Stray Magic
Stray Magic
Summary: After your last incident of being cursed into a cat, you now stumble, quite literally, across the ability to shift into a feline form whenever you want. A lot of benefits and amusing situations have resulted from your newfound ability. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Word Count: 1.7k+
A/N: A continuation of the original sorta with more cat shenanigans. Might turn it into a series. Happy reading!!!
Main Masterlist | Original Fic
You swore you'd never touch another cursed artifact. You swore. But then Wanda said she needed help organizing the weird magical storeroom under the compound, and someone (you) tripped over an ancient feline statue with glowing gemstone eyes and an inscription that translated roughly to: "Blessing of the Dual Form."
Sure, it sounded cool.
Until ten minutes later, when your body shrank, your vision sharpened, and your very human yelp turned into a confused meow.
Bucky found you pawing at your clothes in a confused heap on the floor of the kitchen. Again.
“No. Nope. I am not doing another week of this,” He groaned.
You squeaked indignantly and padded over, tapping his boot with one paw.
“What, is this your thing now?” He asked, looking down. “You just… turn into a cat whenever you're bored?”
You nodded dramatically, then sneezed. Cat noses were weird.
It took three hours, a call to Wong, and a consultation with Strange to figure out the truth: the statue had permanently bonded to your soul. You now had the ability to shift into a cat whenever you wanted. No time limit. No cooldown that they were aware of. Just poof. Cat.
Bucky looked like he was going to short-circuit. “So what, you’re like a superhero shapeshifter now? Are you gonna be on missions like this? What’s the strategy? Distract the enemy with your toe beans?”
You gave him a deadpan stare before jumping onto the table and promptly curling up on a warm pizza box like it was your throne.
“You are going to abuse this, aren’t you?” He muttered.
You chirped.
The next following days, you started turning into a cat for the dumbest reasons:
Didn’t want to have a conversation? Cat. Someone asked you to do dishes? Cat. Avoiding a training session? Instant cat. Wanted to nap in a sunny spot on the windowsill with zero responsibilities? Meow.
The first time Bucky caught you turning mid-sentence just to avoid answering a question, he stared in disbelief as a smug little feline face stared up at him.
“Oh, no. You don’t get to cat your way out of everything.”
You blinked slowly, purring just to mess with him.
Later, he found you curled up in his bed, in his hoodie, making biscuits like you owned the place.
“I don’t know if I should be concerned or impressed,” He mumbled, watching you knead the pillow with your tiny murder mittens.
Eventually, you started using your powers for good. Sort of.
You helped sneak into tight spaces on stealth missions. You distracted bad guys by running across their feet in a blur of fluff and chaos. You even learned how to meow loudly enough to trip motion sensors on command. It was kind of amazing.
But you also definitely turned into a cat during a briefing just to curl in Bucky’s lap and nap through the whole thing. He pretended to be annoyed, but everyone saw how he started bringing an extra hoodie just to drape over you like a blanket.
“You’re lucky I like cats,” He mumbled, scratching behind your ears during a debrief.
You stretched, tail flicking, then headbutted his hand with practiced affection.
"You're even worse than when you were human," He added.
You meowed innocently.
He rolled his eyes but didn't stop petting you.
When you weren’t going on missions or avoiding unwanted situations, you got bored. Extremely. So, you got into some mischief.
You weren’t trying to prank anyone.
Okay. That was a lie. You were absolutely trying to prank everyone. Your new cat powers were just too convenient to resist.
Your first target was Sam.
He left his lunch unattended for five seconds. Rookie move. You slipped into cat form, trotted over, and started dragging a chicken tender off the plate with all the confidence of a thief in the night.
Sam walked in right as you jumped down from the counter with your prize.
“Hey- HEY! Get back here, you tiny demon!”
You zoomed out of the kitchen with the tender in your mouth, tail high like a flag of victory. Sam chased you halfway across the compound before Bucky stopped him.
“Let it go,” Bucky said without looking up from his book. “She does this now.”
Sam glared. “You enable this.”
Bucky shrugged. “She has powers. We adapt.”
Your second target was Tony. He had been boasting that no living creature could break into his lab.
You took that as challenge.
You slipped in through the vents, turned into a cat mid-air, and landed with the silent grace of a furry ninja. Ten minutes later, Tony walked in to find a cat wearing one of his Arc Reactor cores like a glittery collar and a sticky note on his desk that read:
"Your security sucks. - Cat burglar :3”
Tony stared. Then he rolled his eyes and started slow-clapping before promptly kicking you out, muttering something along the lines of “I hate that I’m impressed.”
Your third target was Steve. Honestly, there wasn’t much you had to do for him.
You waited until he was giving a serious, very Captain America-style speech to a group of new recruits in the training room.
You padded in, tail swaying, and flopped dramatically onto the mat in front of him.
Steve tried to continue, but you rolled onto your back and made a dramatic mrrrow.
One of the recruits burst out laughing. Steve paused, looked down, and sighed.
“You done?”
You yawned, stood up, and trotted off like nothing happened. Steve looked over at Bucky, who was leaning against the wall, clearly fighting a grin.
“This is your fault,” Steve said.
Bucky just raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who gave her magic powers.”
-
A week later, you were with the team on a stealth recon mission infiltrating a hidden Hydra base. Everything was going smoothly until it wasn’t. The ventilation system collapsed during your approach, sealing the entrance tunnel. Tony and Sam were on the other side, and the only path forward was a narrow vent shaft no human could fit through.
Everyone looked at you. You looked at the vent.
Then you sighed and shifted into your cat form.
You squeezed through like butter, tail flicking as you navigated a maze of cold metal and darkness. You dropped into a server room, located the control panel, and with some very creative paw-smashing, unlocked the emergency override.
Back outside, the sealed doors hissed open. Bucky walked in just as you leapt from the vent and landed in his arms like a smug little hero.
The others stared.
“She just… did that,” Sam said. “She cat-ninja’d the mission.”
You chirped proudly in Bucky’s arms.
Steve looked mildly bewildered, but nodded. “Good work, team. And… cat.”
Bucky scratched behind your ears.
“You know,” He murmured, “if you weren’t so annoying, I’d actually be impressed.”
You headbutted his chin and purred like a lawnmower.
“Yeah, yeah. You win.”
-
While your powers were good for pranking others and missions, you were not supposed to turn into a cat in public.
That was rule number one. The most important rule. The rule you insisted you could totally follow when Bucky warned you, “One slip, and someone’s gonna try to adopt you.”
But the city was loud, it was hot, someone stepped on your foot, and the moment of panic hit, poof: cat mode. You’d slinked under a bench to hide and tried to shift back… only to realize something was off. Maybe it was stress, maybe magic hated you, but either way you were stuck.
And then a kind old woman spotted you.
“Oh, you poor thing!” She gasped, scooping you up before you could bolt. “Where’s your owner?”
You tried to meow in protest, but she tucked you into her tote bag like a smuggled muffin and carried you away.
Bucky, meanwhile, had only stepped into the café for two minutes. He came back out with your coffee and you were gone.
He stared at the empty spot on the bench. Then at the faint pile of your discarded hoodie behind it. Then at the tiny tuft of fur stuck to the sleeve.
“Oh, come on.”
Thirty minutes later, you sat in a glass enclosure at a pet store. A pet store. On display.
Your ears twitched as a child tapped on the glass. The name on the little card outside your enclosure?
"Peanut. Age: 2. Found near 5th and Main. Very fluffy. A little grumpy."
Grumpy?! You were raging. You’d tried to escape twice, but the staff were unnervingly good at cat-wrangling.
A bell jingled near the entrance. You sat up immediately. Then, like a vision, there he was.
Bucky Barnes. Leather jacket, metal arm, and classic murder expression on his face. He scanned the store, locked eyes with you, and mouthed, What the hell?
You pawed at the glass frantically. Rescue was at hand.
He took a quick breath as if to mentally prepare himself for the absurdity of the situation before stalking up to the counter. “I need to… buy that cat.”
The cashier blinked. “Oh, Peanut? She’s very popular today. Already has two applications in-“
Bucky slapped a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. “Now she has one.”
They stared. “Sir, we don’t really-“
Another fifty. “I’m adopting her. Today.”
The cashier finally relented. “Do you… want a carrier or..-“
“No.”
Five minutes later, you were tucked under Bucky’s arm like a furry football as he power-walked down the block, muttering.
“You promised me you’d stop turning into a cat in public. And what happens? You disappear for half an hour and suddenly I’m buying you back from a place with chew toys and squeaky mice.”
You meowed apologetically.
He stopped and looked down at you. A grin appeared on his expression accompanying a smug tone. “You were so close to getting adopted by a five-year-old. You’d have had a glitter collar and a stroller.”
You shuddered at the mental image.
When you finally shifted back behind an alley dumpster (and yes, it was a little gross), you stood there sheepishly, putting on the oversized hoodie and extra clothes he brought.
When you finished, he turned back and handed you the iced coffee he’d carried the whole way.
“You,” He said, “are never living this down.”
