myself than lose you.”

“You already did,” He chokes, voice breaking. “You already have, look what this did to you.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a wheeze. “Then let me rest now.”

“No. No-“ His arms shake as his shoulders crumble. “I love you. You don’t get to leave.”

Your fading eyes search his, and for once, they're not haunted.

“I know. That’s why I did this,” You whisper. “I love you too.”

Your hand falls and your breath stops.

And for the first time in hundreds of timelines, Bucky lives.

But in this one… You don’t.

I’m pretty sure they demanded extra treats for their hard work lol

Thank you so much for reading!!! ♡

Mischief and Alpine, Matchmaker Extraordinaires

Summary: One quiet morning between you and Bucky, the matchmaking schemes of your cats finally pay off. The smugness and victory of their successes evident almost each time you and Bucky are together now. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: And here lies the Finale so to speak. It was more so to wrap up the story of the second part. However, I don’t mind writing smaller fics or updates of our favorite feline matchmakers. Thank you to @kissingkillercriminals and @mysweetbucky and everyone else who has read this mini series so far! Happy reading!!! ♡

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel | Sequel

The plot was thickening. Mischief had started to show up at the most inconvenient moments, trying to nudge you closer to Bucky just when there was a hint of quiet tension in the air. Alpine had taken to sitting at the foot of your bed on some nights, watching over you with an oddly protective gaze that seemed more deliberate than before.

It was only when you woke up from a movie marathon on the couch one morning with Bucky beside you that their matchmaking days might finally be over. Mischief jumped into your lap and Alpine quietly walked over to his side.

“Alright, you two…” You muttered, rubbing your eyes. Mischief purred smugly. Alpine, with her quiet wisdom, gave you a single, slow blink.

Bucky sat up, rubbing his face. “I think they’re getting impatient.”

“Impatient.” You echoed before asking carefully, “Impatient about…?”

Bucky shifted, his hand brushing yours for a moment before he drew it back. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while now. I mean… you know what I’m talking about, right?”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, but you didn’t have the chance to respond before Mischief leaped off your lap and sauntered to the window, eyes sharp, tail flicking in time with her calculated movements.

You glanced at Alpine. She was staring at you, piercing eyes that seemed to say, This is the moment. Do it.

You looked back at Bucky. He was already watching you, that soft vulnerability in his eyes that always seemed to come out when the world wasn’t trying to tear him apart. But this… this was different. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the steady rhythm of the rain outside, or the fact that Mischief was sprawled on the windowsill like a queen, watching her hard work finally pay off.

And Alpine? She was sitting directly between you and Bucky, tail curled neatly around her paws, like she was guarding some invisible line that neither of you could cross unless you finally admitted it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” Bucky murmured, breaking the silence. His voice had a quiet rasp, but there was a warmth in it, like he was giving you space to speak or not speak, depending on how you wanted to handle it.

“I…” You took a breath. Your palms felt a little sweaty. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

You’d meant to sound casual, but the words came out soft, unsure. Mischief gave a low, disapproving meow from the windowsill, like she was scolding you for not being more forward.

Bucky’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “You know exactly what I mean.”

For a long beat, you stared at each other. Mischief’s tail twitched, as if encouraging Bucky to take that last step. Alpine was silent, but her intense gaze never wavered. She wasn’t going to let either of you back out of this.

“Bucky…Are you sure-” You began, but before you could continue, Mischief jumped back into your lap, purring loudly and dramatically, her head nudging against your chin in that way she did when she was trying to make you act. You weren’t sure if she was pushing you or just enjoying the chaos. Either way, she was going to make sure this moment didn’t pass.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, laughing softly as Mischief settled against you, almost as if she were physically forcing you to confront him. He moved closer, gently brushing your hair from your face.

“I don’t know how much more I can take of these two trying to play Cupid for us,” He admitted, his voice a little rougher than before.

“I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t notice it either,” You said, your heart racing.

You know all the quiet tenderness between you two that had been building for weeks. The soft touches, the shared silences, the way Mischief and Alpine always seemed to be around whenever there was a moment of uncertainty.

“I care about you,” Bucky said, his voice low, steady. “More than I thought I would. I just… didn’t know how to say it.”

You swallowed, meeting his gaze. The rain outside intensified, but inside, the world felt quieter, like all the noise of the outside world had vanished, leaving only the two of you finally on the same page.

“I’ve just been scared. I didn’t want to lose what we had. I think I’ve been waiting for you to say it,” You admitted quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

And just like that, the moment shifted. Mischief purred louder, now with what almost felt like approval, while Alpine gave a single, soft, contented meow.

“Guess we owe them one,” You murmured, glancing down at the two cats, who seemed to share some silent victory.

“Maybe,” Bucky agreed, his smile spreading. “But you know… I’m not sure they’ll let us have much of a private moment after this.”

Alpine tilted her head, as if agreeing with Bucky’s prediction. Mischief hopped into Bucky’s lap with the most satisfied expression, as if to claim her victory.

“Well,” You said with a half-laugh, your fingers tracing the outline of Bucky’s hand. “Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing as long as you’re here.”

“Always,” Bucky said, his voice soft, before gently leaning in and brushing his lips against yours.

And as the rain drummed against the windows, Mischief and Alpine curled up together, as though they’d known all along how this would end and they were content, their work here done. For now.

Later that day, after the soft glow of the moment had faded, you found yourself alone in your room, the hum of the Tower around you. Mischief was curled up on the windowsill, her tail twitching ever so slightly, while Alpine lounged at the foot of your bed, looking almost smug in her perfect little furball form. You could feel their eyes on you, and despite everything, the quiet weight of their gaze made you feel like they knew something you didn’t.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at them for a moment, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to laugh at the situation. You knew what they had done. You knew exactly what they had been up to.

And now, it was time to talk about it.

“You two,” You began, your voice teasing but filled with an underlying sense of gentle disbelief. Mischief flicked an ear, but didn’t budge. Alpine, of course, kept her eyes closed like the queen she was, but you could feel the amusement radiating off her like a warmth in the room.

The silence stretched for a moment before you sighed and crossed your arms. “So. This whole ‘matchmaking’ thing. You’re really proud of yourselves, aren’t you?”

Mischief’s ears twitched, but she didn’t flinch. Alpine opened one eye, her head raising just enough to show she was paying attention.

“Come on,” You repeated, shaking your head. “You’re not exactly that subtle. You’ve been pushing us together all along.”

A purring sound emanated from Mischief, low and rumbling. Alpine’s tail flicked, and she gave a single, satisfied meow.

You blinked, the words you had been thinking all day finally clicking into place. “You knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

The answer was a soft, almost imperceptible meow from Alpine. Mischief stretched out lazily, rolling onto her back as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She already knew you were hopelessly in love with Bucky. You disregarded her advice before after all.

“Well, that’s just great,” You muttered, letting out a short laugh. “You’re both as bad as each other. I don’t know whether to thank you, or-“ You paused, realizing what you had just walked into. “Wait, are you pleased with yourselves?”

Alpine gave a low, almost triumphant purr. Mischief, for once, seemed unbothered by your tone. The two of them exchanged a glance before Mischief padded closer, her purr deepening as she nuzzled your leg. Alpine hopped up to sit beside her, looking at you with those wise, knowing eyes.

