Difficult Morning
Difficult Morning
Summary: You’re having a harder time waking up this morning. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are patient and comforting throughout. [Disclaimer: Age Regression!] Word Count: 700+
A/N: What better way to start the blog than to start the day.
Main Masterlist
The morning light is softer than usual, and the room feels like it’s spinning just a little. You can’t quite remember how you got here, but you’re already clinging to the blankets like it’s your only anchor.
Your head hurts. It’s that sort of ache that makes your eyes sting, and everything feels fuzzy and distant.
You want to stay tucked under the covers, but there’s a feeling in your chest that’s hard to ignore. Something’s wrong. You don’t know what it is, but you’re not okay.
Your breathing comes in small, uneven gasps as you curl up tighter, pressing your face into the pillow. The bed feels too big for you today.
You hear a door creak open, followed by soft footsteps. Then Bucky’s voice, gentle, “Hey, kiddo. You up?”
You want to answer, but your throat feels tight. You don’t want to talk. You don’t know how to talk. You just want to stay where it’s safe.
Steve appears, and his expression softens when he sees you, curled up with your face hidden, your hands clutching at the blanket.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asks quietly. His tone is light, but you can hear the concern in it.
You can’t speak.
Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, his voice steady. “It’s okay, doll. We’re here. You just need a minute?”
You nod, but even the simple motion feels like too much. You feel so tired, like your body’s made of lead, like your thoughts are swirling too fast to catch. It all feels so overwhelming to you.
Bucky reaches out, his metal hand brushing gently against your arm. “You wanna talk about it?”
The words stick in your throat. You can’t explain why it’s so hard. You want to, but everything’s stuck inside, and it’s too much.
Steve kneels beside the bed, his hand soft on your back. “How about we get you up for some breakfast? Just pancakes, yeah? You like those, right?”
You don’t answer, but Steve’s hand stays on your back, rubbing slow circles that help ground you just a little. He doesn’t push. He just waits. You can feel Bucky’s presence beside you, steady and calm.
After a long moment, Bucky adds in softly, “We’ll take it slow, okay? No rush. You just let us know when you’re ready to move, and we’ll help you.”
You don’t know how much time passes, but eventually, your fingers uncurl from the blanket, and you feel Steve’s gentle touch on your arm, helping you sit up. It feels like your whole body is heavy, like you can’t quite hold yourself together.
“Come on, we’re gonna get you to the kitchen,” Steve says, his voice soft but firm, like a quiet promise. “Bucky, you wanna help her up while I grab the pancakes?”
Bucky gives a quiet hum of agreement, his hand reaching out to help lift you gently from the bed. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t make it feel like something’s expected of you. His arm is around your waist, his other hand steady on your back. Steve already departing the room toward the kitchen, preparing your breakfast.
You cling to him instinctively, your eyes still closed as you let him guide you through the apartment, already feeling safe against his chest.
When you get to the table, Bucky moves to set you down in your chair. However, a soft whine escapes your lips as you hold on a little tighter. He doesn’t mind though, taking a seat instead and placing you in his lap. He adjusts his hold, his voice soft as he assures you, “We’re not going anywhere, baby. We’ve got you.”
Steve places the pancakes in front of you, but you don’t feel like eating. You poke at the whipped cream, your hand unsteady, and then push a tiny piece into your mouth.
“You’re doing great,” Steve says quietly, sitting beside you. “One step at a time, okay? No pressure.”
You try to smile, but it’s small. It feels like too much. You want to speak, to say that you’re sorry or thank them, but the words just don’t come. Instead, you curl closer into Bucky’s chest, burying your face in his shirt.
“It’s okay to just be here with us, Doll,” Bucky says, kissing the top of your head. “No need to talk. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Steve reaches over and rests a hand on your back, steady and reassuring. “We’re right here, kid. You don’t have to be big today. You’re safe with us.”
And as you sit there between them, slowly easing into their warmth and comforting words, you realize that it’s enough. You don’t need to explain. You don’t need to be big right now. You don’t need to push through it all on your own. They’re here, and that’s what matters.
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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.”
With all Bucky has had to deal with, he definitely earned chaos privileges and should get his own medal lol. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
Infected by the Chaos
Summary: Overtime, your questionable tendencies and unpredictable phrases have rubbed off onto your boyfriend. The team reacts by trying their best to un-corrupt the supersoldier. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Word Count: 1.2k+
A/N: Thank you to @ozwriterchick for the idea. Enjoy and Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
There was a debriefing. The usual boring, long, and necessary meeting. Everyone sat around the conference table looking various degrees of irritated.
You were leaning back in your chair, chewing gum, spinning a pen between your fingers, and mentally ranking everyone’s haircuts from “tragic” to “god-tier.” (Sam had climbed two spots today.)
Steve was talking, bless him, but honestly, your brain had already turned into a screensaver.
“-and next time, we need tighter communication. Nat, cover the north entrance. Sam, recon from above. And you two,” He gestured at you and Bucky. “Try not to burn the entire building down next time.”
You opened your mouth, probably to say something deeply unhelpful and not at all relevant but then it happened.
Bucky got there first.
Deadpan, casual, and not even glancing up from his notepad, he muttered:
“I don’t control the fire. The fire controls me.”
The room went silent.
Sam slowly turned his head. “What.”
Nat blinked. “I’m sorry- Did Barnes just say that?”
Steve dropped his tablet. You were staring at him like he’d just told you he was pregnant with a spider-dog hybrid.
Bucky glanced up with a shrug. “What? It’s true.”
“No, no, no, back up.” You stood, pointing at him. “That’s my level of chaos. You don’t get to say things like that with a straight face. That’s my thing.”
“Pretty sure I’ve earned chaos privileges by now,” He said in an even tone, biting into an apple.
Nat coughed. “What else have you been saying lately?”
You whirled on Bucky. “You didn’t even flinch. You said it like a man who has absolutely Googled whether rats can legally vote.”
Bucky smirked. “I have due to our last date. They can’t yet.”
Sam slid down in his chair. “Oh god, there’s two of them now.”
Tony, who had joined the meeting late with a coffee and zero patience, looked between you and Bucky. “I always knew one of you was a bad influence. I just didn’t expect it to be her.”
“I resent that,” You said.
“I expected more from you, Barnes,” Tony replied.
Steve looked like he was having a mild stroke. “I spent a decade dragging him out of assassin mode and you…you-“ He pointed at you with all the drama of a soap opera actor. “You corrupted him.”
You crossed your arms. “Excuse me, I elevated him. You think he’d even know what a possum rave is without me?”