“…Thanks for buying me back.”
He smirked. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you in the window. You looked adorable in that little hammock.”
You groaned.
He added, “Peanut.”
You chased him down the sidewalk swearing vengeance.
More Posts from Orellazalonia and Others
Disastrous Dates
Summary: Bucky wanted to take you on an actual date. It was meant to be sweet. Normal. Quiet. Unfortunately, you were involved. So naturally, it was none of those things. He tried two more times only to have them go as successfully and normal as the first. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Word Count: 2.9k+
A/N: Not going to lie, I had just written the first date to be a blurb or super short one-shot; but I wondered what the other dates would look like and thought it’d be fun to explore more of reader’s chaotic side. I’ll explore more of the dumb mixed with genius side in later works. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Prequel | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
The night started with promise.
You wore pants that didn’t have a hole in them, Bucky wore a real shirt with buttons, and neither of you were bleeding. Progress. He even opened the car door for you, all old-fashioned charm and tight-lipped grumbling, and for a brief, shimmering second, it felt like something resembling normal.
Dinner had… potential.
You sat across from him at a tiny Italian place, candlelight flickering between you, and for maybe two full minutes, it was peaceful. He was smiling, barely, but it counted and you weren’t doing anything weird yet. You even managed a sincere, almost romantic sentence:
“You’ve got great hands,” You said, eyes on his fingers wrapped around a wine glass. “Very stabby. I like that in a man.”
He blinked at you. “You’re so lucky I love you.”
Then came the moment. The Moment. The part of the evening where fate, or physics, or your godforsaken inability to just exist normally kicked in.
You were halfway through telling Bucky about the time you mistook a street magician for a real sorcerer and tried to recruit him for the Avengers when you leaned a little too far back in your chair to demonstrate his “mystical flair.”
And promptly tipped the entire thing to the ground. You hit the floor with the grace of a brick dropped from a tenth-story window, one leg in the air, one hand somehow still holding your water glass like a trophy.
Bucky didn’t move. He just stared down at you.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” You wheezed. “Just checking the integrity of the floor.” Still upside down, you added, “Feels solid.”
The waiter cautiously stepped over your foot to refill Bucky’s wine.
You climbed back into your chair with all the dignity of a feral goose being escorted out of a five-star hotel, hair sticking up on one side, eyes bright with chaos. Bucky was covering his mouth with one hand. You weren’t sure if he was horrified or trying not to laugh. Possibly both.
“So,” You said, stabbing your pasta like it had wronged you. “You still in love with me or did I kill it?”
Bucky chuckled, actually chuckled, which most would say was rarer than a solar eclipse.
“I think I love you more, honestly. It’s like dating a walking concussion.”
You grinned and twirled spaghetti around your fork with entirely too much enthusiasm. Some of it hit the wall.
“You’re the one who kissed me, barnacle boy.”
“I regret nothing.”
He reached across the table to brush a strand of sauce-streaked hair from your face. It was a soft moment. A brief oasis of genuine affection in a night otherwise ruled by chaos and misfortune.
Then the power in the restaurant flickered. Then it went out. Then the fire alarm shrieked.
And suddenly you were outside in the cold with thirty other strangers, still holding your plate of pasta like a newborn, as a kitchen fire was swiftly extinguished by firemen who looked way too calm about the situation.
You turned to Bucky. “So. Wanna make out in front of the fire truck?”
He looked at you, wind ruffling his hair, eyes full of baffled affection and suppressed concern. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Romantic, huh?”
“No,” He wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side. “But you’re mine.”
And as the fire alarm was silenced and the restaurant staff handed out apology coupons, you stood there in the dark, your hair full of marinara, your date fully ruined, and your chest aching with the quiet joy of being adored exactly as you are.
You leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Next time, we’re going mini golfing.”
Bucky looked down at you like you’d just promised war. “God, help me.”
-
It was supposed to be the perfect redemption for your extremely chaotic dinner date.
Mini-golf was nothing too fancy. No exploding kitchens or fire trucks. Just a tiny course, soft pastel colors, and some hole-in-one shenanigans. Simple and relaxing. No wildlife to ruin everything.
Except of course, that would have been far too easy.
Bucky had already placed a sensible hat on his head, the kind of hat that gave off “I am mature, responsible, and don’t run into the street to tackle strangers” vibes. You, on the other hand, were rocking a neon pink visor and an obnoxiously bright ‘#1’ foam finger. You’d already declared yourself the reigning champion of the entire course, much to Bucky’s dismay.
“You realize we’re just here to have fun, right?” Bucky said, trying to ignore how you were methodically measuring the first hole as if it were the final stage of some Olympic event.
“Fun?” You asked, like he’d asked you to consider doing a jigsaw puzzle without a single corner piece. “We’re here to dominate, Barnes.”
He sighed, adjusting his grip on the golf club. “Just don’t do anything weird, okay?”
You flashed him a grin, all teeth and wild energy. “No promises.”
It was truly fine at first. You took your shot with the same calculated chaos you approached everything in life. The ball rolled and then… bounced off the tiny windmill. It ricocheted off the back of the frog statue, hit the clown’s nose, and shot straight into the hole.
“Hole in one!” You stood there, arms wide, as if you had just accomplished some great feat of athleticism.
Bucky, standing next to the hole, stared in stunned silence. “How…?”
“I’m just that good,” You said smugly, doing a weird celebratory dance that probably looked more like an epileptic seizure than a victory jig.
He was still staring in disbelief. “You… you’re not allowed to do that again.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re impossible,” He muttered, walking over and adjusting the grip on his own club near the ball. His shot was much more controlled. The ball landed neatly in the hole.
You blinked, slowly clapping. “Wow. Look at you. Mr. Mature.”
Bucky tossed you a mock glare, but he was still smiling. He wasn’t mad. He was just in constant disbelief at the fact that you could turn something so simple into a disaster zone.
You made your way to the next hole, where you decided this time, you were really going to focus. No distractions. No wild swings. No ricocheting frogs. You lined up the ball in a perfect stance. You took a deep breath. And then… you flipped the club completely by accident, sending the ball soaring across the green and directly into another windmill.
There was a pause before it stopped right at the entrance. It was as if the windmill itself had considered eating it, but ultimately rejected the offer.
You blinked, stunned by your own ineptitude for a moment. Bucky was staring at the windmill, then at you.
You turned to him, grinning widely. “See? It’s all part of my highly developed strategy. Confuse the course, confuse the ball. Keep ‘em guessing.”
He just sighed. “I swear to God, I don’t know why I’m here.”
“You’re here because you love me,” You replied, smirking. “It’s either that or a deep-seated addiction to chaos.”
“And because you wouldn’t let me leave,” Bucky added with a smirk. He took his next turn with more care, carefully positioning the ball and then knocking it straight into the hole.
“Okay, showoff,” You teased, trying to focus for real this time. “Let me get one in before you start your victory lap.”
-
But this date wasn’t all pure chaos.
For a brief moment, when you finally reached the last hole which, mercifully, had no ramps, moving windmills, or surprise rock slides, you did manage a solid shot. The ball rolled smoothly, looking like it had gone into the hole, a perfect arc. For just a second, there was a quiet calm between you two, and Bucky even gave you a small, approving smile.
“Okay, that was impressive,” He admitted, tossing his club aside and walking over to you.
You grinned, still overly proud of yourself. “Told you. You’re welcome for being this good at things.”
Then you turned, just as he reached out to lightly ruffle your hair, and noticed you’d overshot your ball earlier. It had not gone into the hole like it seemed. Instead, it had rolled right into a tiny water hazard at the very edge of the course, and now, a small flock of actual ducks had claimed it as their own.
“No.” You pointed dramatically. “I did not lose to ducks.”
“I’m pretty sure you lost to ducks,” Bucky said, trying to stifle his laughter.
“No, no,” You muttered, brushing off some dirt from your jeans before walking toward the water hazard and began negotiating with the ducks. “I’m gonna need you to give that ball back. I earned it. Respect me.”
Bucky was now watching you with an expression that could only be described as fascinated horror.
“I cannot believe I’m dating someone who’s talking to ducks right now.”
“Well,” YOU called over your shoulder, “I’d just like to point out that you are the one who dragged me here, Barnes. I could be at home with my plants and not having a mental breakdown in front of an audience of feathered assholes.”
One of the ducks made a threatening honk. You took a step back, eyes narrowing. “I’m not scared of you.”
Before Bucky could respond, you had the brilliant idea to “negotiate” by offering them some of your snack chips, which you had brought for “emergency rations.”
It worked. Kind of. The ducks did not care for the chips. Instead, they went on to aggressively peck the bag out of your hands and run off with it.
You stood, defeated. “They betrayed me.”
Bucky walked up, placing his hand on your shoulder in a rare moment of sympathy. “I’ll buy you a new bag of chips, if it makes you feel better.”
“I want a refund,” You said solemnly. “Those ducks will pay for this.”
He chuckled. “You know, I never thought I’d have a moment like this in my life.”