You really think we were just helping you?

Alpine’s voice echoed clearly in your mind, steady and gentle, like a quiet whisper.

We’ve seen you two dance around it long enough. Someone had to give you a little nudge.

Mischief’s voice came next, sounding smug but affectionate. Someone had to push things along. You two were taking too long to figure it out, and…

She stretched out in a luxurious way, ‘speaking’ in one of the most haughty tones you’ve ever heard from her, We don’t have time for slow burns.

You shook your head, half in disbelief and half in gratitude. “So, this was really was some grand scheme of yours? I’m not sure whether to be impressed or insulted.”

Alpine blinked slowly, her gaze unwavering.

There is no harm in helping destiny along.

She licked her paw lazily, as if nothing had happened.

The two of you were already meant to be. We just sped things up a bit.

Mischief, as usual, seemed to be more direct. It's simple. You like each other. He’s a good guy. You’re surprisingly good together. You just needed encouragement.

You stared at them for a long moment, your heart still racing with the unexpected shift of events. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You two are unbelievable.”

There was a pause, and then Mischief nuzzled her head into your hand, looking up at you with eyes that were almost… too proud.

It’s not just about you, She said with a flick of her tail. We look out for our people. And we think… you're good for each other.

Alpine added with a soft meow, We’ve been waiting for you both to catch up.

You let out a soft, affectionate sigh. There was no denying it. Mischief and Alpine had orchestrated it all, played their roles, and had succeeded where no one else had, helping you and Bucky find your way to each other.

“Well,” You said, crouching down to pet both of them. “I guess you two aren’t so bad.” You paused, eyes narrowing playfully. “But don’t ever pull that stunt again, alright?”

Both cats tilted their heads as though they didn’t quite understand the question, but the gleam in their eyes told you everything you needed to know. Mischief purred softly, and Alpine blinked slowly, as if to say, Of course we will. But only if you need it.

“Alright,” You muttered, leaning back against the bed. “I guess I owe you both. But you’d better not make a habit of this.”

Mischief’s tail flicked in amusement, and Alpine simply curled up beside her, content. You could feel their satisfaction radiating off them. They were pleased. More than pleased, in fact. They had done what they set out to do and they had done it perfectly. (Or so they liked to think.)

As the evening unfolded, you could hear Mischief’s soft purring and Alpine’s contented meows in your mind as a comforting background to your thoughts.

But no matter how ridiculous or obvious their methods were, it was official: Mischief and Alpine had succeeded in their little operation. And somehow, you were glad they had.

-

The Tower had felt different for the past few weeks. The moments between you and Bucky were no longer filled with lingering tension. Instead, there was an easy comfort, like two puzzle pieces that had finally clicked into place.

You found yourselves seeking each other out more often. Sometimes it was just for small moments like when you’d bump into him in the hallway and catch the familiar glint of warmth in his eyes. Or when you’d sit next to him on the couch after a long day, the silence between you not uncomfortable, but companionable. Mischief and Alpine’s matchmaking had worked, and now, you both were navigating the early stages of this new territory with a mix of cautious hope and nervous excitement.

And the cats, oh the cats continued to observe, as if they were silently proud of themselves. Mischief still had that knowing, almost smug look every time she’d saunter past you and Bucky, like she knew exactly how much closer the two of you had gotten.

But it wasn’t just the cats noticing. The rest of the Avengers were starting to pick up on the change, too.

It was Steve who first pointed it out, his usual lightheartedness tinged with amusement. “You two are… different. More together lately.” He smiled, glancing between you and Bucky. “It’s a good thing, though. You’re both happier.”

You and Bucky exchanged a look. It had been an unspoken agreement, the way your relationship had blossomed slowly, carefully, but surely. There was no rush, and no one else had been more patient than Bucky, often waiting for you to make the first moves. It was always the little things with him, like him checking in on you after a mission, his hand finding yours in quiet moments, or the way his gaze softened every time your eyes met.

“Guess we are,” You murmured, your voice a little more relaxed than it used to be. You couldn’t deny that something had shifted. You could feel it in the way he smiled at you when he caught you looking at him. How he’d wrap an arm around you when the team gathered for briefings or dinners, holding you close in a way that felt both natural and necessary.

Bucky chuckled, his hand brushing against yours. “Yeah. I’ve… uh, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” His voice was a little quieter now, more vulnerable. “I guess… I wasn’t sure how to take the next step. But now, with you here… I think we’re both past all the hesitations.”

And just like that, everything fell into place. The weight of all the past struggles, the doubts, and fears that had kept you both in limbo, melted away. With each passing day, you saw Bucky for who he truly was: the soldier who had fought countless battles, yes, but also the man who had learned to love and heal, someone who had found a home in you.

Later that evening, as the team gathered for a late dinner in the common area, it felt as though the world around you had slowed down, the noise fading into the background. There was something undeniably special in the way Bucky looked at you, how his gaze lingered a little longer than before.

When he reached for your hand under the table, you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers intertwined, and the simple touch was a quiet affirmation of everything that had shifted between you two.

Mischief, ever the observer, hopped up on the table in front of you, her fur sleek and pristine. Alpine, now regularly spending time with both of you, sat beside her, her eyes flicking from you to Bucky as though in approval.

“Alright, alright,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair with a mischievous grin. “We all see it. The cat’s out of the bag, no pun intended.” He nodded toward Mischief, who was now watching Bucky with a level of interest that could only mean she was approving. “You two are… a thing, aren’t you?”

You felt a slight blush rise to your cheeks, but Bucky just chuckled softly, squeezing your hand. “Yeah. Guess so.” He gave you a small smile, one that had become second nature, but it still made your heart skip a beat.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “About time,” she teased, but there was a warmth in her voice. “It’s nice to see you two so happy.”

It wasn’t just the team noticing. It was everyone who saw you and Bucky together, there was an undeniable sense of calm and happiness that seemed to radiate off you both. You had learned to open up to him, and in turn, he’d let you in. And now, there was nothing to hide between you anymore.

That night, when the Tower was quiet again and the rest of the team retired to their rooms, you found yourself with Bucky on the balcony, gazing at the city lights below. The air was cool, the soft hum of the city in the distance adding a peaceful rhythm to the moment.

Bucky leaned against the railing, his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You know,” He murmured, “I never thought I’d get here.”

“Here?” You asked, your voice soft.

“Yeah,” His voice quieter now, his breath warm against your ear. “With someone who… makes me feel like it’s okay to be me. Not the soldier. Not a monster. Just me.”

You turned toward him, your heart swelling. “You are you, Bucky. The person who’s been through hell and back, and you’ve still got the strength to love.”

He smiled, his hand gently caressing your cheek. “And you’re the one who helped me realize that. You make me better, you know that?”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. For the first time in a long time, you felt whole. With him. With Bucky. And with the unexpected help of two very clever, very determined cats.

“You make me better too,” You whispered.

And when you kissed him softly at first, then with a growing intensity, you knew that the road ahead was uncertain, but as long as you walked it together, everything would be alright.

Haha, they’re so much fun even if she doesn’t make a bit of sense sometimes. Thank you for reading!!! ♡

Chaos Counseling

Summary: You accidentally becomes the Avengers' unofficial therapist, delivering unhinged wisdom that changes lives whether they like it or not. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)

Word Count: 1k+

A/N: As a psychology major, I do not condone the advice or techniques reader uses for a professional setting (lol). It’s all for speculative fun. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

It started because you caught Peter Parker crying in the hallway and handed him a Capri Sun.