“Wait,” Bucky said, serious again. “That’s real?”
“Unfortunately,” Sam muttered.
Bucky turned to you. “Do you think we could-“
“No,” Steve and Sam said in unison.
Later that night, you and Bucky were sitting on the roof, feet dangling over the ledge, and watching the stars while splitting a packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts.
You nudged him with your shoulder. “You really said it, huh?”
He smirked. “It just came out.”
“And the fire controls you?”
He looked at you with something soft and proud in his eyes. “Maybe I’ve just been spending too much time with my favorite disaster.”
You grinned and leaned into his side. “Next step: getting you to name a pigeon.”
“Already done. His name’s Charles. He watched us fight three agents yesterday.”
You gasped. “You’re perfect.”
“I know,” Bucky said. “You trained me well.”
-
As time passed, Bucky was the problem now.
At first, the team found it endearing. The grumpy super soldier smiling at dumb jokes, randomly throwing out facts about duck mating rituals, or muttering “vibe check failed” after knocking someone out. In some strange way, it was charming. Odd, but charming.
But then he named a second pigeon. And that was the last straw.
“We need to intervene,” Natasha said, deadly serious with her arms folded as she stood at the head of the war room table.
“Why?” Bucky asked, mid-bite of a toaster strudel. “Charles Junior likes me.”
“Exactly,” Tony said, pointing dramatically. “The fact that you’re calling it Charles Junior is the problem.”
“I don’t see the issue,” You said from your seat next to Bucky, proudly wearing your ‘#1 Chaos Hero’ necklace again. “It’s genetic. Charles Prime had strong leader energy.”
Steve looked between you both like he was watching two people fall off a moral cliff in slow motion. “You used to be a soldier.”
“He is a soldier,” You said. “He just also knows five ways to make banana bread ”
Bucky nodded solemnly. “Just don’t over-mix the batter.”
Tony facepalmed. “Nope. This is a brain rot virus, and you’re patient zero.”
You smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t complimenting you.”
“Still taking it that way.”
Natasha, still painfully calm, pulled out a folder labeled “OPERATION: WINTER DETOX.”
“Oh no,” Bucky muttered.
“Yes,” She said. “We're deprogramming the chaos out of you. We're doing it for the safety of the building, and also the pigeons.”
-
During phase one, you were banned from interacting with Bucky for 48 hours. No comms. No breakfast together. No late-night feral cuddling where you told him shark facts until he passed out.
You broke the rule in 6 minutes.
Literally. You broke into the vent system and dropped into his room from the ceiling like some kind of gremlin god.
“Did you know octopuses have nine brains?”
Bucky looked up from his book, deadpan. “I do now.”
When Sam burst in to yell at you, he found Bucky trying to braid your hair while you explained the 36 reasons flamingos are both cursed and divine.
Sam left with his soul cracked in half.
Phase two didn’t end much better either. They tried re-soldiering him. Military documentaries. Physical training drills. A six-hour silent stare-off with Steve.
You showed up with a whiteboard that said “Today’s Mission: Turn Bucky Into a Lizard.”
Steve had to lock you out of the room and block your contact from Bucky’s phone for two hours.
By phase three, the team tried pairing Bucky with other Avengers. Nat. Rhodey. Bruce.
Each one ended up slightly more unhinged than when they started.
Bruce now exclusively drinks out of a cup shaped like a frog. Nat started saying “mood” unironically. Rhodey got a ferret and named it “Mini War Machine.”
“Do you see what you’ve done?” Steve begged one night as you and Bucky made soup in the communal kitchen while retelling an episode of River Monsters using only metaphors and curse words.
“I made the team fun,” You said, stabbing a ladle toward him.
Bucky beamed. “They laugh more now. And I haven’t threatened to murder anyone in two weeks.”
Tony nodded slowly. “He’s not wrong. Still terrifying, but now it’s… unpredictable terrifying.”
The breaking point came the next morning. Bucky walked into the briefing room wearing a shirt that said: “Emotionally Stable is a Strong Word”
You wore one that said: “I Know the Assignment. I Am Choosing to Ignore It.”
Steve stood then walked out muttering something about moving to Wakanda.
The team officially gave up trying to fix Bucky Barnes.
-
Later that night, Bucky was lying beside you, watching the stars again as the city hummed below.
“They really think I’m broken now,” He said.
You shrugged, twirling a glow stick between your fingers. “They just don’t know how to handle dual-wielding emotional repression and chaotic brilliance.”
He turned to you, smiling. “You really think it’s brilliance?”
You kissed his cheek. “Obviously. I don’t waste my time on mediocrity. Now help me build a pigeon obstacle course on the balcony.”
He nodded. “It’s what Charles Prime would’ve wanted.”
It really is! Full of fluff, they’re so cute. Thank you for reading! ♡
A Shot of Something More
Summary: You’re the closing barista at a campus café. Steve comes in to study, Bucky shows up to tease him, and you. They start staying late, helping you close, or walking you home. Over time, flirting turns into banter, and late nights turn into something deeper. (College AU! | Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
Word Count: 3.7k+
A/N: Really hoping other folks like this too. It’s a college AU/setting by the way. I thought it was cute and I quite like flirty Bucky lol. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
The espresso machine hissed as you wiped down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It was nearing 9:00 p.m., and the usual lull had settled over the campus café. Half the lights were dimmed, soft jazz hummed through the speakers, and the scent of coffee clung to your oversized hoodie like a second skin. You were alone behind the counter, as usual, your co-worker having ditched early with a vague excuse and a flirty grin you ignored out of habit.
It had been a long day with two lectures, lab work, and your phone buzzing every twenty minutes with group project drama. This place was your tiny sanctuary tucked between the English building and the art studios. It was the only space that ever felt quiet, even when it was loud.
You were just about to flip the “Closing Soon” sign to close early for the night when the bell above the door chimed.
You glanced up, already expecting some last-minute caffeine addict who’d argue for one more shot of espresso, but your fingers paused mid-reach.
He was back.
Steve Rogers stepped inside, eyes scanning the room like he always did as if expecting danger even in a sleepy café with free Wi-Fi and discount muffins. He gave you a small smile, polite and familiar. His blond hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and his flannel sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that did dangerous things to your focus.
“Hey,” He said, voice low and warm. “Didn’t realize it was this late.”
You tilted your head. “You always realize it’s this late.”
A chuckle escaped him as he made his way to his usual table in the corner, setting down a textbook the size of a brick. Philosophy, or maybe ethics… you weren’t sure anymore. He had this routine down to an art: order a plain black coffee, sit for one or two hours, read maybe five pages, and somehow leave you flustered even when he barely looked your way.