“Where you’re physically ashamed to be seen with me?” You asked innocently.
“You mean where I’m emotionally invested in your safety and happiness? Yeah, that’s the one.”
You smiled at him, your face lighting up, “Well, Barnes,” You winked dramatically, “Consider yourself lucky. I’ll never get this good at mini-golf again. This is a one-time offer.”
“Thank God for that.”
Then, you reached up and kissed him on the cheek, “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet though. I still need my ball back. It was my emotional support ball.”
Bucky’s hand slid down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
And despite the whole, epic mess, the chaotic and dare he say hazardous golf shots, and the birds you swore were plotting your demise, you both ended up sitting in a grassy patch next to the mini-golf course. Bucky pulled out a blanket and the two of you looked up at the stars.
You leaned against him, grinning.
“Next time, we’re going bowling.”
“You’re on.”
-
Bowling was supposed to be a safe option.
No moving windmills. No ducks. No water hazards or miscalculated shots. Just a ball, a lane, and the dream of seeing Bucky try to put spin on his shots, right?
Except nothing is ever that simple with you two.
It started when you walked in, strutting up to the counter like it was the red carpet. You pointed to the most ridiculous neon bowling ball you could find, the one that looked like it had been painted with every color of the rainbow and had no real grip.
Bucky didn’t even question you at first. He just grabbed a more sensible ball and followed you to the lane. He should’ve questioned you.
The first roll was just… spectacular. You swung the ball back and released it with the same dramatic flair you gave everything else. It slid down the lane, wobbling like it was trying to make a run for the emergency exit. The pins saw it coming, too like the inanimate objects were clearly preparing to make their escape. And yet…
Crash.
All of them, knocked down for your first strike.
You threw your hands up, struck a victory pose, and immediately jammed your knee into the ball return mechanism. Bucky watched as you colorfully lectured the machine for getting in the way. He just stared at you for a solid ten seconds before muttering, “Oh no.”
You just grinned at him. “You have to admit, that was impressive.”
“You’re going to cause a bowling alley-wide catastrophe or end in up in the ER.”
“No, no,” You waved him off before giving him finger guns. “It’s fine. We just… need to keep the ball rolling.”
Bucky’s gaze was all kinds of incredulous, but you were already preparing for your next turn, oblivious to the chaos trailing behind you.
The next round was where things really got out of hand.
You decided that the best way to improve your game was to introduce some… unorthodox techniques. Bucky, in a moment of bravery or maybe just a genuine desire to watch you fail, agreed to bowl with a two-handed technique.
“I’ve seen pro bowlers do it,” You said with utmost seriousness. “It’s the future of bowling.”
“What’s the point of using two hands?” He asked, clearly trying to keep a straight face. “To get extra power?”
“Exactly,” You said, giving him a look that said, What are you, a bowling amateur? “You don’t get it, Barnes. It’s like… the bowling ball can feel my power.”
Bucky was about to comment when you stood up, placed the neon ball between your hands, and threw it, not down the lane, but sideways. The ball flew directly to the adjacent lane, bounced off the guard rail, and landed in the gutter of the lane next to yours.
“Oh my God,” Bucky gasped, “What in the hell was that?”
“Finesse,” You said smugly, “Bam. Power.”
He let out a strangled laugh. “That was a disaster. We’re gonna get kicked out.”
You paused. “Nah. I’m pretty sure they’ll respect my skill once they see how good I am at… doing whatever the hell that was.”
It only got worse from there.
Every time you tried to bowl, you somehow either a) hit yourself with the ball, b) attempted to bowl in an entirely new direction, or c) made a series of weird noises and gestures like you were conducting some kind of elaborate ritual to the gods of bowling.
At one point, you even tried to bowl with your eyes closed, saying it would make you “feel the energy of the pins.”
Bucky just stood there in the back, arms crossed, watching the trainwreck unfold before his eyes. It was like a slow-motion disaster he couldn’t stop, but he couldn’t look away either. The worst part? He was kind of enjoying it. No matter how ridiculous it got, you never once stopped being enthusiastic. Even when your ball rolled straight into the gutter of someone else’s lane for the third time in a row.
“Alright,” He said finally, after suggesting sliding down the lane to knock the pins down like an illegal slip and slide. “Let’s just finish up the game, okay? For both of our sanity.”
“You’re right,” You said, dramatically wiping your forehead. “You know what? I’m gonna let you win this one. As a gift.”
“Uh-huh,” Bucky said skeptically. “Sure.”
The game continued, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to finally make a decent shot, this time by doing absolutely nothing except rolling the ball in a straight line. It gently knocked down two pins. Bucky was almost speechless.
“Is this… the start of a new era?” He asked, still trying to process the sudden miracle of a swing that didn’t involve total destruction.
You pumped your fist into the air, shouting with all the drama you could muster. “YES! The power of mediocrity has blessed me!”
Bucky couldn’t hold it in anymore. He burst out laughing, completely disarmed by your inability to take anything seriously, especially bowling. “You’re a mess,” He said, shaking his head as you set up for another shot.
“And you love me for it,” You shot back with a grin, letting the ball go with a dramatic, reckless swing that sent it straight into the neighbor’s lane again.
“Well, I’m pretty sure they hate us,” Bucky noted, but the smile on his face said it all.
There was no doubt now. You two might have just broken a local bowling record for how many throws led to the ball landing in a different lane, but it was the kind of record no one ever wanted to repeat. And yet, Bucky couldn’t imagine it any other way.
At the end of the game, he stared at your final score: 15. And his? A solid 105. Somehow, you had still won in your mind cause “fifteen is closer to first place than a hundred and five”. You handed him your bowling shoes with a cheeky grin.
“I think I need a better challenge.”
Bucky shook his head, trying to stifle a grin of his own. “Okay, next time, we’re staying home. Maybe a home cooked meal or something. Something that can’t completely descend into chaos.”
“Deal,” You said, offering your hand, as if you hadn’t just bowled worse than anything anyone has ever seen before.
As you both walked out of the building, arm in arm, you both were definitely banned from that bowling alley. However, you didn’t care because you were with him.
And even though nothing ever went according to plan, it was perfectly your kind of chaos and the kind of chaos that Bucky wouldn’t trade for anything else.
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.
Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron
Summary: Exploring more of your relationship and dynamics with the rest of the Avengers, they are well-acquainted with how much whiplash and how many headaches you give them on a daily. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Word Count: 1.2k+
A/N: The other going on dates fic didn’t have enough unhinged questionable reader for me. And to be honest….I didn’t like it as much as the prequel. So! I wrote this to cheer me up and feed my need for dumb & genius reader. Purely self-indulgent but hopefully you like it too. Happy reading!!!
Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
Being an Avenger came with certain expectations. Tactical prowess. Cool one-liners. Teamwork. A mild-to-moderate understanding of physics.
You had exactly none of that. And yet, you were thriving.
You had taken on aliens, mercenaries, HYDRA agents, and that one time, an actual raccoon with a vendetta. You once guessed the password to a SHIELD vault on the first try by inputting “boob69.” It worked. Nobody ever explained why. You were untouchable.
But nothing broke the team more than the group chat.
It had been a standard team communication channel at first: briefings, updates, emergency alerts. Then you joined and everything fell apart.
-
GROUP CHAT: “Earth’s Mightiest Dumbasses”
Tony: Meeting in the conference room at 9 A.M. sharp.
You: what’s 9 AM in frog time
Natasha: What does that mean?
You: like if a frog wears a watch is the time upside down
Tony: Please, I’m begging you to just answer the question like a normal person.
You: normal is a strong word
-
You once sent a photo of a pigeon wearing a hat with the caption “me when I infiltrate enemy lines.” No one questioned it. Mostly because they couldn’t.
After all, you’re the same person who confidently gave a TED Talk about the strategic history of medieval siege warfare mid-mission while wearing Crocs. The same person who once said, “Vibranium tastes like disappointment,” and then refused to elaborate. You somehow manage to both ace every debrief but also once asked if Wi-Fi is just helpful air soup.
Thor called you “small thunder” after you electrocuted yourself trying to microwave aluminum “as a science experiment.” You did not have lightning powers. It was just dumb luck. And you’d do it again.
-
GROUP CHAT:
Clint: who the hell labeled all the fridge items in latin?
You: idk man maybe someone wants you to be cultured
Bucky: You labeled the eggs, “Future ankle peckers, do not anger them”
You: ...and have you been attacked? no? you’re welcome.
-
Bucky still doesn't understand you. Not even a little.
And a lot of times, that haunts him.
He watches you eat hot sauce straight from the bottle like it's a health tonic, quote Shakespeare when you’re tired, and wear mismatched crocs into certain battles because "they're my war shoes." One has a tiny sword glued to it.
You once looked him dead in the eye and said, “I wasn’t born. I was assembled in a Target parking lot during a thunderstorm.”
And then walked away.
He’s been thinking about it for months.
Another time you brought him a bag of gummy worms, patted his head, and said, “For when the depression demons attack.”