Partially because of a real desire to help, but mostly because you just had one in your pocket. Peter took it like it was a lifeline. He sniffled then muttered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

You blinked, leaned in, and whispered solemnly, “Crying is just eye vomiting. You gotta get it out or your soul gets constipated.”

Peter stopped crying. Not because he felt better, but because he had no idea what to do with that sentence.

He went silent for ten seconds, wiped his eyes, and hesitantly said, “That’s… actually helpful?”

“Yeah,” You stabbed another Capri Sun with aggressive force. “I’m basically Freud if he was raised by raccoons and Disney Channel.”

And just like that, you became the Compound’s Emotional Support Cryptid.

By the time Bucky found out three days later, you’d already “accidentally therapized” Peter, Clint, Sam, and most surprisingly Wanda, who now referred to you as her “mind gremlin of peace.”

He entered the rec room to find Sam staring blankly at the wall, murmuring, “I am not my productivity.”

“…What the hell did you do to him?” Bucky asked.

You were upside down on the couch, feet in the air while eating an apple with a spoon.

“I told him hustle culture is a capitalist trap designed to keep us from achieving true inner joy. Also that pigeons are government spies. One of those hit him real hard.”

Bucky stared. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

You shrugged. “No. But apparently my unmedicated inner monologue is therapeutic.”

The final straw (or blessing, depending who you ask) was Tony Stark’s meltdown. He’d been spiraling in the lab for days now with low sleep, bad attitude, and a full ego. The standard stuff. You wandered in eating popcorn with chopsticks and sat on his table, pushing one of his gadgets aside with your foot.

“You need to feel your feelings, Tony.”

He didn’t even look up. “I built a suit of armor to avoid that exact thing.”

“Cool,” You said, chewing. “But now your trauma is building you a suit of armor. And it’s ugly.”

Tony froze, slowly turning to you. “That… was either the dumbest or most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard.”

You offered him a bag of marshmallows and patted his cheek. “Let’s call it both and have a cry.”

He did.

-

You weren’t trained, of course. And you didn’t plan to become the Avengers’ emotional crutch. But one by one, they came to you.

Natasha sat beside you and confessed she sometimes felt like a ghost. You told her ghosts are just trauma that didn’t pay rent.

Wanda asked how to cope with her past. You said to build a new house out of grief and invite joy over for tea.

Steve admitted once he was tired of being the symbol of hope. You handed him a juice box and told him it’s okay to be a tired little guy sometimes.

Every time, Bucky watched from the sidelines, equal parts baffled and smitten.

“You’re not qualified for this,” He muttered one night, watching Clint sob out of the room from something profoundly dumb you said while you knitted a scarf out of yarn you had found in the vents.

You just smiled at Bucky, eyes soft. “Nope. But neither is life, and I’m still doing that too.”

He pulled you in by the waist, kissed your forehead, and muttered, “God, I love you.”

“Obviously,” You said, already distracted. “Anyway, pass me that bowl. I’m about to emotionally dismantle Loki.”

-

Nick Fury tried to fire you. Twice. He wanted to submit a formal request to “hire an actual mental health professional.” He was denied.

The first time, you responded by sending him a PowerPoint titled “Why I Am Vital to Team Morale: A Threat and a Promise,” which included hand-drawn pie charts, quotes you definitely made up from Plato and Beyoncé, and a photo of a possum in a teacup labeled “Emotional Support Rodent (not metaphorical).”

The second time, he walked into the compound and found all the Avengers crowded in your room. Thor was wrapped in a blanket you made him (“my thunder cocoon”), Wanda asleep against your shoulder, Sam and Clint mid-debate over which Pokémon best represents childhood abandonment, and Bucky sprawled on your bed, fast asleep with your hand in his hair and a peaceful look on his face like he hadn’t had in years.

Fury stood silently in the doorway for a full ten seconds, then turned around and walked out.

No one’s heard from him since.

A few nights later, you and Bucky were curled up on the couch. You were using him as a weighted blanket while reading a quantum physics book upside-down and occasionally arguing with the toaster nearby (which you'd programmed to “vibe check” everyone who used it).

He was half-asleep, running his thumb over your shoulder, when he murmured, “You know they’d fall apart without you, right?”

You snorted. “They’d be fine. Steve can tie a tie and Sam knows how to keep plants alive. That’s practically domestic stability.”

“No,” He said, voice low and eyes steady. “You help them in the best way. You say the things no one expects but everyone needs. You make the weird stuff feel normal. You make me feel normal.”

You blinked, heart flipping slightly sideways in your chest.

Then you smirked. “You just like me because I told Thor his emotional baggage could crush Mjölnir.”

Bucky laughed, the low, warm kind that curled in your ribs and stayed there. “Maybe. And because you somehow gave Loki a complex about not recycling.”

You shifted to give him a quick kiss before whispering, “You love me.”

“I do.”

You rested your head against his chest with a content hum. “Good. Now help me convince Tony to install a therapy ball pit. For, like, emotional regulation purposes.”

He sighed. “God help me, I’ll do it.”

And he would. Because somehow, against all logic, you made chaos feel like home.

The team really should’ve gone down the route of “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” lol. They tried their best though. And 36 reasons total, she’d probably make one of those monotone top 10 videos on YouTube explaining those reasons: “They fake having more legs by standing in groups. That’s eldritch illusion tactics 101. Too many legs and not enough trust.”

Thank you for reading!!! ♡

Infected by the Chaos

Summary: Overtime, your questionable tendencies and unpredictable phrases have rubbed off onto your boyfriend. The team reacts by trying their best to un-corrupt the supersoldier. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: Thank you to @ozwriterchick for the idea. Enjoy and Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

There was a debriefing. The usual boring, long, and necessary meeting. Everyone sat around the conference table looking various degrees of irritated.

You were leaning back in your chair, chewing gum, spinning a pen between your fingers, and mentally ranking everyone’s haircuts from “tragic” to “god-tier.” (Sam had climbed two spots today.)

Steve was talking, bless him, but honestly, your brain had already turned into a screensaver.

“-and next time, we need tighter communication. Nat, cover the north entrance. Sam, recon from above. And you two,” He gestured at you and Bucky. “Try not to burn the entire building down next time.”

You opened your mouth, probably to say something deeply unhelpful and not at all relevant but then it happened.

Bucky got there first.

Deadpan, casual, and not even glancing up from his notepad, he muttered:

“I don’t control the fire. The fire controls me.”

The room went silent.

Sam slowly turned his head. “What.”

Nat blinked. “I’m sorry- Did Barnes just say that?”

Steve dropped his tablet. You were staring at him like he’d just told you he was pregnant with a spider-dog hybrid.

Bucky glanced up with a shrug. “What? It’s true.”

“No, no, no, back up.” You stood, pointing at him. “That’s my level of chaos. You don’t get to say things like that with a straight face. That’s my thing.”

“Pretty sure I’ve earned chaos privileges by now,” He said in an even tone, biting into an apple.

Nat coughed. “What else have you been saying lately?”