You grabbed a clean mug. “Let me guess. Caffeine to fight existential dread?”
Steve looked up, smiling wider now. “You read my mind.”
You started the brew, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “That’s not impressive. You’re a walking finals-week poster boy.”
And then, just as you were pouring the coffee, the bell above the door rang again.
This time, the energy shifted.
“Rogers, you’re such a nerd,” came a familiar voice all smooth, teasing, and louder than necessary.
Bucky Barnes strolled in like he owned the place, wearing a black hoodie, ripped jeans, and a look that could melt steel. His eyes flicked over to you then back to Steve, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Tell me you’re not actually studying again,” Bucky said, sliding into the seat across from his best friend without asking.
“I was,” Steve muttered.
You stood there, holding a mug in each hand, heart suddenly beating faster.
Bucky looked up at you, and something about his gaze, lazy and sharp all at once, made your fingers twitch.
“Well hey there, doll. Don’t suppose you’ve got something strong for a guy who had to suffer through group critique today?”
Steve rolled his eyes. You went behind the counter and made Bucky’s usual order, double shot with vanilla and just a touch of cream, before he even asked. He smirked.
You didn’t say it out loud, but they were both regulars now. And you were starting to wonder if they really came for the coffee… or if something else kept bringing them back, night after night.
-
As silence settled comfortably among you three, rain started somewhere between Bucky’s first sip and Steve’s third sigh.
It began as a soft patter, barely audible over the music, but soon grew into a steady drumbeat against the windows. Outside, the streetlights blurred into glowing halos through the glass, casting warm shadows over the near-empty café.
You glanced at the clock. 9:47. Almost fifteen minutes until closing time.
Most nights, you’d be starting your last round of cleaning out the espresso portafilters, wiping down the milk steamer, stacking the chairs. But tonight, you hesitated. You weren’t sure if it was the weather or the way Bucky had stretched out in the booth, legs spread, and his eyes watching you from under thick lashes. Or maybe it was the way Steve hadn’t looked at his book in twenty minutes, choosing instead to glance at you whenever he thought you weren’t paying attention.
They didn’t seem in any rush to leave. And truthfully… neither were you.
“You’re closing up soon, right?” Steve finally asked, his voice low as he reached for his mug again.
You nodded, wiping your damp hands on a towel. “Yeah. I usually start around now, but…” You gestured toward the rain. “Didn’t want to kick anyone out into that.”
Steve smiled faintly. “You’re always this nice to your customers?”
“Only the ones who don’t make a mess,” You answered, raising a brow. “So one of you.”
Bucky laughed, his head falling back against the booth. “Guilty. I do spill a lot. But I also tip well.”
You tried not to stare too hard at the way his neck looked when he stretched like that. “That’s true. I guess you can stay.”
“Generous,” He said with a wink.
There was a long pause. The café was nearly silent now with just the low hum of the fridge, the soft rain, and the clink of Steve’s spoon against his mug.
Then Bucky spoke up to ask in a casual tone, “You always close alone?”
You hesitated for a moment. “Usually. My coworker bails. Most nights.”
Steve frowned slightly. “That doesn’t seem safe.”
You shrugged, not used to concern like that. “It’s a college café, not a crime scene.”
Bucky made a face like he wasn’t satisfied with the answer. “Still… maybe we stay until you lock up. Walk you out.”
You blinked. The offer shouldn’t have made your stomach flip the way it did. But it wasn’t just the offer, it was the way they both looked at you when Bucky said it. Like it wasn’t just about safety. Like maybe they wanted to linger.
“…You’d wait around just to walk me to the bus stop?” Your voice was more curious than skeptical.
Steve shrugged. “We’ve got nowhere else to be.”
Bucky leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Unless you wanna kick us out. We could be very offended. Might leave a bad Yelp review.”
You laughed, too surprised to stop yourself. “Fine. But if you’re staying, you’re helping.”
“Oh?” Steve looked amused. “Helping how?”
You tossed a towel at him with a smirk. “You, Captain Neat, are wiping tables. Bucky, you’re mopping. Try not to make it worse.”
“Hey,” Bucky protested, catching the mop you handed him with mock offense. “I’ll have you know I was almost a janitor once.”
“Was that before or after your brief career as a barista at that goth café downtown?” You teased.
His eyes narrowed. “You stalked me?”
“You told me.”
“I did?”
You nodded. “You said you got fired for stealing scones.”
Steve laughed; really laughed, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking. “You would get fired for stealing scones.”
“Allegedly.”
You rolled your eyes, heart full in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. There was something comfortable about this. Domestic, even. The three of you cleaning up the café together like it was some weekly tradition. Like you weren’t just the barista and they weren’t just two regulars with unread books and flirtatious smiles.
Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was the beginning of something.
Either way, the rain hadn’t let up by the time you three got finished.
If anything, it had gotten heavier with each droplet sounding like a soft drumbeat against the awning as you turned off the café lights and locked the front door behind you. The three of you stood just outside, huddled under the narrow cover as the neon “Closed” sign flickered quietly in the window.
Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the sky. “I take back everything I ever said about romantic rain scenes in movies. This is miserable.”
Steve pulled a small, very very sad-looking umbrella from his backpack. “I brought this. But it’s… yeah.”
You looked at it. “That’s a two-person umbrella, Steve.”
“Three, if we’re friendly,” He offered, holding it up between you all.
Bucky snorted. “I don’t mind getting a little wet.” Then, with a wink your way, “Unless someone wants to get friendly.”
You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt warm. “You’re going to catch a cold.”
“I’ll survive,” He grinned. “But I’ll complain the entire time.”
You glanced from him to Steve, then sighed. “Fine. Scoot over.”
Somehow, you ended up in the middle with Steve on your right and Bucky on your left. Your shoulders bumping as the three of you navigated the narrow sidewalk beneath the umbrella’s barely-there coverage. Rain still splashed across your boots, soaked the edge of their sleeves, but you didn’t really mind.
Not when Bucky kept cracking terrible jokes about how this was definitely the origin story for a very wet, very tragic indie film. Not when Steve kept leaning just a little closer to keep the umbrella steady over you. Not even when your hands brushed once, then twice, then lingered.
Your dorm wasn’t far. Just past the library and through the row of tall sycamore trees that lined the main walkway. It should’ve taken five minutes.
It took twenty.
Not because you were walking slowly (though you were), or because Bucky got distracted by every glowing window (which he did), but because none of you seemed in any rush to get to the end.