Despite all your nonsense, he can’t stop looking at you like you hung the moon with glitter glue and then ate half of it because that brand “smelled like frosting.”
He had tried to pretend you’re a nuisance at first, shaking his head and sighing at some of your antics. But it’s all morphed to reluctant acceptance of the fact that he’ll have to live with so many unanswered questions. That doesn’t stop him from taking care of you though.
He brings you hot chocolate after missions. He makes sure you’re behind him when it gets dangerous. He drags you out of fountains you jump into because you wanted to know what the regals birds like about it. He even downloaded TikTok just to understand your references.
One time you disappeared in the Tower. For five hours.
He found you in the broom closet, sitting cross-legged with three Roombas, wearing a crown made of forks.
“They know secrets,” You whispered. “I’m learning their ways.”
Bucky blinked.
“…I brought you pizza.”
You gasped. “I knew the prophecy would come true.”
-
GROUP CHAT:
Steve: Can someone explain what this is?
Image attached: You in a vent near the ceiling wearing a bad ghost outfit like a cursed Halloween decoration, eating Cheez-Its.
You: surveillance
Steve: Why…
You: i wanted to know what Bucky does when I’m not looking
Bucky: They’ve been up there for 6 hours. I offered help. They hissed at me.
-
Despite it all, you were deadly in the field.
You’d spout off the periodic table in the middle of a fistfight, pull off gravity-defying stunts “because I saw it in a cartoon once,” and solve encrypted Hydra codes in 30 seconds, all while questioning if Mickey Mouse and his friends ever had to pay rent to live in the Mickey Mouse clubhouse.
Bucky, your begrudgingly loving boyfriend, no longer reacts when you do things like wear medieval armor to a stealth op for morale reasons or quote Shrek during hostage negotiations. He just quietly takes your hand and steers you away before you lick anything radioactive.
Steve once asked why you were on a mission wearing roller skates. You said, “Speed and style, Cap,” then crashed directly into a vending machine and pulled out a single uncrushed Twix with solemn reverence.
Tony called you “the human embodiment of a broken Google search.” Wanda called you “a mystery I’ve chosen not to solve.” Natasha just called you “terrifying.”
Because for every baffling thing you did, like calling her “Mom” during a sniper stakeout because “you give off stern PTA energy”, you turned around and cracked encrypted intel before Bruce finished making coffee.
Once, in a mission briefing, Rhodey asked, “Wait, wasn’t the Hindenburg caused by a gas explosion?” and you, dead serious, replied, “Who’s the Hindenburg? That sounds like a guy who collects teeth.”
Everyone went dead silent.
Sam just nodded slowly and said, “Right, okay. Yeah, cool. This is the part where I stop paying attention.”
Nobody could figure you out.
Bruce once ran 14 psychological profiles on you. None of them matched. One came back as possibly a goat in human form.
Clint swears you once explained string theory using sock puppets and a waffle. And it made sense.
-
GROUP CHAT:
Tony: I’m updating the security protocol. Everyone needs to re-register their biosignatures.
You: what if I am a security risk
Tony: You are. Absolutely. Every day. In every way.
You: then I win
Natasha: What did you win?
You: You’ll see 😈
Tony: I have forgotten what peace feels like anymore.
-
You called yourself “The Distractinator” in combat.
Enemies didn’t know what to do with you. Were you a genius? Crazy? Feral? Was that a printer you just threw at their face while quoting Pride and Prejudice?
Yes. To all of it.
And somehow, impossibly, you were everyone’s favorite. Because while you were a chaos gremlin of untold magnitude, you cared.
You noticed when Clint seemed tired and unorthodoxically left snacks in his quiver.
You taught Steve how to use TikTok but made sure to curate only dog videos and motivational frog memes.
You convinced Bucky he could wear purple and look amazing. He does now. Regularly.
You helped Tony fix a faulty AI loop by accident while trying to build “a blender that screams.”
You’re not just a part of the team. You’re the emotional support cryptid.
And no matter how many explosions you cause with your “experiments,” or how many philosophical debates you start about whether lasagna is a cake, the Avengers wouldn’t trade you for the world.
…Though Tony did try to sell you to the X-Men once.
It didn’t work.
They sent you back with a fruit basket and a strongly worded letter.
Fort Kingdom
Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression!]
Summary: To cheer you up from a change of plans, you spend a rainy evening with your caregivers, Bucky and Steve, building the ultimate blanket fort. With cozy lights, stuffed animals, snacks, and more, the night becomes a warm, magical escape filled with laughter, cuddles, and comfort.
Word Count: 900+
Main Masterlist
It starts in the late afternoon, when the rain outside is soft and steady, tapping against the windows like a lullaby. The clouds hang low and gray, and everything feels quieter than usual. Your daddies had initially planned a picnic that day to go to one of your favorite playgrounds. You had been looking forward to it too for quite a few days. However, the weather, unexpectedly, seemed to have other plans.
Steve had been the first to notice the way your energy has shifted today, the way you’re curled up under your blanket with your thumb in your mouth and your favorite stuffie tucked against your chest. He kneels beside you with that gentle smile he saves just for moments like this.
He brushes a hand through your hair as he asks softly, “How about a fort tonight, sweetheart?”
You shot up so fast the blanket fell off your shoulders, your previous disappointment forgotten almost instantly. "YES! Fort! Fortfortfort!" You changed as your words tumbled out in excited little bounces as you scrambled to your feet, eyes already scanning the room for the best blanket candidates. “We can make the big kind, right? With the sparkly lights and the snack zone and the snuggle nest and the tiny reading corner?!”
Bucky looked up from his book, sitting in the chair nearby smirking. "Sounds like we’re going full deluxe mode tonight."
Steve gave you a wink. “Deluxe mode it is. Go pick your best fort-building blankets, tiny architect. We’ve got a kingdom to raise.”
You squealed and took off like a rocket down the hallway, only vaguely hearing Steve’s voice remind you not to run as you slow down just a bit. Trailing happy little noises and slippered feet as you gathered every soft, fluffy thing you could find. You came back with arms overflowing: the cloud blanket, the soft pink quilt, even that one fuzzy one that always smells like comfort and cocoa. You dragged them into the living room like a victorious knight returning from battle, disregarding how you had to make a second trip to get the giant Avengers throw.
Meanwhile, Bucky was already deconstructing the couch with practiced precision, lining up pillows like fortress walls and stacking cushions like throne seats. Steve brought over dining chairs and helped drape sheets from their tops, creating a tall, cave-like space that grew more magical with every layer.
“This is gonna be so cozy,” You chirped as you helped tuck a blanket corner beneath a lamp. “It's gonna be the best fort ever in the history of all forts ever!”
Steve laughed, hanging up the battery-powered fairy lights carefully. “That’s a pretty high bar, sweetheart.”
“It’ll be the Fort Kingdom,” You declared proudly. “With dragons. And snacks. And a stuffed animal army!”
Bucky grinned. “Sounds like my kind of kingdom.”
Once everything was perfect; the lights glowing like tiny stars, the blankets sagging just right to make the air feel secret and soft, you crawled inside with a huge smile on your face. “Come in! Come in!” You called, waving them in dramatically. “Welcome to my Fort Kingdom! You may enter the Royal Cuddle Fort!”
Bucky entered first, ducking his head and flopping onto the pillows with a content sigh. “Comfy rating: 12 out of 10.”
Steve followed soon after, now with a tray of snacks containing sliced apples, little crackers, mini marshmallows in a dish, and your favorite: a purple sippy cup full of warm cocoa. You gasped and clapped. “You brought the special cocoa!”
He handed it to you with a gentle smile. “Just for tonight, sweetheart. And look, extra marshmallows. Just for you.”
You grabbed it happily, already taking a sip as Steve found a spot to rest as well. Setting it back down on the tray, you now found a place curled up between them. Both your daddies warm on either side. Bucky tucked the blanket around your legs, and Steve offered one of your other favorite plushies, the floppy bunny with the stitched ear. You took it with a bright smile, snuggling it close as the rain tapped gently from the windows.
Steve picked up a picture book and began reading in a soft, warm voice, filling the space with quiet wonder. Bucky added his own sound effects at times; dramatic gasps, silly growls, tiny meows for the kitten characters. You giggled so hard you nearly spilled your cocoa.
Soon, though, the excitement melted into something softer. You felt yourself sinking down deeper into the warmth, into the safety. Your body relaxed, all your energy replaced by heavy eyes and a floaty feeling. You leaned against Steve’s side, letting your head rest on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat matching the rhythm of the rain.
Bucky brushed his fingers gently through your hair, slow and steady. “Getting sleepy, bug?”
You gave a tiny nod, eyes blinking slow. “Mhm… but wanna stay here forever…”
“Don’t worry,” Steve whispered, kissing the top of your head. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Bucky leaned in close too. “This fort’s got rules. Rule one: Littles stay warm. Rule two: Littles stay cuddled. Rule three…” He smiled. “…Littles always wake up knowing they’re loved.”