You whirled on Bucky. “You didn’t even flinch. You said it like a man who has absolutely Googled whether rats can legally vote.”

Bucky smirked. “I have due to our last date. They can’t yet.”

Sam slid down in his chair. “Oh god, there’s two of them now.”

Tony, who had joined the meeting late with a coffee and zero patience, looked between you and Bucky. “I always knew one of you was a bad influence. I just didn’t expect it to be her.”

“I resent that,” You said.

“I expected more from you, Barnes,” Tony replied.

Steve looked like he was having a mild stroke. “I spent a decade dragging him out of assassin mode and you…you-“ He pointed at you with all the drama of a soap opera actor. “You corrupted him.”

You crossed your arms. “Excuse me, I elevated him. You think he’d even know what a possum rave is without me?”

“Wait,” Bucky said, serious again. “That’s real?”

“Unfortunately,” Sam muttered.

Bucky turned to you. “Do you think we could-“

“No,” Steve and Sam said in unison.

Later that night, you and Bucky were sitting on the roof, feet dangling over the ledge, and watching the stars while splitting a packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts.

You nudged him with your shoulder. “You really said it, huh?”

He smirked. “It just came out.”

“And the fire controls you?”

He looked at you with something soft and proud in his eyes. “Maybe I’ve just been spending too much time with my favorite disaster.”

You grinned and leaned into his side. “Next step: getting you to name a pigeon.”

“Already done. His name’s Charles. He watched us fight three agents yesterday.”

You gasped. “You’re perfect.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “You trained me well.”

-

As time passed, Bucky was the problem now.

At first, the team found it endearing. The grumpy super soldier smiling at dumb jokes, randomly throwing out facts about duck mating rituals, or muttering “vibe check failed” after knocking someone out. In some strange way, it was charming. Odd, but charming.

But then he named a second pigeon. And that was the last straw.

“We need to intervene,” Natasha said, deadly serious with her arms folded as she stood at the head of the war room table.

“Why?” Bucky asked, mid-bite of a toaster strudel. “Charles Junior likes me.”

“Exactly,” Tony said, pointing dramatically. “The fact that you’re calling it Charles Junior is the problem.”

“I don’t see the issue,” You said from your seat next to Bucky, proudly wearing your ‘#1 Chaos Hero’ necklace again. “It’s genetic. Charles Prime had strong leader energy.”

Steve looked between you both like he was watching two people fall off a moral cliff in slow motion. “You used to be a soldier.”

“He is a soldier,” You said. “He just also knows five ways to make banana bread ”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “Just don’t over-mix the batter.”

Tony facepalmed. “Nope. This is a brain rot virus, and you’re patient zero.”

You smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

“Still taking it that way.”

Natasha, still painfully calm, pulled out a folder labeled “OPERATION: WINTER DETOX.”

“Oh no,” Bucky muttered.

“Yes,” She said. “We're deprogramming the chaos out of you. We're doing it for the safety of the building, and also the pigeons.”

-

During phase one, you were banned from interacting with Bucky for 48 hours. No comms. No breakfast together. No late-night feral cuddling where you told him shark facts until he passed out.

You broke the rule in 6 minutes.

Literally. You broke into the vent system and dropped into his room from the ceiling like some kind of gremlin god.

“Did you know octopuses have nine brains?”

Bucky looked up from his book, deadpan. “I do now.”

When Sam burst in to yell at you, he found Bucky trying to braid your hair while you explained the 36 reasons flamingos are both cursed and divine.

Sam left with his soul cracked in half.

Phase two didn’t end much better either. They tried re-soldiering him. Military documentaries. Physical training drills. A six-hour silent stare-off with Steve.

You showed up with a whiteboard that said “Today’s Mission: Turn Bucky Into a Lizard.”

Steve had to lock you out of the room and block your contact from Bucky’s phone for two hours.

By phase three, the team tried pairing Bucky with other Avengers. Nat. Rhodey. Bruce.

Each one ended up slightly more unhinged than when they started.

Bruce now exclusively drinks out of a cup shaped like a frog. Nat started saying “mood” unironically. Rhodey got a ferret and named it “Mini War Machine.”

“Do you see what you’ve done?” Steve begged one night as you and Bucky made soup in the communal kitchen while retelling an episode of River Monsters using only metaphors and curse words.

“I made the team fun,” You said, stabbing a ladle toward him.

Bucky beamed. “They laugh more now. And I haven’t threatened to murder anyone in two weeks.”

Tony nodded slowly. “He’s not wrong. Still terrifying, but now it’s… unpredictable terrifying.”

The breaking point came the next morning. Bucky walked into the briefing room wearing a shirt that said: “Emotionally Stable is a Strong Word”

You wore one that said: “I Know the Assignment. I Am Choosing to Ignore It.”

Steve stood then walked out muttering something about moving to Wakanda.

The team officially gave up trying to fix Bucky Barnes.

-

Later that night, Bucky was lying beside you, watching the stars again as the city hummed below.

“They really think I’m broken now,” He said.

You shrugged, twirling a glow stick between your fingers. “They just don’t know how to handle dual-wielding emotional repression and chaotic brilliance.”

He turned to you, smiling. “You really think it’s brilliance?”

You kissed his cheek. “Obviously. I don’t waste my time on mediocrity. Now help me build a pigeon obstacle course on the balcony.”

He nodded. “It’s what Charles Prime would’ve wanted.”

It really is! Full of fluff, they’re so cute. Thank you for reading! ♡

A Shot of Something More

Summary: You’re the closing barista at a campus café. Steve comes in to study, Bucky shows up to tease him, and you. They start staying late, helping you close, or walking you home. Over time, flirting turns into banter, and late nights turn into something deeper. (College AU! | Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 3.7k+

A/N: Really hoping other folks like this too. It’s a college AU/setting by the way. I thought it was cute and I quite like flirty Bucky lol. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

The espresso machine hissed as you wiped down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It was nearing 9:00 p.m., and the usual lull had settled over the campus café. Half the lights were dimmed, soft jazz hummed through the speakers, and the scent of coffee clung to your oversized hoodie like a second skin. You were alone behind the counter, as usual, your co-worker having ditched early with a vague excuse and a flirty grin you ignored out of habit.

It had been a long day with two lectures, lab work, and your phone buzzing every twenty minutes with group project drama. This place was your tiny sanctuary tucked between the English building and the art studios. It was the only space that ever felt quiet, even when it was loud.

You were just about to flip the “Closing Soon” sign to close early for the night when the bell above the door chimed.

You glanced up, already expecting some last-minute caffeine addict who’d argue for one more shot of espresso, but your fingers paused mid-reach.

He was back.

Steve Rogers stepped inside, eyes scanning the room like he always did as if expecting danger even in a sleepy café with free Wi-Fi and discount muffins. He gave you a small smile, polite and familiar. His blond hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and his flannel sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that did dangerous things to your focus.

“Hey,” He said, voice low and warm. “Didn’t realize it was this late.”

You tilted your head. “You always realize it’s this late.”

A chuckle escaped him as he made his way to his usual table in the corner, setting down a textbook the size of a brick. Philosophy, or maybe ethics… you weren’t sure anymore. He had this routine down to an art: order a plain black coffee, sit for one or two hours, read maybe five pages, and somehow leave you flustered even when he barely looked your way.