Steve was the first to break the silence as you neared the edge of campus.
“So… do you always do closing shifts?”
You tilted your head. “Most nights.”
“Kind of late to be walking back alone, don’t you think?” He asked carefully.
“Kind of late to be hanging around the café every night,” Your voice was light as you shot back playfully.
He smiled. “Touché.”
Bucky smirked. “We like the vibe.”
“Oh? The coffee?”
He looked at you, serious for a moment. “No. Just the vibe.”
You held his gaze longer than you meant to, heartbeat quickening. Steve’s fingers brushed yours again, deliberate this time, and you swore your breath caught.
The trees overhead rustled with wind. The rain, gentler now, tapped softly on the umbrella like it, too, was listening in.
You cleared your throat as your dorm came into view, its warm yellow lights glowing through the fog.
“Well. This is my stop,” You said quietly, turning to face them beneath the umbrella.
Steve nodded, but didn’t step back. “Thanks for letting us help tonight.”
“Thanks for staying.”
There was a pause.
Bucky looked like he wanted to say something more, but didn’t. Instead, he stepped forward and brushed a raindrop off your cheek with the back of his finger gently, like it was an accident, even though it wasn’t.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked.
You nodded. “Same time?”
Steve smiled. “We’ll be there.”
And then, because it was easier than saying anything else, you turned and walked up the steps to your building, only glancing back once.
They were still standing there, shoulder to shoulder under that tiny umbrella. Making sure you got in safe before heading to their own dorm, teasing each other the whole way back.
-
Sleep didn’t come easily.
You laid in bed long after midnight staring at the ceiling. Your pillow was cool against your cheek as your thoughts were tangled in the warmth of the moments earlier that day and the quiet laughter you shared.
It wasn’t just that they walked you home. Or that Steve looked at you like you were worth protecting. Or that Bucky had touched your face so softly you could still feel it hours later.
It was everything. The quiet between you. The way they filled the silence without crowding it. The way you felt seen, not just as a barista or a student or some tired person behind a register, but as you.
You didn’t know what to do with that.
So you didn’t do anything. You showed up for your shift the next afternoon like always. Your hair was still damp from your rushed shower as you wore an apron that was only half-tied. Caffeine already whispered promises of survival.
The café was slower today. The sky was gray but unthreatening. The air smelled like rain that might come back, if only to keep you on your toes.
Steve and Bucky didn’t show up right away. A small part of you worried they wouldn’t. Maybe last night had meant more to you than it did to them.
But then you heard the bell above the door chimed.
You didn’t have to look up to know it was them.
Steve entered first, holding the door for Bucky, who strolled in like he owned the place (which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth with how many drinks he ordered a week). They were dressed down wearing hoodies and jeans, student backpacks slung casually over shoulders, but their presence still shifted the room like sunlight through a window.
You met them at the counter, hands already reaching for their usual orders.
“Afternoon,” Steve greeted, a little smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re late,” You said, teasing. “I was about to give your booth to someone else.”
Bucky raised a brow. “You’d betray us like that?”
“Rent isn’t free. Loyalty has limits.”
He smirked. “Guess we’ll have to earn it back.”
You turned to start their drinks, only to find a folded piece of paper under your cup they had slipped when you reached for the cups to fulfill their order moments prior. Your brows pulled together.
Steve gave you a look, mischief and nerves tucked behind his smile. “It’s nothing. Just… open it.”
You wiped your fingers on a towel and unfolded the note.
Movie night. Our place at 6 on Friday. Pizza, bad commentary, and a couch big enough for three. Say yes. – Bucky (and Steve, but I’m the cooler one)
Your fingers paused on the paper, glancing at the address scribbled at the bottom. You looked up at them slowly.
Steve shrugged, just a little. “Only if you want.”
Bucky leaned on the counter, chin in his hand. “No pressure. Just… thought you might want a night off.”
You stared at them. These two men both bright and ridiculous, kind and impossible were standing there like they hadn’t just turned your whole week upside down with a handwritten note.
You tried to play it cool.
“Depends,” You said lightly. “What movie?”
Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky looked at you.
Bucky grinned. “You’ll just have to see.”
-
You spent most of Friday pretending it was just any other night.
You didn’t put extra effort into your outfit. (Except for the third shirt you changed into before leaving but that didn’t count.) You didn’t check your phone every ten minutes. (Except you absolutely did.) And you definitely didn’t spend a full fifteen minutes debating whether to bring snacks or let them handle it. (You settled on bringing cookies. Homemade. But again, not a big deal.)
Their apartment wasn’t far. A short walk off campus, tucked above an old bookstore with ivy growing along the brick walls and a buzzer that didn’t work unless you pressed it just right.
Bucky answered the door. He was barefoot, wearing soft joggers and a t-shirt that looked like it had been washed a hundred times. His hair was a little messy, eyes bright.
“You made it,” He smiled, stepping back to let you in.
Steve was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, pulling a pizza from the oven. “Hey!” He called out, grinning when he saw you. “Perfect timing.”
The place was cozy with bookshelves lining the living room wall, posters of vintage comics and cheesy movie prints framed above a massive couch that had clearly seen better days. A blanket was already tossed over one end, and two mugs of something warm steamed on the coffee table.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” You set your cookies down on the table.
Steve waved you off. “You work too much. You deserve a night off.”
“And,” Bucky added, flopping onto the couch, “You deserve to know how terrible Steve is at picking movies.”
“Bold talk for someone who suggested Sharknado 3,” Steve shot back.
“Exactly. It’s a masterpiece.”
You laughed, already feeling the tension in your chest ease.
Eventually, the pizza was sliced, drinks were topped off, and the three of you settled onto the couch. Steve sat on your right, Bucky on your left, and it didn’t take long for knees to brush, for shoulders to touch, for the space between you to shrink until it barely existed at all.
The movie played, albeit half-forgotten, while the room was filled with lazy commentary and sleepy warmth. Bucky stretched out with his feet on the table, arm draped casually along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder. Steve leaned forward now and then to refill your drink or offer another slice, always gentle, always looking at you like he meant it.
You were full, warm, and softened in a way you hadn’t expected.
Halfway through the second movie (something terrible with robots and space cowboys), you shifted to get more comfortable. Steve moved with you, letting you lean just slightly into his side.
And then Bucky did the same. His fingers found yours on the blanket all tentative and light, and for one moment, no one moved.
Not a word was said.
But your fingers curled around his. And Steve’s hand settled on your knee, thumb brushing slowly. And it felt like something unspoken had finally been understood. You didn’t know what this was, this tangle of limbs and comfort or the way your chest ached in the best possible way, but you weren’t afraid of it.