You hummed softly, the sound barely a breath, and clutched your bunny tighter as your eyes finally slid closed. Outside the fort, the world could be big and complicated and overwhelming. But inside, it was just the three of you, wrapped in soft light and even softer love.
You fell asleep between them, their arms holding you safe as the fairy lights twinkled above and the storm outside passed by unnoticed.
LOL, they are so chaotic for real. Thank you so much 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.]
I’m happy to hear so!!! So far I have three fics on unhinged/chaotic reader, hopefully I can make it a series or something. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
Disastrous Dates
Summary: Bucky wanted to take you on an actual date. It was meant to be sweet. Normal. Quiet. Unfortunately, you were involved. So naturally, it was none of those things. He tried two more times only to have them go as successfully and normal as the first. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Word Count: 2.9k+
A/N: Not going to lie, I had just written the first date to be a blurb or super short one-shot; but I wondered what the other dates would look like and thought it’d be fun to explore more of reader’s chaotic side. I’ll explore more of the dumb mixed with genius side in later works. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Prequel | Extra
The night started with promise.
You wore pants that didn’t have a hole in them, Bucky wore a real shirt with buttons, and neither of you were bleeding. Progress. He even opened the car door for you, all old-fashioned charm and tight-lipped grumbling, and for a brief, shimmering second, it felt like something resembling normal.
Dinner had… potential.
You sat across from him at a tiny Italian place, candlelight flickering between you, and for maybe two full minutes, it was peaceful. He was smiling, barely, but it counted and you weren’t doing anything weird yet. You even managed a sincere, almost romantic sentence:
“You’ve got great hands,” You said, eyes on his fingers wrapped around a wine glass. “Very stabby. I like that in a man.”
He blinked at you. “You’re so lucky I love you.”
Then came the moment. The Moment. The part of the evening where fate, or physics, or your godforsaken inability to just exist normally kicked in.
You were halfway through telling Bucky about the time you mistook a street magician for a real sorcerer and tried to recruit him for the Avengers when you leaned a little too far back in your chair to demonstrate his “mystical flair.”
And promptly tipped the entire thing to the ground. You hit the floor with the grace of a brick dropped from a tenth-story window, one leg in the air, one hand somehow still holding your water glass like a trophy.
Bucky didn’t move. He just stared down at you.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” You wheezed. “Just checking the integrity of the floor.” Still upside down, you added, “Feels solid.”
The waiter cautiously stepped over your foot to refill Bucky’s wine.
You climbed back into your chair with all the dignity of a feral goose being escorted out of a five-star hotel, hair sticking up on one side, eyes bright with chaos. Bucky was covering his mouth with one hand. You weren’t sure if he was horrified or trying not to laugh. Possibly both.
“So,” You said, stabbing your pasta like it had wronged you. “You still in love with me or did I kill it?”
Bucky chuckled, actually chuckled, which most would say was rarer than a solar eclipse.
“I think I love you more, honestly. It’s like dating a walking concussion.”
You grinned and twirled spaghetti around your fork with entirely too much enthusiasm. Some of it hit the wall.
“You’re the one who kissed me, barnacle boy.”
“I regret nothing.”
He reached across the table to brush a strand of sauce-streaked hair from your face. It was a soft moment. A brief oasis of genuine affection in a night otherwise ruled by chaos and misfortune.
Then the power in the restaurant flickered. Then it went out. Then the fire alarm shrieked.
And suddenly you were outside in the cold with thirty other strangers, still holding your plate of pasta like a newborn, as a kitchen fire was swiftly extinguished by firemen who looked way too calm about the situation.
You turned to Bucky. “So. Wanna make out in front of the fire truck?”
He looked at you, wind ruffling his hair, eyes full of baffled affection and suppressed concern. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Romantic, huh?”
“No,” He wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side. “But you’re mine.”
And as the fire alarm was silenced and the restaurant staff handed out apology coupons, you stood there in the dark, your hair full of marinara, your date fully ruined, and your chest aching with the quiet joy of being adored exactly as you are.
You leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Next time, we’re going mini golfing.”
Bucky looked down at you like you’d just promised war. “God, help me.”
-
It was supposed to be the perfect redemption for your extremely chaotic dinner date.
Mini-golf was nothing too fancy. No exploding kitchens or fire trucks. Just a tiny course, soft pastel colors, and some hole-in-one shenanigans. Simple and relaxing. No wildlife to ruin everything.
Except of course, that would have been far too easy.
Bucky had already placed a sensible hat on his head, the kind of hat that gave off “I am mature, responsible, and don’t run into the street to tackle strangers” vibes. You, on the other hand, were rocking a neon pink visor and an obnoxiously bright ‘#1’ foam finger. You’d already declared yourself the reigning champion of the entire course, much to Bucky’s dismay.
“You realize we’re just here to have fun, right?” Bucky said, trying to ignore how you were methodically measuring the first hole as if it were the final stage of some Olympic event.
“Fun?” You asked, like he’d asked you to consider doing a jigsaw puzzle without a single corner piece. “We’re here to dominate, Barnes.”
He sighed, adjusting his grip on the golf club. “Just don’t do anything weird, okay?”
You flashed him a grin, all teeth and wild energy. “No promises.”
It was truly fine at first. You took your shot with the same calculated chaos you approached everything in life. The ball rolled and then… bounced off the tiny windmill. It ricocheted off the back of the frog statue, hit the clown’s nose, and shot straight into the hole.
“Hole in one!” You stood there, arms wide, as if you had just accomplished some great feat of athleticism.
Bucky, standing next to the hole, stared in stunned silence. “How…?”
“I’m just that good,” You said smugly, doing a weird celebratory dance that probably looked more like an epileptic seizure than a victory jig.
He was still staring in disbelief. “You… you’re not allowed to do that again.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re impossible,” He muttered, walking over and adjusting the grip on his own club near the ball. His shot was much more controlled. The ball landed neatly in the hole.
You blinked, slowly clapping. “Wow. Look at you. Mr. Mature.”
Bucky tossed you a mock glare, but he was still smiling. He wasn’t mad. He was just in constant disbelief at the fact that you could turn something so simple into a disaster zone.
You made your way to the next hole, where you decided this time, you were really going to focus. No distractions. No wild swings. No ricocheting frogs. You lined up the ball in a perfect stance. You took a deep breath. And then… you flipped the club completely by accident, sending the ball soaring across the green and directly into another windmill.
There was a pause before it stopped right at the entrance. It was as if the windmill itself had considered eating it, but ultimately rejected the offer.
You blinked, stunned by your own ineptitude for a moment. Bucky was staring at the windmill, then at you.
You turned to him, grinning widely. “See? It’s all part of my highly developed strategy. Confuse the course, confuse the ball. Keep ‘em guessing.”
He just sighed. “I swear to God, I don’t know why I’m here.”
“You’re here because you love me,” You replied, smirking. “It’s either that or a deep-seated addiction to chaos.”
“And because you wouldn’t let me leave,” Bucky added with a smirk. He took his next turn with more care, carefully positioning the ball and then knocking it straight into the hole.
“Okay, showoff,” You teased, trying to focus for real this time. “Let me get one in before you start your victory lap.”
-
But this date wasn’t all pure chaos.
For a brief moment, when you finally reached the last hole which, mercifully, had no ramps, moving windmills, or surprise rock slides, you did manage a solid shot. The ball rolled smoothly, looking like it had gone into the hole, a perfect arc. For just a second, there was a quiet calm between you two, and Bucky even gave you a small, approving smile.
“Okay, that was impressive,” He admitted, tossing his club aside and walking over to you.
You grinned, still overly proud of yourself. “Told you. You’re welcome for being this good at things.”
Then you turned, just as he reached out to lightly ruffle your hair, and noticed you’d overshot your ball earlier. It had not gone into the hole like it seemed. Instead, it had rolled right into a tiny water hazard at the very edge of the course, and now, a small flock of actual ducks had claimed it as their own.
“No.” You pointed dramatically. “I did not lose to ducks.”
“I’m pretty sure you lost to ducks,” Bucky said, trying to stifle his laughter.
“No, no,” You muttered, brushing off some dirt from your jeans before walking toward the water hazard and began negotiating with the ducks. “I’m gonna need you to give that ball back. I earned it. Respect me.”
Bucky was now watching you with an expression that could only be described as fascinated horror.
“I cannot believe I’m dating someone who’s talking to ducks right now.”
“Well,” YOU called over your shoulder, “I’d just like to point out that you are the one who dragged me here, Barnes. I could be at home with my plants and not having a mental breakdown in front of an audience of feathered assholes.”
One of the ducks made a threatening honk. You took a step back, eyes narrowing. “I’m not scared of you.”
Before Bucky could respond, you had the brilliant idea to “negotiate” by offering them some of your snack chips, which you had brought for “emergency rations.”
It worked. Kind of. The ducks did not care for the chips. Instead, they went on to aggressively peck the bag out of your hands and run off with it.
You stood, defeated. “They betrayed me.”
Bucky walked up, placing his hand on your shoulder in a rare moment of sympathy. “I’ll buy you a new bag of chips, if it makes you feel better.”