You grabbed a clean mug. “Let me guess. Caffeine to fight existential dread?”

Steve looked up, smiling wider now. “You read my mind.”

You started the brew, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “That’s not impressive. You’re a walking finals-week poster boy.”

And then, just as you were pouring the coffee, the bell above the door rang again.

This time, the energy shifted.

“Rogers, you’re such a nerd,” came a familiar voice all smooth, teasing, and louder than necessary.

Bucky Barnes strolled in like he owned the place, wearing a black hoodie, ripped jeans, and a look that could melt steel. His eyes flicked over to you then back to Steve, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Tell me you’re not actually studying again,” Bucky said, sliding into the seat across from his best friend without asking.

“I was,” Steve muttered.

You stood there, holding a mug in each hand, heart suddenly beating faster.

Bucky looked up at you, and something about his gaze, lazy and sharp all at once, made your fingers twitch.

“Well hey there, doll. Don’t suppose you’ve got something strong for a guy who had to suffer through group critique today?”

Steve rolled his eyes. You went behind the counter and made Bucky’s usual order, double shot with vanilla and just a touch of cream, before he even asked. He smirked.

You didn’t say it out loud, but they were both regulars now. And you were starting to wonder if they really came for the coffee… or if something else kept bringing them back, night after night.

-

As silence settled comfortably among you three, rain started somewhere between Bucky’s first sip and Steve’s third sigh.

It began as a soft patter, barely audible over the music, but soon grew into a steady drumbeat against the windows. Outside, the streetlights blurred into glowing halos through the glass, casting warm shadows over the near-empty café.

You glanced at the clock. 9:47. Almost fifteen minutes until closing time.

Most nights, you’d be starting your last round of cleaning out the espresso portafilters, wiping down the milk steamer, stacking the chairs. But tonight, you hesitated. You weren’t sure if it was the weather or the way Bucky had stretched out in the booth, legs spread, and his eyes watching you from under thick lashes. Or maybe it was the way Steve hadn’t looked at his book in twenty minutes, choosing instead to glance at you whenever he thought you weren’t paying attention.

They didn’t seem in any rush to leave. And truthfully… neither were you.

“You’re closing up soon, right?” Steve finally asked, his voice low as he reached for his mug again.

You nodded, wiping your damp hands on a towel. “Yeah. I usually start around now, but…” You gestured toward the rain. “Didn’t want to kick anyone out into that.”

Steve smiled faintly. “You’re always this nice to your customers?”

“Only the ones who don’t make a mess,” You answered, raising a brow. “So one of you.”

Bucky laughed, his head falling back against the booth. “Guilty. I do spill a lot. But I also tip well.”

You tried not to stare too hard at the way his neck looked when he stretched like that. “That’s true. I guess you can stay.”

“Generous,” He said with a wink.

There was a long pause. The café was nearly silent now with just the low hum of the fridge, the soft rain, and the clink of Steve’s spoon against his mug.

Then Bucky spoke up to ask in a casual tone, “You always close alone?”

You hesitated for a moment. “Usually. My coworker bails. Most nights.”

Steve frowned slightly. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

You shrugged, not used to concern like that. “It’s a college café, not a crime scene.”

Bucky made a face like he wasn’t satisfied with the answer. “Still… maybe we stay until you lock up. Walk you out.”

You blinked. The offer shouldn’t have made your stomach flip the way it did. But it wasn’t just the offer, it was the way they both looked at you when Bucky said it. Like it wasn’t just about safety. Like maybe they wanted to linger.

“…You’d wait around just to walk me to the bus stop?” Your voice was more curious than skeptical.

Steve shrugged. “We’ve got nowhere else to be.”

Bucky leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Unless you wanna kick us out. We could be very offended. Might leave a bad Yelp review.”

You laughed, too surprised to stop yourself. “Fine. But if you’re staying, you’re helping.”

“Oh?” Steve looked amused. “Helping how?”

You tossed a towel at him with a smirk. “You, Captain Neat, are wiping tables. Bucky, you’re mopping. Try not to make it worse.”

“Hey,” Bucky protested, catching the mop you handed him with mock offense. “I’ll have you know I was almost a janitor once.”

“Was that before or after your brief career as a barista at that goth café downtown?” You teased.

His eyes narrowed. “You stalked me?”

“You told me.”

“I did?”

You nodded. “You said you got fired for stealing scones.”

Steve laughed; really laughed, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking. “You would get fired for stealing scones.”

“Allegedly.”

You rolled your eyes, heart full in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. There was something comfortable about this. Domestic, even. The three of you cleaning up the café together like it was some weekly tradition. Like you weren’t just the barista and they weren’t just two regulars with unread books and flirtatious smiles.

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was the beginning of something.

Either way, the rain hadn’t let up by the time you three got finished.

If anything, it had gotten heavier with each droplet sounding like a soft drumbeat against the awning as you turned off the café lights and locked the front door behind you. The three of you stood just outside, huddled under the narrow cover as the neon “Closed” sign flickered quietly in the window.

Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the sky. “I take back everything I ever said about romantic rain scenes in movies. This is miserable.”

Steve pulled a small, very very sad-looking umbrella from his backpack. “I brought this. But it’s… yeah.”

You looked at it. “That’s a two-person umbrella, Steve.”

“Three, if we’re friendly,” He offered, holding it up between you all.

Bucky snorted. “I don’t mind getting a little wet.” Then, with a wink your way, “Unless someone wants to get friendly.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt warm. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“I’ll survive,” He grinned. “But I’ll complain the entire time.”

You glanced from him to Steve, then sighed. “Fine. Scoot over.”

Somehow, you ended up in the middle with Steve on your right and Bucky on your left. Your shoulders bumping as the three of you navigated the narrow sidewalk beneath the umbrella’s barely-there coverage. Rain still splashed across your boots, soaked the edge of their sleeves, but you didn’t really mind.

Not when Bucky kept cracking terrible jokes about how this was definitely the origin story for a very wet, very tragic indie film. Not when Steve kept leaning just a little closer to keep the umbrella steady over you. Not even when your hands brushed once, then twice, then lingered.

Your dorm wasn’t far. Just past the library and through the row of tall sycamore trees that lined the main walkway. It should’ve taken five minutes.

It took twenty.

Not because you were walking slowly (though you were), or because Bucky got distracted by every glowing window (which he did), but because none of you seemed in any rush to get to the end.

Steve was the first to break the silence as you neared the edge of campus.

“So… do you always do closing shifts?”

You tilted your head. “Most nights.”

“Kind of late to be walking back alone, don’t you think?” He asked carefully.

“Kind of late to be hanging around the café every night,” Your voice was light as you shot back playfully.

He smiled. “Touché.”

Bucky smirked. “We like the vibe.”

“Oh? The coffee?”

He looked at you, serious for a moment. “No. Just the vibe.”

You held his gaze longer than you meant to, heartbeat quickening. Steve’s fingers brushed yours again, deliberate this time, and you swore your breath caught.

The trees overhead rustled with wind. The rain, gentler now, tapped softly on the umbrella like it, too, was listening in.

You cleared your throat as your dorm came into view, its warm yellow lights glowing through the fog.

“Well. This is my stop,” You said quietly, turning to face them beneath the umbrella.

Steve nodded, but didn’t step back. “Thanks for letting us help tonight.”