Not here. Not with them.
Even as the movie kept playing and the leftover pizza grew cold, none of you moved.
-
You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. You hadn’t mean to and neither did they. You woke up not in your own bed and not alone. But you weren’t in a rush to change any of that.
The living room was quiet, filled with the pale blue light of early morning seeping through half-closed curtains. The TV had long since gone dark, the screen reflecting only faint movement from the rain streaking the windows.
Your head rested on Steve’s chest, steady and warm. One of his arms was wrapped around you, loose but certain, holding you there like he never wanted you to move.
On your other side, Bucky sat slumped at an angle, legs draped half off the couch, mouth parted slightly as he snored, quiet and completely unbothered by how awkwardly he was folded. His fingers were still tangled loosely with yours.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t, maybe. Your body was tucked into theirs like a puzzle piece, your heart beating too loud in a space that had become too quiet. It should’ve been awkward. Too intimate, too vulnerable, or too much. But it wasn’t.
Because it was safe. It was warm too.
Steve stirred beneath you. His thumb began to stroke slowly up and down your arm, just enough to let you know he was awake.
“Morning,” He murmured. His voice was rough from sleep, a little quiet.
“Hi,” You whispered.
You both glanced toward Bucky. He was still out cold, lips slightly parted, hair tousled like a storm. You smiled without meaning to.
Steve caught it. His voice was softer now, barely a breath: “He really likes you.”
Your gaze flicked to him. “You say that like it’s a secret.”
“It’s not,” He said. “Not to me.”
“And you?” You asked carefully, heart skipping.
He didn’t look away. “Me too.”
You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “You both… talked about this?”
Steve nodded, slow and honest. “We weren’t sure how you felt. We didn’t want to push.”
You looked between them. Steve, awake and steady. Bucky, still asleep but even then, he felt familiar and safe. You thought about the nights at the café, the walks, the note, the night before, the way neither of them ever really asked for more than you were ready to give.
And the way you’d wanted more anyway.
“I don’t know how this works,” You said softly.
Steve smiled. “We figure it out together.”
It was Bucky who shifted then groggy and blinking, mumbling something unintelligible as he stretched and then promptly smacked Steve in the face with his arm.
“Watch it,” Steve said with a quiet laugh.
“Wha…? What time-” Bucky rubbed his face, squinting at the light. “God, why am I on a couch. Who let me fall asleep like this?”
You raised a brow. “You literally said, ‘I’m not moving. This couch is my home now.’”
Bucky blinked at you. Then at Steve. Then at your very obvious shared position on the couch.
A slow, sleepy smirk spread across his face. “Did we finally say it?”
Steve gave him a dry look that clearly implied he did all the work. “You didn’t say anything. You drooled a little though.”
Bucky reached over and flicked Steve’s shoulder. “Shut up.” Then he turned to you. “You okay?”
You nodded. “Better than okay.”
He leaned in a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His grin softened, almost turning shy for a moment before it shifted bold and certain. He leaned in the rest of the way and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed nor was it loud.
It was soft, like the first word in a language none of you had dared to speak before.
And when Steve kissed you after, slow and reverent like he’d been waiting forever, you realized something else:
You weren’t falling for them. You already did long before you realized it. And they fell just as hard for you too.
✩˚ ｡ Masterlist ｡ ˚✩
Here is where you can find all the works I’ve written. All of this currently involves Steve and/or Bucky unless specified otherwise. I may branch to other characters later on. Don’t forget to take a look at my Rules! Otherwise, feel free to review My Intro, Carrd, and the rest of my masterlist. Happy reading!!! ♡
Last Updated: 05/22/25
Keys| Fluff ✿ | Angst ⛆ | Dark 𓉸 | Agere ʚɞ | Hurt/Comfort ❦
Series:
✿⛆❦ Whispers of the Gifted (Masterlist) - A collection of different one-shots with reader having different powers or abilities, each in their own universe. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
✿ Earth’s Mightiest Headache (Masterlist) - A collection of different one-shots with an unhinged reader as a chaotic whirlwind of misplaced confidence, untraceable knowledge, and genuine good intentions. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)
ʚɞ 𓉸 ⛆ Caged in Comfort (Masterlist)
Two-Parts:
𓉸 Obsessive Love & Devoted Possession - You and Bucky Barnes fall into a quiet but intense obsession with each other. While your love is sweet, watchful, and clingy beneath a gentle surface, Bucky’s affection turns darker and more possessive. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x Yandere!reader)
⛆ Even If You Forget & I’ll Still Love You - After a mission gone wrong, you lose all memory of your relationship with Bucky. Even though it pains him to the core with grief, he stays by your side and quietly swears he’ll always love you no matter what happens. “I’ll Still Love You” shows what would happen if you had swapped places. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Fics/One-Shots:
ʚɞ ❦ Difficult Morning - You’re having a harder time waking up this morning. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are patient and comforting throughout. (Stucky x little!reader)
ʚɞ ❦ After the Noise - During a meeting, everything becomes too much for you. Your fathers notice instantly, bringing you to a quieter space and reassuring you that you don’t always have to be big. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ ʚɞ Fort Kingdom - You spend a rainy evening with your caregivers, Bucky and Steve, building the ultimate blanket fort. (Stucky x little!reader)
⛆❦ The Silence Between Us - When a mission goes wrong and you resort to bad habits, one of the last teammates you expected finds you. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
✿ ʚɞ A Little Mess Won’t Hurt - Your caregivers help you try finger painting, noticing your reluctance to create any kind of mess despite your love for art. (Stucky x little!reader)
𓉸 Because He Always Knows - You're close friends with Bucky Barnes, trusting his quiet, protective nature. What you don’t know is that Bucky is secretly obsessed with you. And he’ll do anything to keep you safe, close, and his. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)
✿ ʚɞ ❦ Learning to Ask - When you muster the courage to ask for something, Bucky responds with quiet warmth, holding you close as Steve gently joins in, reminding you that it’s safe to ask for things and even safer to be held. (Stucky x little!reader)
⛆ The Solstitial Truce - You met him at the border between realms every solstice, simply watching the stars together. Two entities out of place, bound by quiet conversation and the kind of silence that speaks more than words ever could. (Demon!Bucky Barnes x Angel!reader)
⛆ ʚɞ ❦ Not a Burden - Lately, you’ve been feeling like a burden to your caregivers. It doesn’t take long for Steve and Bucky to notice and reassure you that you’re never a burden to them and you never will be. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ ʚɞ Beach Day - You and your caregivers go on a trip to the beach where you have an action-packed day of building sand castles, splashing in the water, and spending time with your daddies.