“I want a refund,” You said solemnly. “Those ducks will pay for this.”
He chuckled. “You know, I never thought I’d have a moment like this in my life.”
“Where you’re physically ashamed to be seen with me?” You asked innocently.
“You mean where I’m emotionally invested in your safety and happiness? Yeah, that’s the one.”
You smiled at him, your face lighting up, “Well, Barnes,” You winked dramatically, “Consider yourself lucky. I’ll never get this good at mini-golf again. This is a one-time offer.”
“Thank God for that.”
Then, you reached up and kissed him on the cheek, “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet though. I still need my ball back. It was my emotional support ball.”
Bucky’s hand slid down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
And despite the whole, epic mess, the chaotic and dare he say hazardous golf shots, and the birds you swore were plotting your demise, you both ended up sitting in a grassy patch next to the mini-golf course. Bucky pulled out a blanket and the two of you looked up at the stars.
You leaned against him, grinning.
“Next time, we’re going bowling.”
“You’re on.”
-
Bowling was supposed to be a safe option.
No moving windmills. No ducks. No water hazards or miscalculated shots. Just a ball, a lane, and the dream of seeing Bucky try to put spin on his shots, right?
Except nothing is ever that simple with you two.
It started when you walked in, strutting up to the counter like it was the red carpet. You pointed to the most ridiculous neon bowling ball you could find, the one that looked like it had been painted with every color of the rainbow and had no real grip.
Bucky didn’t even question you at first. He just grabbed a more sensible ball and followed you to the lane. He should’ve questioned you.
The first roll was just… spectacular. You swung the ball back and released it with the same dramatic flair you gave everything else. It slid down the lane, wobbling like it was trying to make a run for the emergency exit. The pins saw it coming, too like the inanimate objects were clearly preparing to make their escape. And yet…
Crash.
All of them, knocked down for your first strike.
You threw your hands up, struck a victory pose, and immediately jammed your knee into the ball return mechanism. Bucky watched as you colorfully lectured the machine for getting in the way. He just stared at you for a solid ten seconds before muttering, “Oh no.”
You just grinned at him. “You have to admit, that was impressive.”
“You’re going to cause a bowling alley-wide catastrophe or end in up in the ER.”
“No, no,” You waved him off before giving him finger guns. “It’s fine. We just… need to keep the ball rolling.”
Bucky’s gaze was all kinds of incredulous, but you were already preparing for your next turn, oblivious to the chaos trailing behind you.
The next round was where things really got out of hand.
You decided that the best way to improve your game was to introduce some… unorthodox techniques. Bucky, in a moment of bravery or maybe just a genuine desire to watch you fail, agreed to bowl with a two-handed technique.
“I’ve seen pro bowlers do it,” You said with utmost seriousness. “It’s the future of bowling.”
“What’s the point of using two hands?” He asked, clearly trying to keep a straight face. “To get extra power?”
“Exactly,” You said, giving him a look that said, What are you, a bowling amateur? “You don’t get it, Barnes. It’s like… the bowling ball can feel my power.”
Bucky was about to comment when you stood up, placed the neon ball between your hands, and threw it, not down the lane, but sideways. The ball flew directly to the adjacent lane, bounced off the guard rail, and landed in the gutter of the lane next to yours.
“Oh my God,” Bucky gasped, “What in the hell was that?”
“Finesse,” You said smugly, “Bam. Power.”
He let out a strangled laugh. “That was a disaster. We’re gonna get kicked out.”
You paused. “Nah. I’m pretty sure they’ll respect my skill once they see how good I am at… doing whatever the hell that was.”
It only got worse from there.
Every time you tried to bowl, you somehow either a) hit yourself with the ball, b) attempted to bowl in an entirely new direction, or c) made a series of weird noises and gestures like you were conducting some kind of elaborate ritual to the gods of bowling.
At one point, you even tried to bowl with your eyes closed, saying it would make you “feel the energy of the pins.”
Bucky just stood there in the back, arms crossed, watching the trainwreck unfold before his eyes. It was like a slow-motion disaster he couldn’t stop, but he couldn’t look away either. The worst part? He was kind of enjoying it. No matter how ridiculous it got, you never once stopped being enthusiastic. Even when your ball rolled straight into the gutter of someone else’s lane for the third time in a row.
“Alright,” He said finally, after suggesting sliding down the lane to knock the pins down like an illegal slip and slide. “Let’s just finish up the game, okay? For both of our sanity.”
“You’re right,” You said, dramatically wiping your forehead. “You know what? I’m gonna let you win this one. As a gift.”
“Uh-huh,” Bucky said skeptically. “Sure.”
The game continued, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to finally make a decent shot, this time by doing absolutely nothing except rolling the ball in a straight line. It gently knocked down two pins. Bucky was almost speechless.
“Is this… the start of a new era?” He asked, still trying to process the sudden miracle of a swing that didn’t involve total destruction.
You pumped your fist into the air, shouting with all the drama you could muster. “YES! The power of mediocrity has blessed me!”
Bucky couldn’t hold it in anymore. He burst out laughing, completely disarmed by your inability to take anything seriously, especially bowling. “You’re a mess,” He said, shaking his head as you set up for another shot.
“And you love me for it,” You shot back with a grin, letting the ball go with a dramatic, reckless swing that sent it straight into the neighbor’s lane again.
“Well, I’m pretty sure they hate us,” Bucky noted, but the smile on his face said it all.
There was no doubt now. You two might have just broken a local bowling record for how many throws led to the ball landing in a different lane, but it was the kind of record no one ever wanted to repeat. And yet, Bucky couldn’t imagine it any other way.
At the end of the game, he stared at your final score: 15. And his? A solid 105. Somehow, you had still won in your mind cause “fifteen is closer to first place than a hundred and five”. You handed him your bowling shoes with a cheeky grin.
“I think I need a better challenge.”
Bucky shook his head, trying to stifle a grin of his own. “Okay, next time, we’re staying home. Maybe a home cooked meal or something. Something that can’t completely descend into chaos.”
“Deal,” You said, offering your hand, as if you hadn’t just bowled worse than anything anyone has ever seen before.
As you both walked out of the building, arm in arm, you both were definitely banned from that bowling alley. However, you didn’t care because you were with him.
And even though nothing ever went according to plan, it was perfectly your kind of chaos and the kind of chaos that Bucky wouldn’t trade for anything else.
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.”
I just read your Bucky and unhinged reader and I don’t know what kind of drugs you put in there but I’m going to need more of that
LOL, I’m wheezing. I need more of them too, I will certainly be working on that soon. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
Glad to hear it! (Lol) I love writing angst. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
Even If You Forget
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Bucky loses all memory of his relationship with you. Though heartbroken, you patiently stay by his side, offering gentle support and quiet company. Despite the emotional distance, you hold onto the hope that someday he’ll find his way back. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Word Count: 2.1k+
A/N: This has ANGST by the way. I absolutely adore anything to do with memories, so much potential. I might write another version of this where the reader loses her memories instead. You are responsible for the media you consume. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | His Version
The mornings with Bucky were always slow, quiet, and warm.
His arm was usually draped over your waist by the time the sun started to creep through the blinds. He breathed a little heavier in the mornings, caught between dreams and the weight of his history. However, he never seemed to stir until you moved.
You liked it that way. It gave you time to look at him, at the faint worry lines that softened in sleep, at the longer strands of brown hair you liked to brush behind his ear, at the mouth that rarely smiled in public but had no trouble curving up for you when the world was far away.
You loved him deeply. In the way people loved after surviving something. There were scars on both of you and silences that stretched longer than they should’ve, but you understood him, and he had never once looked at you like he regretted being understood.
Your relationship had started quietly, like most things with Bucky did. It wasn’t love at first sight. It wasn’t loud declarations or stolen kisses in the rain. It was simpler. He’d sit near you during debriefings and glance over to make sure you understood the mission. He’d knock on your door late at night when he couldn’t sleep and leave a book outside if you didn’t answer. He remembered how you liked your coffee and never asked why you kept a light on when you slept.
Eventually, he started sitting a little closer. Touching your hand a little longer. Smiling a little easier. It wasn’t fast, but it was safe and real. You both needed that.
Sixteen months into the relationship, you'd moved in together into a tiny apartment, tucked above an old bookstore with creaky floors and a heater that only worked when Bucky kicked it. You painted the walls together. He helped pick out the furniture. You made him tea when his nightmares left him shaking, and he kissed your forehead when your hands trembled after bad missions.
He was never one to say I love you right away and especially not out loud. But he showed it, every single day.
And when he finally did say it, it was late at night, in the middle of an argument about laundry or groceries or something equally domestic and ridiculous when you both froze. He looked horrified that it slipped out. You looked stunned for barely a second before smiling and leaning closer to him, saying it back like it was the easiest thing in the world.
You thought nothing could take that from you.
But you were wrong.
You and Bucky had been paired up for another mission like normal to infiltrate an abandoned Hydra facility. Retrieve what remained of their stolen technology and data, destroy the rest. Bucky didn’t want you going in at first, but you reminded him that you were a trained operative, not a civilian. Besides, you worked better together anyways.