“Thanks for staying.”

There was a pause.

Bucky looked like he wanted to say something more, but didn’t. Instead, he stepped forward and brushed a raindrop off your cheek with the back of his finger gently, like it was an accident, even though it wasn’t.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked.

You nodded. “Same time?”

Steve smiled. “We’ll be there.”

And then, because it was easier than saying anything else, you turned and walked up the steps to your building, only glancing back once.

They were still standing there, shoulder to shoulder under that tiny umbrella. Making sure you got in safe before heading to their own dorm, teasing each other the whole way back.

-

Sleep didn’t come easily.

You laid in bed long after midnight staring at the ceiling. Your pillow was cool against your cheek as your thoughts were tangled in the warmth of the moments earlier that day and the quiet laughter you shared.

It wasn’t just that they walked you home. Or that Steve looked at you like you were worth protecting. Or that Bucky had touched your face so softly you could still feel it hours later.

It was everything. The quiet between you. The way they filled the silence without crowding it. The way you felt seen, not just as a barista or a student or some tired person behind a register, but as you.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

So you didn’t do anything. You showed up for your shift the next afternoon like always. Your hair was still damp from your rushed shower as you wore an apron that was only half-tied. Caffeine already whispered promises of survival.

The café was slower today. The sky was gray but unthreatening. The air smelled like rain that might come back, if only to keep you on your toes.

Steve and Bucky didn’t show up right away. A small part of you worried they wouldn’t. Maybe last night had meant more to you than it did to them.

But then you heard the bell above the door chimed.

You didn’t have to look up to know it was them.

Steve entered first, holding the door for Bucky, who strolled in like he owned the place (which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth with how many drinks he ordered a week). They were dressed down wearing hoodies and jeans, student backpacks slung casually over shoulders, but their presence still shifted the room like sunlight through a window.

You met them at the counter, hands already reaching for their usual orders.

“Afternoon,” Steve greeted, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re late,” You said, teasing. “I was about to give your booth to someone else.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You’d betray us like that?”

“Rent isn’t free. Loyalty has limits.”

He smirked. “Guess we’ll have to earn it back.”

You turned to start their drinks, only to find a folded piece of paper under your cup they had slipped when you reached for the cups to fulfill their order moments prior. Your brows pulled together.

Steve gave you a look, mischief and nerves tucked behind his smile. “It’s nothing. Just… open it.”

You wiped your fingers on a towel and unfolded the note.

Movie night. Our place at 6 on Friday. Pizza, bad commentary, and a couch big enough for three. Say yes. – Bucky (and Steve, but I’m the cooler one)

Your fingers paused on the paper, glancing at the address scribbled at the bottom. You looked up at them slowly.

Steve shrugged, just a little. “Only if you want.”

Bucky leaned on the counter, chin in his hand. “No pressure. Just… thought you might want a night off.”

You stared at them. These two men both bright and ridiculous, kind and impossible were standing there like they hadn’t just turned your whole week upside down with a handwritten note.

You tried to play it cool.

“Depends,” You said lightly. “What movie?”

Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky looked at you.

Bucky grinned. “You’ll just have to see.”

-

You spent most of Friday pretending it was just any other night.

You didn’t put extra effort into your outfit. (Except for the third shirt you changed into before leaving but that didn’t count.) You didn’t check your phone every ten minutes. (Except you absolutely did.) And you definitely didn’t spend a full fifteen minutes debating whether to bring snacks or let them handle it. (You settled on bringing cookies. Homemade. But again, not a big deal.)

Their apartment wasn’t far. A short walk off campus, tucked above an old bookstore with ivy growing along the brick walls and a buzzer that didn’t work unless you pressed it just right.

Bucky answered the door. He was barefoot, wearing soft joggers and a t-shirt that looked like it had been washed a hundred times. His hair was a little messy, eyes bright.

“You made it,” He smiled, stepping back to let you in.

Steve was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, pulling a pizza from the oven. “Hey!” He called out, grinning when he saw you. “Perfect timing.”

The place was cozy with bookshelves lining the living room wall, posters of vintage comics and cheesy movie prints framed above a massive couch that had clearly seen better days. A blanket was already tossed over one end, and two mugs of something warm steamed on the coffee table.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” You set your cookies down on the table.

Steve waved you off. “You work too much. You deserve a night off.”

“And,” Bucky added, flopping onto the couch, “You deserve to know how terrible Steve is at picking movies.”

“Bold talk for someone who suggested Sharknado 3,” Steve shot back.

“Exactly. It’s a masterpiece.”

You laughed, already feeling the tension in your chest ease.

Eventually, the pizza was sliced, drinks were topped off, and the three of you settled onto the couch. Steve sat on your right, Bucky on your left, and it didn’t take long for knees to brush, for shoulders to touch, for the space between you to shrink until it barely existed at all.

The movie played, albeit half-forgotten, while the room was filled with lazy commentary and sleepy warmth. Bucky stretched out with his feet on the table, arm draped casually along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder. Steve leaned forward now and then to refill your drink or offer another slice, always gentle, always looking at you like he meant it.

You were full, warm, and softened in a way you hadn’t expected.

Halfway through the second movie (something terrible with robots and space cowboys), you shifted to get more comfortable. Steve moved with you, letting you lean just slightly into his side.

And then Bucky did the same. His fingers found yours on the blanket all tentative and light, and for one moment, no one moved.

Not a word was said.

But your fingers curled around his. And Steve’s hand settled on your knee, thumb brushing slowly. And it felt like something unspoken had finally been understood. You didn’t know what this was, this tangle of limbs and comfort or the way your chest ached in the best possible way, but you weren’t afraid of it.

Not here. Not with them.

Even as the movie kept playing and the leftover pizza grew cold, none of you moved.

-

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. You hadn’t mean to and neither did they. You woke up not in your own bed and not alone. But you weren’t in a rush to change any of that.

The living room was quiet, filled with the pale blue light of early morning seeping through half-closed curtains. The TV had long since gone dark, the screen reflecting only faint movement from the rain streaking the windows.

Your head rested on Steve’s chest, steady and warm. One of his arms was wrapped around you, loose but certain, holding you there like he never wanted you to move.

On your other side, Bucky sat slumped at an angle, legs draped half off the couch, mouth parted slightly as he snored, quiet and completely unbothered by how awkwardly he was folded. His fingers were still tangled loosely with yours.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t, maybe. Your body was tucked into theirs like a puzzle piece, your heart beating too loud in a space that had become too quiet. It should’ve been awkward. Too intimate, too vulnerable, or too much. But it wasn’t.

Because it was safe. It was warm too.

Steve stirred beneath you. His thumb began to stroke slowly up and down your arm, just enough to let you know he was awake.

“Morning,” He murmured. His voice was rough from sleep, a little quiet.

“Hi,” You whispered.

You both glanced toward Bucky. He was still out cold, lips slightly parted, hair tousled like a storm. You smiled without meaning to.

Steve caught it. His voice was softer now, barely a breath: “He really likes you.”

Your gaze flicked to him. “You say that like it’s a secret.”

“It’s not,” He said. “Not to me.”

“And you?” You asked carefully, heart skipping.

He didn’t look away. “Me too.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “You both… talked about this?”

Steve nodded, slow and honest. “We weren’t sure how you felt. We didn’t want to push.”