✿ DIY Project - You and your competitive boyfriends attempt to build a bookshelf one day. You have to refrain from laughing as they keep trying to one-up each other.
⛆ 𓉸 Rewritten - You wake up in a cozy home with no memory of anything. You find your alleged lovers reassuring you that you’ve always lived there and that they’ll stay by your side through this difficult time. However, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is wrong. (Dark!Stucky x reader)
✿ A Place They Call Home - You become a quiet, comforting presence in Steve’s and Bucky’s lives. They slowly form a deep, romantic bond with you built on quiet moments, mutual care, and unspoken understanding. (Stucky x reader)
ʚɞ❦ When They Need You - Steve has been having a rough day, trying to hide his exhaustion from Bucky and you, but you can tell something’s off. In your little headspace, you take it upon yourself to comfort him. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ Tiny Winged Trouble - When SHIELD accidentally captures you, a fairy, in a jar, Steve and Bucky are tasked with figuring out what you are. You refuse to speak at first, until Steve gives you a cookie. Now they’re stuck with a clingy, stubborn fairy who calls them “Tree” and “Shadow.” (Steve Rogers x fairy!reader x Bucky Barnes)
✿❦ Picture Perfect - You’ve always loved photography but never dared to try until your boyfriends encourage you to pick up a camera and capture the world through your eyes. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
✿❦ Love Letters in the Smoke - During his rehabilitation, Bucky writes anonymous letters to process his thoughts. One night, he drops one at your circus campfire by mistake. You write back as a pen-pal romance begins. (Bucky Barnes x aerialist!reader)
✿ Tiny Wings, Gentle Things - Steve gently teaches you human things like books, buttons, and manners, while Bucky encourages mischief, showing you how to pull harmless pranks around the tower.(Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)
⛆❦ Exactly As You Are - You slowly form a tender, deeply emotional relationship with Bucky Barnes. Despite fears of being a burden, he stays, proving with quiet strength and unwavering presence that love doesn’t need to be perfect to be real. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
✿ A Shot of Something More - You’re the closing barista at a campus café. Steve comes in to study, Bucky shows up to tease him, and you. Over time, flirting turns into banter, and late nights turn into something deeper. (College AU! | Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
✿ ʚɞ Toy Store Visit - You go to a toy store with a budget and pick out one new stuffie. Your caregivers gently guide you and remain patient as you carefully choose which stuffed animal or toy to bring home. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ Escape Room Chaos - You take Steve and Bucky to an escape room for a fun, relaxing evening, but things quickly spiral into chaos. Both somehow ignore the obvious clues in favor of dramatic theories and property damage. You’re just trying to survive until you can successfully escape without a lawsuit. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
✿ Chaotic Cat Curse - You were accidentally cursed and turned into a cat, causing all kinds of fun chaos for Bucky: destroying things, attacking his shoelaces, and generally making his life impossible. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
❦ Tiny Caretaker - Steve returns from a mission injured and emotionally drained. You wordlessly comfort him using small, nature-based gifts. (Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)
𓉸 Again - You live in a carefully constructed world with Bucky Barnes, unaware he’s been resetting your memories every time you try to leave him. Each time you begin to remember the truth, he gently erases it, cloaking control in affection. To you, it feels like love. To him, it is. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)
✿ Stray Magic - 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)
Blurbs/Drabbles:
ʚɞ ❦ Sick Day - You’re sick and your fathers take care of you. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ Lazy Morning - Snuggled up between your loving boyfriends, you listen quietly as they argue over who is the better cook. (Stucky x reader)
✿ Left Alone with the Air Fryer - You leave him home alone with a new air fryer and strict instructions not to use it. He does it anyways. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
DIY Project
Summary: You and your competitive boyfriends attempt to build a bookshelf one day. You have to refrain from laughing as they keep trying to one-up each other. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
Word Count: 800+
Main Masterlist
It started innocently enough, just a quick trip to the hardware store to pick up supplies for a simple project: a new bookshelf for your shared space. What you didn’t expect was for Steve and Bucky to turn this into something resembling a full-on competition once you all returned home.
“You sure you know how to use this?” Bucky smirked, eyeing the power drill Steve was holding. His arms were crossed, looking very much like someone who'd been working on DIY projects for decades, despite his years spent in ice rather than carpentry.
Steve just shot him a reassuring smile, looking impossibly calm with the tool in hand. “I’ve read the manual, Buck. It’s just like… using the shield, only smaller.”
“Yeah, but less likely to save your life when you mess up,” Bucky teased, clearly trying to get under Steve’s skin, but Steve was unphased.
You chuckled, setting down the lumber on the floor and carefully unrolling the instructions. “I think we all know who’s gonna win this one,” You said, looking at them both with a grin. “Just make sure the bookshelf doesn’t end up as a pile of firewood.”
“Oh, please,” Steve raised an eyebrow, stepping forward. “It’ll be perfect.”
Bucky scoffed, already picking up a hammer with one hand and measuring tape with the other. “I’ll just do it the old-fashioned way. Real men use hammers.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The two of them were like kids with toys, bickering over who was the more competent handyman. The tools were all scattered around, and they hadn’t even started properly, but the energy was high as both men tried to one-up each other.
After a few minutes of half-joking, half-serious banter, you were the one who had to step in, offering your assistance.
"Alright, alright, let’s just… let’s follow the instructions." You pulled the instructions closer and gave them both a look. "Bucky, you hold the boards steady, Steve, you drill. No more arguments, okay?"
For a moment, both men looked at you, and it was clear neither one was about to back down without their own little victory. But they both nodded, maybe out of sheer respect for your calm demeanor.
The project itself wasn’t complicated, but it became a comedy of errors. Every few minutes, Bucky would make a comment, something along the lines of “You’re doing it wrong,” only to have Steve correct him with a smile. Meanwhile, Bucky’s measurements were hilariously off, leading to the boards not quite lining up as they should.
You found yourself stepping in a lot, guiding them back on track and trying not to laugh too much at their competitive antics. Every time you made a suggestion, Bucky would give Steve a side-eye, pretending to begrudgingly take your advice, while Steve was acting like the calm, collected team leader he was.
But when it finally came to assembling the shelves, the moment of truth, you realized they were working in sync. Their chemistry, despite the teasing and arguing, made the job easier. The bookshelf, while a little crooked at a few spots, was still functional, and after all the joking and laughter, it was a perfect testament to the teamwork they didn't even realize they had.