You were halfway through the facility when the alarms went off. Not an intruder alert but something else. Something that triggered deeper in the system. You split up briefly to cover more ground, and that was the last time Bucky looked at you like he knew who you were.
When you found him again twenty minutes later, he was hunched over and clutching his head near a strange, flickering device. When he raised his head, all you could see was cold, calculating eyes staring back.
Like a stranger.
And when you called his name, your voice shaking, and your hands reaching out to steady him; he backed away like you were poison.
“Who the hell are you?”
You froze in your spot. His voice wasn’t like Bucky’s. It was lower, flatter. Measured. It lacked the hesitant warmth that usually colored his words when he spoke to you. It was the voice of someone evaluating a threat.
Your hand, half-raised, trembled in the air between you.
“Bucky,” You whispered, like maybe the sound of it would crack something open. “It’s me.”
He stood slowly, the whir of his metal arm slicing through the silence. His eyes didn’t flicker with recognition. No softness. No guilt. Just analysis and caution.
You’d seen that expression before. Once. Years ago, when the Winter Soldier was still a ghost wandering about without a strip of autonomy. You definitely didn’t see this expression on the man who crawled into your bed at night and tucked a blanket around your shoulders.
But, here he was. You could feel how painfully your heart pounded in your chest.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” He said, almost to himself. He looked around, scanning the shadows like he expected enemies to crawl out of the dark. His hand hovered near the side holster at his thigh. “Who sent you?”
“No one sent me,” You said, stepping forward. “You’re-… Bucky, you’re not well. That machine, something happened. Let me help-“
“Stop,” He snapped. Your name was unfamiliar to him now. It didn’t make him pause. It didn’t register. “You’re not cleared to speak to me. I don’t know you.”
The words landed with brutal precision. You stepped back like you’d been struck. Because in a way, you had. He didn’t remember you.
The realization settled over you slowly, like frost creeping across glass. You felt your lungs tighten, your throat close. You could still see the outline of the relationship you'd built, months of laughter and late nights and slow healing, but he stood on the other side of it now, locked out.
You reached for your comm, fingers clumsy and stiff with dread as you called for backup and reported the situation.
When the team arrived, faster than you had expected, they didn’t ask many questions. You let them take over while you stood to the side, arms wrapped tightly around your chest, eyes fixed on the man who no longer knew your name.
Steve had been brought with the other agents. Miraculously, Bucky still remembered him and trusted his words to lead him to safety. He had followed Steve back to the Quinjet without hesitation. There was a time when he would have trusted you without a second thought too, but now you were just another stranger.
You sat in the back of the jet, silent and numb, your eyes never leaving his tense form. One hand was curled loosely near his chest. You remembered how he used to hold your hand that way when he slept. Like he needed to know you were real.
Now he didn’t know you at all.
Back at HQ, medical scans confirmed your worst fear. The machine had been some kind of neural disruptor, a crude prototype designed to extract and overwrite memory. Hydra tech, of course. The data was incomplete, scrambled, but the damage wasn’t.
He remembered Steve. Missions. Pieces of his past. It didn’t bring back the Winter Soldier thanks to his time in Wakanda. However, anything recent or anything soft, was gone.
You. Erased just like that.
You spent three days outside the glass of the room he stayed in, watching him rebuild his reality in pieces. He spoke little. Ate less. The team tried reintroducing him to other faces, but he flinched away from most of them. He was polite, distant, cautious. Like a soldier unsure of his orders.
Every time you entered the room, his eyes would land on you and linger. But they never softened. He never said your name, not even once.
And every night, you’d sit alone in your apartment above the bookstore, staring at the spot on the couch where he used to fall asleep during movie nights, wondering how you could miss someone who was technically still alive, just out of reach.
You never forced him to remember. You didn’t even try. Because you knew memory wasn’t something you could demand back. It wasn’t a switch you could flip or a locked door you could break down with frustration or anger. It was delicate. Fragile. Like glass edges that could cut him deeper if handled carelessly.
So instead, you became quiet. You became gentle even though visiting him wasn’t easy. Each time you entered the room, you reminded yourself to soften your eyes, to keep your voice low, calm. To be someone who he might feel safe with, even if he didn’t remember why.
“Hey,” You’d say, just like that. Simple. No pressure. No demands.
You’d bring small things like his favorite book, a picture from your last trip, or a worn jacket he’d left behind. You hoped these would speak to something buried inside him, a spark.
Some days, he’d look at you with confusion. Others, with suspicion. Sometimes, his eyes would flicker like he was searching for a ghost behind your face.
You hated that, but you never showed it. You never let him see it because you couldn’t. You remembered how lost he felt the first time you met him, before all the pieces of you and him fit together. And you knew patience was the only thread strong enough to hold you both together now.
Because you could tell he was afraid. Of you. Of himself. Of what he’d lost. And you were afraid, too. Afraid you’d never get him back. Afraid he’d forget the moments you shared, the trust you built. All the moments you shared together.
But you stayed. Every passing day, every painful visit, you stayed. Even when it hurt to see the distance in his eyes or the way his hand no longer found yours in the dark or the way his voice no longer softened when he spoke your name.
Because love wasn’t about forcing recognition or surfacing memories of what used to be. It was about waiting. Waiting until he could find you again, on his own terms.
-
In the halls of the Avengers compound, you often caught the looks of the team. Quiet glances that lingered too long before they quickly looked away. Soft expressions shadowed with pity. Sometimes, it was Tony shaking his head slightly when he thought you weren’t looking. Sometimes, Natasha’s eyes would meet yours briefly, sympathy buried beneath her usual stoic mask. Steve especially, steady as ever, gave you a small nod of understanding whenever your paths crossed.
They all knew. They knew what you were going through. They knew exactly what you had lost, but no one said it aloud. They didn’t need to after all.
You felt the weight of it, like invisible hands pressing down on your chest when you thought you were alone. The way they looked at you said, She’s holding onto someone who’s slipping away. She’s pretending to be okay, but she’s breaking.
You never asked for their pity. You never wanted it. It felt like another reminder that things were broken beyond repair. So you kept forcing yourself to keep your head high and to keep moving forward.
You showed up for briefings. You trained with the others. You made sure your smiles were steady, your voice calm. But deep within you, every step was heavy. Every breath felt borrowed. Because the truth everyone was coming to realize, no one could fix this but Bucky. And Bucky couldn’t remember you.
And as days bled into weeks, your visits with him continued. Still quiet, steady, and unyielding. But no breakthroughs. No magic moments where Bucky suddenly remembered your name or the warmth of your touch.
But slowly, you learned to be okay with that. Because sometimes, healing wasn’t about the big gestures. It was about the small ones.
A flicker of recognition in his eyes when you laughed at a joke you’d shared long ago. A twitch of hesitation before he pulled back when you offered your hand. A breath held a moment longer when you read aloud from his favorite book.
Those tiny cracks in the wall gave you hope.
One evening, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the compound, you found yourself sitting beside him on the couch. No words were spoken, there was no need.
His hand, tentative and unsure, brushed against yours. You paused for a moment and didn’t dare pull away. Instead, you let your fingers intertwine slowly, grounding both of you in that fragile moment of connection.
It wasn’t the past rushing back. It wasn’t a promise of what would come. But it was something. A beginning. A chance. And sometimes, that was enough.
Because you knew this story wasn’t finished. Not yet.
And as long as you both were willing to try, maybe one day, he’d find his way back to you.
Wherever You Are, I’ll Stay
Summary: You are a stealth-based Avenger with the ability to teleport, often the one pulling teammates out of danger. However, when you’re injured on a mission one day, you’re found by Bucky, panicking as he tells you that you could’ve escaped. You admit you stayed because you couldn’t leave him behind. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: Reader has the ability to teleport.
Word Count: 1.6k+
A/N: We are so back with a super powered reader! Ignore that it’s been a day or two. It feels like forever to me lol. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist
You were the teleporting specialist on the team. A living escape route, as Tony once put it, even though you hated the way it made you sound like a tool instead of a person. Your powers weren’t eye-catching like Wanda’s or devastating like Thor’s, but they were precise, fast, and life-saving. You could vanish in the blink of an eye and reappear on the other side of a locked compound without so much as triggering a motion sensor.
What made your ability rare wasn’t just that you could teleport. In fact, plenty of enhanced individuals could, in theory. But the level of control you had was what made you stand out. You could take others with you. You could land in tight quarters without crashing into walls. You could sense coordinates by memory, not just by sight. And most importantly, you could stay calm under pressure, until recently.
Lately, your powers had started to falter under stress. It didn’t happen all the time, but it was enough to plant a seed of doubt in your mind that stayed long enough to hesitate.
You hadn’t told Bucky.
You weren’t exactly sure why. Maybe because he looked at you like you were the one person on the team he didn’t have to worry about. You were competent, quiet, and observant. When missions went to hell, you were the person he looked to and the one he trusted to get everyone out. You didn’t want to shatter that image. You didn’t want him to look at you differently.