You looked between them. Steve, awake and steady. Bucky, still asleep but even then, he felt familiar and safe. You thought about the nights at the café, the walks, the note, the night before, the way neither of them ever really asked for more than you were ready to give.

And the way you’d wanted more anyway.

“I don’t know how this works,” You said softly.

Steve smiled. “We figure it out together.”

It was Bucky who shifted then groggy and blinking, mumbling something unintelligible as he stretched and then promptly smacked Steve in the face with his arm.

“Watch it,” Steve said with a quiet laugh.

“Wha…? What time-” Bucky rubbed his face, squinting at the light. “God, why am I on a couch. Who let me fall asleep like this?”

You raised a brow. “You literally said, ‘I’m not moving. This couch is my home now.’”

Bucky blinked at you. Then at Steve. Then at your very obvious shared position on the couch.

A slow, sleepy smirk spread across his face. “Did we finally say it?”

Steve gave him a dry look that clearly implied he did all the work. “You didn’t say anything. You drooled a little though.”

Bucky reached over and flicked Steve’s shoulder. “Shut up.” Then he turned to you. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

He leaned in a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His grin softened, almost turning shy for a moment before it shifted bold and certain. He leaned in the rest of the way and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed nor was it loud.

It was soft, like the first word in a language none of you had dared to speak before.

And when Steve kissed you after, slow and reverent like he’d been waiting forever, you realized something else:

You weren’t falling for them. You already did long before you realized it. And they fell just as hard for you too.

It’s the angst I bet… Thank you so much for reading!!! ♡

Falling For You, Again and Again

Summary: Each time you "die" and return, you fall in love with Bucky all over again in different ways. Bucky sees a new version of you every time, but he’s always his same self. Each time, you both always find your ways back to each other, but you never know it's happened before. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power of immortality. However, each death erases your memory of what you knew and who you were before. ANGST.

Word Count: 2.6k+

A/N: I wasn’t even sure if I could classify this under this series. However, it’s still an enhanced ability. Also, I’m hoping y’all like this. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

The first time you came back to life, it took three days. You woke in a hospital morgue, shivering under a white sheet, the taste of salt and ash on your tongue. You had no memory of your name, no recollection of what had killed you, and no sense of identity.

The only thing you possessed was a quiet panic and the sharp, cold awareness that you should not be here. You stumbled out into the world with no guidance, no answers, and one inexplicable truth: you couldn’t die.

You learned the pattern eventually. Every time you died whether by accident or violence, sickness or sacrifice, you returned. The process was inconsistent though. Sometimes, it took hours. Other times, days or weeks. Each time, you emerged in your body just as it was before death, seemingly untouched… but your memories, every one of them, were stripped away.

You couldn’t remember the name of the man who’d died holding your hand on a battlefield. Or the child you once saved from drowning. Or the language you’d spoken fluently last time you were alive. Every death reset your soul like a blank canvas, and the world became something you had to re-learn.

Sometimes people told you things about who you were, where you’d been, but they felt like borrowed stories. You smiled politely. Pretended. Sometimes even fell in love with the past versions of yourself they described. But you never felt like her.

The only exception was him.

The first time you saw Bucky Barnes, it was in a coffee shop in D.C. You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know yours, either. He was sitting alone reading something dense and battered yet you were inexplicably drawn to him, like an invisible thread pulled you into his orbit. You stood in line behind him without realizing, your fingers twitching as if remembering a touch you’d never felt. He glanced back. His eyes locked on yours.

He stared like he’d seen a ghost.

You didn’t speak,not then but you sat across from him twenty minutes later because you felt you should. Because your heart beat faster when he smiled, and it shouldn’t have. Because he seemed to know you, and you… you wanted to know why.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He asked, softly, one hand wrapped around a warm mug.

You shook your head. “I don’t even remember me.”

He swallowed hard, staring at the steam between you. “I think you’ve died again.”

You didn’t ask how he knew. You just believed him.

It was like that every time.

You’d die. Come back. Then forget.

And somehow, Bucky would find you. Or you’d find him. A different place. A different life. But the same pull. You might meet him at a bookstore, brushing fingertips over the same worn copy of Catch-22. Or in a combat zone, both fighting for someone else’s cause. Or on a rainy street corner where he offered you a shared umbrella without knowing if you’d remember him this time. Sometimes you’d fall in love quickly. Sometimes slowly. But always, deeply.

He tried not to hold on too tightly. He never told you too much too fast. He let you find your own path, even if it meant losing you all over again.

But every version of you looked at him like you’d known him forever. Every version of you fell in love with him, as if your soul remembered even when your mind couldn’t.

And that was the tragedy of it. For him, it was always a reunion. For you, it was always the beginning.

-

Rain fell in soft curtains over the city, blurring the glass of the bookstore window and washing the world into dull, dreamlike greys. Inside, the scent of old paper, dust, and aging wood filled the quiet. Bucky sat in the far corner, a thick book open in his lap, though he wasn’t really reading. His fingers had gone still on the page twenty minutes ago.

He’d spent the past eleven months scouring D.C. by checking shelters, hospitals, cafés, the Metro; anywhere someone who had nothing might go. Most of the time, you always seemed to come back near where you died, and though he didn’t know exactly where that had been this time, instinct had guided him here.

The bookstore had become his checkpoint. A place of stillness where he could let the anxiety press against his ribs without showing on his face. He came every Sunday, pretending to read, waiting for a flicker of something to pull the world back into motion.

Then the door opened.

The bell jingled, and cold air swept in, heavy with rain and city smoke. A figure stepped inside, hunched slightly with hair damp and clinging to their cheeks. You looked up, blinking against the light, eyes wide and searching.

Bucky went still.

You’d returned.

Even before you saw him, even before you reached for the books on the nearest shelf, he knew. It wasn’t just the way you looked even though your face never changed. It was something else. A tension in your posture. A flicker of familiarity in your eyes that didn’t belong to this version of you, not yet.

You drifted further into the store, trailing fingers over spines as though pulled by instinct. He stood slowly, book forgotten on the chair behind him, as his heart hammered in his chest.

Then, like fate nudging you into place, your hand stopped on a copy of Catch-22.

It was always that book.

You ran your hand over the cover like it meant something you couldn’t name before your gaze flickered over to his. “Have we met?” You asked in a soft and uncertain tone. “I’m sorry… I feel like I should know you.”

God, it hit him like a punch every time.

Bucky’s voice caught in his throat before he forced a quiet, “Yeah. We’ve met before.”

You smiled politely, a little nervous. But your eyes lingered on his face like they were trying to etch something into memory that didn’t exist yet. “Do you… do you know who I am?”

He nodded. “I do.”

And he wouldn’t say more, not yet. He never did. You needed to come to it in your own time. So he took a step back, gestured to the armchair in the reading corner. “Do you want to sit for a while?”

You blinked at him, then at the chair, as if the idea of resting had never occurred to you. Slowly, you nodded.

“I’d like that.”

You stayed for two hours. Browsing, reading, or asking cautious gentle questions that Bucky answered with care. You didn’t remember dying. You never did. But you’d woken up in a hospital two weeks ago, no ID, no fingerprints on file. A social worker had told you your memory loss might be trauma-induced. You didn’t tell them about the dreams, about the way your hands shook when you tried to sleep. Or how you sometimes stared at your reflection and didn’t feel like it belonged to you.