When it was finally done, you stood back, admiring the result. “Not bad, guys,” You complimented with a playful grin. “I think it’s perfect.”
Steve wiped his hands on his jeans and gave you a proud smile. “Told you. I knew we could do it.”
Bucky, though, just leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a look of mock indifference. “Yeah, yeah. But it was definitely my expertise that pulled it all together.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you gave them both a playful nudge. “I don’t know, I think I’m the one who made it all happen.”
Bucky and Steve exchanged a glance and a brief smirk before Steve stepped forward, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re right. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Bucky nodded, tapping you on the nose. “Guess you’re the real MVP.”
You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest as the three of you stood back and admired your handiwork. Even though it was just a bookshelf, the day had turned into a reminder that the best moments were often the simplest and the most fun.
“Next time,” Bucky said, breaking the silence, “We’re building a chair. I’m picking the materials.”
Steve raised an eyebrow, smirking as he looked over. “You know what? I’ll be in charge of the instructions for that one.”
“Oh, no,” You groaned with mock horror. “Not again. Please.”
The sound of their laughter filled the room, and you couldn't help but think that, despite the chaos, today had been perfect.
Mischief Meets Alpine
Summary: Bucky introduces Alpine to you and Mischief one afternoon. An intense, one-sided, stare off ensues with an interesting truce that practically leaves you speechless when they start influencing each other for better or worse. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.
Word Count: 2.3k+
A/N: To be honest, I wrote this one based on the idea given by @kissingkillercriminals in their reblog of the prequel. Hope it turns out to be a fun read for you and everyone else. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel | Finale
It was a slow afternoon in the Tower. Clouds had gathered thickly in the sky, casting a grayish hue through the windows. Rain pattered gently against the glass, the soft drumming filling the silence in the common room.
You were curled up on the armchair with a book in your lap and Mischief lounging across your legs like the possessive feline empress she was. Her tail twitched lazily every few seconds, ears flicking to the rhythm of the raindrops. Her eyes were half-lidded, content.
That is, until the elevator dinged. Her ears perked immediately. You looked up as footsteps echoed down the hallway. Familiar ones.
“Hey,” Bucky greeted from the doorway, a little damp from the drizzle. But he wasn’t alone.
Nestled comfortably in his arms, perched like a queen surveying her domain, was a stunning white cat. Blue-eyed, snowy-soft, and eerily calm, almost regal in the way she looked around the room.
Mischief went still.
Your eyes widened. “Is that… Alpine?” You had heard of Bucky’s cat before, but never seemed to have the chance to meet her until now.
Bucky nodded, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he stepped in. “She was pacing by the window when I left the room this morning. Figured she might want a change of scenery.”
Mischief lifted her head. Her pupils narrowed sharply as she fixed her gaze on the uninvited guest. A low growl began to bubble in her throat, barely audible to anyone but you.
You gently placed your hand on her back. ‘Easy’, You thought, not even needing to speak it aloud. She didn’t seem to pick up on your message because her entire body was locked, tense, and offended.
Bucky moved slowly, like he knew he was treading on sacred ground. “Didn’t mean to start a turf war. Just figured maybe it was time.”
You stood slowly, Mischief reluctantly hopping off your lap. Her tail whipped once in warning.
Alpine was unfazed. Her blue eyes landed on Mischief with mild interest. She gave a soft, courteous mrrrow, as if greeting a fellow royal.
Mischief’s eyes narrowed. She sat, but her body language screamed intruder.
“She’s beautiful,” You said gently, watching Alpine with cautious awe. “I didn’t know she was so calm around new places.”
“She’s used to traveling,” Bucky replied, setting Alpine down slowly onto the floor. “Doesn’t like being cooped up. Kinda like me.”
You watched with a held breath as Alpine took a few exploratory steps forward. Mischief didn’t move, but her eyes tracked every inch like a sniper zeroing in. When Alpine got within a few feet, she paused. Then, with the unbothered grace of someone who feared nothing, she laid down.
Mischief hissed. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even aggressive. But it was unmistakably territorial.
“Mischief,” You warned softly, crouching next to her. “She’s not a threat.”
Bucky crouched too, beside Alpine, who had begun grooming her paw without a care in the world.
“Look at them,” He said, his voice hushed like it was a secret. “It’s like they’re trying to decide who owns the building.”
You laughed under your breath. “Mischief thinks she owns it.”
“Alpine knows she doesn’t need to prove it.”
As the two cats stared each other down, you caught it, soft and calm, threaded right beneath the silence.
She’s dramatic.
You blinked. Wait… That voice, sleek, composed, feminine, was Alpine’s. Not a meow, not a growl. Words.
You glanced at Bucky, but he was oblivious. Still watching the feline standoff like it was a chess game. Mischief’s growl rose slightly. Alpine remained still.
She likes you. That’s why she hasn’t lunged yet.
Alpine added, her voice as silky as her fur.
But I don’t back down either. So this should be interesting.
You noticed Mischief didn’t seem to hear your telepathic conversation with the newcomer. So you didn’t respond aloud, instead responding in your mind. ’You’re really not bothered, are you?’
He smells like snow and blood, but his hands are gentle. She’s possessive, not of the tower. Of you.
You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. ‘I can see why.’
Mischief hissed quietly, and you caught a flicker of Alpine’s tail.
She wants me to leave.
’Will you?’ You thought, unsure if you were asking out of hope or curiosity.
No. But I’ll wait. I’m patient. She’s not the only one who’s bonded.
The two cats remained still, locked in a silent standoff. Well, more like a one-sided standoff. A slow, deliberate blink passed from Alpine to Mischief.
To your utter shock, Mischief paused for a moment before blinking back. A beat passed before she turned her head and sat down with a huff. Not surrender. But perhaps a reluctant acknowledgment.
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Was that…?”
You blinked. “I think that was the feline equivalent of a handshake.”
He grinned, proud. “Progress.”
You looked down at both of them, one lounging and one sulking. You rose to your feet now, and as you did, Mischief brushed your leg with her tail, circling your feet like she was claiming you. Alpine simply hopped onto the rug and began inspecting a string toy left forgotten from Tony’s latest failed bribery attempt.
“So,” Bucky said after a moment, straightening. “What are the chances our girls end up tolerating each other?”
You glanced down at Mischief, who gave you a look that seemed to say, I allow this only because you do.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” You murmured. “But… It’s a start.”
Bucky stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “They’re like us,” He said quietly. “Cautious. But… maybe not beyond letting someone in.”
You turned your head toward him slowly, heart skipping.