Especially not when things between you had started to… shift.
It hadn’t happened in an instant. It was in the small things, the slow things. Like the way he stood a little closer when debriefings dragged too long. The way he always offered an extra water bottle during training without asking if you needed it. Or maybe it was the way his fingers brushed your shoulder when passing behind you, like he couldn’t help needing a point of contact.
You hadn’t talked about it and you didn’t need to. It was present in the silence, in the weight of his glances, and in the softness of his voice when he said your name. A voice so different from the clipped tone he used with everyone else.
You’d die for Bucky Barnes.
But more than that, you’d stay alive for him too.
One mission you were given was intel extraction from a dormant Hydra site outside Budapest. It was expected to have low resistance and a swift completion. You’d done dozens of missions like this, but something had felt off the moment you landed. It was too quiet, too clean. Bucky had gone to secure the east corridor while you took the west.
Then the ambush hit.
You’d fought back, ducking and teleporting rapidly, as you disabled guards as they came. But there were more of them than you had anticipated, and one of them managed to clip you. A messy shot to the side. It wasn’t fatal, but it was deep. And worse, it shook your focus.
The pain bloomed like fire in your ribs, radiating outward. You tried to port, but your vision blurred, your body trembled, and your power slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. You blinked out but not far enough. Just into another corner of a nearby room, a couple feet away, where you collapsed behind a half-toppled server bank.
You could’ve tried again. You could’ve forced it. But something in you wouldn’t let go of one thought:
Bucky’s still in the building.
You didn’t know where. You didn’t know if he was safe or had been ambushed too. You didn’t care that your side was soaked with blood, or that your head throbbed from slamming against the wall when you landed wrong.
You weren’t leaving without him, even if it killed you.
Your breathing had grown shallow by the time Bucky found you. You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, staring up at the flickering ceiling lights, but the moment the door slammed open with a crash of metal and rage, you knew it was him. You always knew.
“Hey- hey!” His voice was rough with panic, feet pounding across the broken floor until he dropped to his knees beside you. “You're alive-! Thank god, you're alive.”
You opened your eyes, barely. “I said I’d be,” You rasped, the words sticking to your tongue.
Bucky’s hands hovered over you, uncertain and frustrated. He was scanning for wounds, piecing together what had happened. “You're hit.” His voice dropped, the softness undercut by fury. “Why didn’t you teleport out of here?”
You winced, not from the pain, but from the question. “Tried,” You whispered. “Wasn’t focused, too much adrenaline… too much noise.”
“Still,” He snapped. “Still… you could’ve gotten out. That’s what you’re supposed to do. That’s what you always do.”
You looked at him, gaze resting onto his worried expression. And for a moment, he didn’t see the blood or the wound or the mission. He saw you. Pale, exhausted, stubborn, and still here.
“I didn’t want to leave you behind,” You admitted. The truth tasted heavier than blood.
Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head with a shaky breath. “You’re out of your mind,” He muttered.
You smiled weakly. “You’re one to talk.”
His hands finally stopped trembling enough to press against your wound in a gentle but firm way. “You could’ve died,” He reminded you again, his voice cracking. “I could’ve walked into this room and found your body. You ever think about that?”
You let your eyes fall shut for a moment. “I thought about how I’d rather die with you than live not knowing what happened to you.”
The silence was thick. Bucky didn’t speak for a moment, but when he did, his voice was low and nearly broken.
“You really are out of your mind,” He repeated, but softer now. “And I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone more because of it.”
Your eyes fluttered open. “That a confession, Barnes?”
He exhaled a laugh, but it was tight, like it hurt. “Damn right it is.”
Carefully, he pulled you into his arms, supporting your weight like it was nothing, like it was everything. You felt the metal of his arm against your back, cold and reassuring. The other arm was warm where it cradled your legs. You didn’t protest to either.
“You’re going to the med bay,” He said. “Then we’re having a long talk about you not being a damn martyr.”
You rested your head against his shoulder, eyes heavy. “I’m not a martyr.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
There was a pause before you murmured, “You would’ve done the same for me.”
“Doesn’t mean I want you doing it for me.”
Outside, the quinjet engines roared to life. The rest of the team was waiting.
But for now, in the middle of that wrecked Hydra facility, with dust still hanging in the air and blood soaking into Bucky’s shirt, it was just the two of you.
And you were both alive. Together.
-
The med bay was silent, dimmed for your recovery. The overhead lights were off, replaced by a single low lamp that cast long shadows across the room. The hum of machinery filled the silence with monitor beeps, IV drips, and the occasional hiss of an oxygen line. Stark tech kept everything sterile and efficient.
You hated it.
Not because of the pain, that had dulled into something manageable, but because you hated stillness. When you were still, you had time to think. And now that the mission was over, you couldn’t stop replaying it. The moment you failed to teleport. The cold bloom of panic. The blood. The look on Bucky’s face when he found you like the world had nearly ended.
You stared at the ceiling trying not to think about it, when the door hissed open quietly. You didn’t have to look to know it was him.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Bucky said, voice low, teasing in a way that didn’t quite mask the worry.
“I was. For a while,” You murmured. “You still pacing outside?”
He huffed. “How’d you know?”
“You always pace when you’re trying not to panic.”
Bucky stepped closer, the soft tread of his boots grounding. When he reached your bedside, he didn’t sit right away. Just stood there, arms crossed, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here even though he’d barely left your side since you got back.
“I’m fine, Buck,” You reassured him softly.
“You’re not,” He finally lowered himself into the chair next to you. “You were bleeding out and couldn’t get out. That’s not fine.”
You hesitated. “It’s not the first time my powers have… flickered.”
His jaw tightened. “How long?”
“Couple months but only under stress. Usually I push through it.”
He was quiet for a long time before finally speaking, “You should’ve told me.”
“I didn’t want to be seen as a liability.”
His hand moved, not quickly but with intent. His fingers brushed your wrist, grounding you. “You’re not a liability. You’re you. And if something’s wrong, we fix it together.”
You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “I didn’t want to lose your trust in me.”
“You didn’t,” He said. “You scared the hell out of me, but you didn’t lose anything.”
You let that sit between you for a moment before you whispered, “You said you loved me.”
He didn’t flinch and he didn’t deflect.
“I meant it.” He stated.
You turned your head to meet his eyes. “I love you too, you know.”
Bucky leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I know. I’ve known.”
You reached up, fingers threading through his as you held each other’s hands like none of you ever wanted to let go. “Stay?”
He nodded once. “Always.”
-
dreamerofvalyria liked this · 5 days ago -
roselibrary liked this · 5 days ago -
reddestofscarves liked this · 5 days ago -
yourfavoritefangirl liked this · 5 days ago -
anaviieiraaa liked this · 5 days ago -
bucksucker liked this · 5 days ago -
mrsrusso11 liked this · 5 days ago -
buckybarnesfic reblogged this · 5 days ago -
thunder-wolf-official liked this · 5 days ago -
nemos-nemophilafield liked this · 5 days ago -
iitsmoonlightt liked this · 5 days ago -
cycram0 liked this · 5 days ago -
littlebirdbluejay liked this · 5 days ago
-
lilipiggytails liked this · 5 days ago -
srgtjbb liked this · 5 days ago -
yvespecially liked this · 5 days ago -
archonkazuha liked this · 5 days ago
-
yiiiikesmish liked this · 5 days ago -
kaleidescope-main liked this · 5 days ago -
talesread reblogged this · 5 days ago -
nnofuckincluee liked this · 5 days ago -
ilovegyumore liked this · 5 days ago -
brunetteslut4evr liked this · 5 days ago -
itszarinaig liked this · 5 days ago -
marcelinethe-vampire-queen liked this · 5 days ago -
leo-38 liked this · 5 days ago -
hypopxia liked this · 5 days ago -
svtbpbts liked this · 5 days ago -
sadlynikki liked this · 5 days ago -
aekr liked this · 5 days ago -
alannahhex liked this · 5 days ago -
lily-oft-le-valley liked this · 5 days ago -
spnislyfe liked this · 5 days ago -
fruitchinloop liked this · 5 days ago -
chilichopsticks reblogged this · 5 days ago -
chilichopsticks reblogged this · 5 days ago
-
chilichopsticks liked this · 5 days ago
-
tychos-snr liked this · 5 days ago -
ashleylr012507 liked this · 5 days ago -
orithyia-eriphyle liked this · 5 days ago -
selmasemlan liked this · 5 days ago -
crazycupiid reblogged this · 5 days ago -
spookyyuku liked this · 5 days ago -
adzout liked this · 5 days ago -
mahimagi liked this · 5 days ago -
stell404 liked this · 5 days ago -
isitbiorisitlesbian liked this · 5 days ago -
giu707n liked this · 5 days ago -
anoukformula1 liked this · 5 days ago -
imsosaltyy liked this · 5 days ago
She/Her | 18+ | Marvel WriterAsks/Requests are welcomed!
88 posts