Bucky listened quietly, never once pressing. He never once was asking you to be someone you weren’t ready to become again.

And just before you left, you turned to him. “I know this sounds strange, but… I feel safe with you. Like I’ve known you before.”

He swallowed hard, nodding. “You have.”

You opened your mouth like you wanted to ask more but didn’t.

Instead, you said, “I think I’d like to see you again.”

He smiled. “I’ll be here.”

You hesitated one more moment, then added, “Maybe I’ll come back next week… and you can tell me a story.”

He watched you go, heart aching.

He had hundreds. All of them about you.

You came back the next Sunday, just like you said you would. Same bookstore with the same faint, hesitant smile. This time, your coat was dry and your hair was pulled back. There was a small bandage on your knuckle from some accident you wouldn’t remember. You hadn’t told Bucky that, but he noticed. He always noticed the small things.

The two of you sat in the corner by the fogged-up window, and Bucky brought you tea from the shop next door without asking what kind you liked. He already knew. You took it with a grateful murmur, sipping slowly before your eyes flickered up to him.

“You said last week that you knew me,” You spoke cautiously but curious. “How? Did we work together or…?”

He studied you for a moment, then looked down at the teacup in his hands. “Not work. We were close, for a long time.”

You tilted your head, watching him. “Were we… lovers?”

There it was. The question that always came eventually. He looked back up. Your expression wasn’t flirtatious, it was vulnerable. Searching.

“Yes,” He answered quietly. “Many times.”

Your breath hitched just a fraction. And then, “You say that like we’ve done this before.”

He hesitated. “Because we have.”

You stared, frowning. “Have what? Met?”

“Fallen in love.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. Then you looked down at your hands. “Is that why I feel… strange around you? Like I should be afraid to get too close, but also like I want to?”

“Probably,” He laughed softly. “Most versions of you have that same feeling. You never remember me, but something in you always recognizes me. I don’t know if it’s instinct, or your soul remembering, or just… whatever’s left behind.”

You were silent, absorbing that. Then, in a quiet voice, “How many times?”

Bucky met your eyes. “Forty-eight.”

You looked away sharply. “Forty-eight deaths.”

“That I know of.”

“And I don’t remember any of them?”

“No.”

You stared out the window, your fingers tightening around the mug. “Then how can you… how do you not hate me for forgetting?”

He leaned forward, voice steady. “Because I remember you. All of you, and because every version of you is worth meeting again.”

Tears welled up in your eyes without control as you wiped them quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry. I don’t know why that made me-“

“It happens sometimes,” He reassured gently. “Your body remembers things your mind doesn’t. Emotions bleed through.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him and something in your chest ached. Something deep and familiar.

“Tell me a story,” You whispered. “Tell me something about her- about me. A version you knew.”

Bucky nodded.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small, battered notebook. The leather was fraying at the edges, the pages slightly warped from time and tears. He set it on the table, his hand resting on the cover.

“You used to hum in your sleep,” He said quietly. “Sometimes it was a lullaby, sometimes it was nothing at all. But it was always soft. And when you had nightmares or when the dreams got too heavy, you’d say my name before you woke up.”

You stared at the journal, transfixed.

Bucky’s voice didn’t tremble, but there was a break in it now. “That version of you was terrified of losing herself. You left notes, voice recordings, instructions. But every time you came back, you were still a stranger to yourself.”

You reached for the journal before you could stop yourself.

“Can I… read them?”

His hand remained on the cover for a moment longer, then he slowly slid it toward you.

“You can.”

You took it carefully. Reverently. Like it was something sacred.

Every time you left his world, he added another entry in that journal and kept it close with him. It was as if to keep a piece of you nearby when he couldn’t find you right away. The journal was heavier than it looked.

Not in weight, but in presence. It felt lived in, full of love and plagued with grief. You held it in your lap like something precious and terrifying, afraid that turning the page would tear a hole in your chest you didn’t know how to close.

You glanced up at Bucky. He hadn’t moved as he watched you with the quiet patience of someone who had waited through storms you couldn’t remember. You looked down again as your fingers brushed over the leather cover. There were marks, faint indents from a pen pressed too hard. Some pages were dog-eared. One corner had a smear of dried paint. Or maybe blood.

“I don’t understand,” You whispered. “Why would you keep doing this? Why would you…wait for me? For this?”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “Because even when it breaks me, you’re still worth every second I get.”

Your mouth opened slightly. No sound came out. Instead, you opened the journal.

The first page held a drawing. A sketch in faded pencil, your face, or someone who looked like you. The features were careful, practiced. You were looking down in the image, eyes shadowed, but peaceful. Beneath it, in neat handwriting:

11th time: She liked to paint near windows in sunlight. Said it made her feel alive. She told me to keep going, even when she was gone. I didn’t know how. Still don’t, but I’m trying.

Your heart pounded.

You turned the page.

31st time: She left me a voicemail before she died. Said if I ever found her again and she didn’t remember me, to tell her it was okay. That she was stronger than her forgetting. That love wasn’t something the body forgot, it was something that echoed in the soul and bones.

And the next:

42nd: She came back scared. She didn’t trust anyone, not even herself. But the second I said her name, she cried. She didn’t know why, just said it felt like home.

Your hand shook as you flipped further.

Tiny mementos were tucked inside throughout the journal. A movie ticket. A torn page from a crossword puzzle. A faded photo of the two of you, you laughing with your arms around him, eyes bright with a love you didn’t remember but suddenly longed for like oxygen.

And then… your voice.

Not now. Not this version. But one of you from before. It was a clipped audio, barely two minutes long, the file embedded into a tiny recorder taped to a page.

You pressed play.

“Hi. I know you’re me. Or some part of me. Or… maybe you’re someone entirely different now. That’s okay. You don’t have to remember everything. I just want you to know he’s safe. His voice is safe. His hands are safe. If you don’t remember anything else, remember that.”

You felt the sob before you heard it. Your hand flew to your mouth as your chest crumpled in on itself. You had said this. You had known you’d forget. And you’d wanted to leave yourself something, some thread to hold on to.

Across from you, Bucky didn’t speak. His eyes were glassy, but he didn’t interrupt. He never did. He let you come to him, always.

The journal was shaking in your hands. “I don’t know how to live like this,” You said, broken. “How can I be me if I’m always being rewritten?”

He leaned forward, voice low and certain. “Because no matter how many times the world erases you… you always find your way back.”

You looked at him again and something in you moved. A thread, a spark. Not a memory but an emotion. A warmth like sunlight through your body. It didn’t bring images, names, or facts. But it brought trust. Safety. The echo of something lost but not gone.

“Stay with me,” You pleaded in a whisper.

“I always do,” He said, steady.

And for the first time, in this lifetime, you reached for his hand. Not out of obligation. Not from the ghost of some former self. But because your heart, untouched by memory, still knew him.

And Bucky held on like he had every time before.

Does anyone have any ideas or requests they wanna see turned into a fic? Any sort of AU, pairing, line, scenario, idea, genre, etc. I want to A. Challenge myself, B. See what you guys like, and C. Find something to overcome this writer’s block I’m facing…

See my masterlist for what I’ve already written <3