“Maybe,” You said. “If they’re lucky enough to find the right person.”
And beneath the steady sound of rain, the two of you watched the loved cats learning the quiet language of trust across the room.
-
Though, you didn’t know what that trust would actually entail. The first incident began with silence, which, in your experience with Mischief, was never a good sign.
The Tower was unusually quiet that morning. You were sipping tea in the kitchen, reading reports while waiting for the coffee machine to finish sputtering its way through Bucky’s drink order. Mischief had been suspiciously absent since breakfast. Alpine had vanished not long after.
You glanced toward the hallway only to find nothing out of the ordinary.
Then, a crash, coming from the direction of Tony’s lab.
Not a small bump or a gentle thud. No, this was a metallic, shattering, the Tony-will-not-be-pleased sort of crash.
You bolted upright, nearly spilling your tea, and sprinted toward the noise. Bucky was already there, jogging in from the elevator, sweatpants loose, hair damp from his time at the gym.
“You heard that too?” He asked, eyes narrowing.
Another sound followed. A high-pitched zip-zip-zip noise, like drones activating. Followed by… pawsteps?
You and Bucky skidded to a stop at the entrance to Tony’s lab. It looked like a bomb had gone off.
Three of Tony’s prototype micro-drones were hovering erratically midair, one of them twirling in panicked circles. The rest lay in pieces scattered across the floor, wires tangled like a crime scene. And in the middle of the chaos sat Alpine, tail curled delicately around her paws, completely unbothered.
On the counter nearby, Mischief crouched with a gleam in her eye that could only be described as unrepentant. She looked directly at you, then at Bucky, and gave a soft meow as if to assert her innocence.
“I think we just missed the heist,” You said breathlessly.
Bucky muttered, “Alpine was supposed to be the calm one.”
“I never said Mischief was a good influence.”
You both stepped forward carefully, surveying the disaster. Mischief had clearly pried open one of the drawers, Tony’s "Do Not Touch" ones. Wires were dragged out like spaghetti noodles. A spilled jar of who knows what rolled lazily across the floor.
“Is that my cloaking device?” Came a voice from the hallway.
You winced as Tony rounded the corner before stopping dead at the sight.
Alpine jumped gracefully down and walked over to Bucky’s feet, brushing against him as if she hadn’t just helped dismantle a small fortune in tech.
Tony's eye twitched. “Why are your cats smarter than my interns?”
“I ask myself that every day,” Bucky said, scooping up Alpine. “You didn’t leave any exploding gadgets out, right?”
“Not this week,” Tony snapped, waving a tablet like a club. “Do you even understand what they’ve broken? That drone was programmed to help defuse bombs.”
“I’m sure they had a good reason,” You offered, not that it helped, gently lifting Mischief off the counter. She purred, content and absolutely smug.
“Ask her what the hell kind of reason that would be,” Tony snapped at you.
You looked at Mischief, questioning in a flat tone. “Why?”
Mischief stretched lazily, flicked her tail, and in a nonchalant, mental whisper, said:
It blinked first.
You groaned at the excuse, hesitating before giving the answer. “She says it blinked at her.”
Tony blinked. “It blinked? That’s your defense?”
“She’s a cat, Tony.”
“Whatever.” He pointed at Bucky. “And your cat?”
Bucky looked down at Alpine, who yawned wide and graceful. She murmured to you with eerie composure,
I wanted to know if it could fly backward. It couldn’t.
You snorted before you could stop yourself.
“What?” Tony demanded, head snapping towards you.
You waved him off. “You… don’t want to know.”
Later that evening, after Tony had barricaded the lab and implemented new retinal scans to keep out the feline menaces (his words, not yours). You found Bucky in the living room with Alpine lying beside him with a toy and Mischief perched on the back of the couch.
“They’re lucky they’re cute,” You muttered, flopping down beside him.
Bucky glanced sideways. “I think they’re bonding.”
“They broke a drone.”
“Exactly.”
You looked at the two cats now comfortably sharing the space, Alpine nibbling at the feather toy, Mischief eyeing the object like it had wronged her.
You shook your head. “It’s like watching spies team up.”
“They are spies,” Bucky corrected, definitely not taking this seriously, evident by the grin he wore. “Tiny, furry, manipulative spies.”
Mischief flicked her tail in agreement as Alpine blinked slowly. And for a brief moment, peace, albeit temporary, settled over the Tower.
-
However, while the first incident was annoying for Tony, the second was catered more toward you and Bucky.
It started small to the point where you didn’t notice it at first. Mischief, your eternally territorial shadow, began to behave… differently. She still took up her usual place on your lap, still growled at anyone who got too close, and still owned the Tower like she paid the bills. But she started following you and Bucky when you left rooms. Lingering in the halls, appearing on counters and ledges when the two of you happened to be in the same space.
Alpine, meanwhile, watched everything from a perch of regal detachment, or so it seemed. But you knew better since you heard her.
Don’t hiss this time. Just watch. Let him sit next to her first.
You had paused when you heard it the first time, over breakfast. Mischief was on the table (illegally), staring daggers at Bucky as he walked in. Alpine, curled on the windowsill, barely flicked her tail, but her voice unintentionally slipped into your thoughts again as she directed the ‘secret’ information to Mischief:
She likes it when he brings her things and when he calls her 'trouble.' You should let her admit that.
You almost choked on your toast, but didn’t say anything when Bucky looked over at you with a questioning, concerned gaze.
That was the first clue.
The second clue came two days later, when Bucky was helping you patch up a cut you'd gotten during training. It was nothing, barely a nick, but he'd insisted. Kneeling in front of you, his gloved hand cradled your wrist while the other applied antiseptic.
Mischief watched from the armrest, her ears twitching. It was clear she was tense, jealous… until Alpine hopped up beside her and gently nudged her with her head.
Now. Purr. So she relaxes.
Mischief blinked slowly, tail twitching. Then, shockingly, she purred. Loudly and deeply. You actually laughed, easing into the moment, and Bucky glanced up at you with that rare, boyish half-smile that made your chest ache.
You knew that had been Alpine's doing. And Mischief, traitor that she was, seemed fine with it.
The third clue? Bucky confessed it.
You were sitting together in the lounge late one night, watching the rain tap softly at the windows, each of you nursing mugs of tea. Mischief dozed between you on the couch. Alpine had curled beside her, touching, no less. A miracle in itself.
Bucky tilted his head toward the sleeping cats. “You know, Alpine's been… weird.”
“Weird how?”
He hesitated. “She… keeps pushing me toward you.”
Your heart did a very stupid, very hopeful thing. “She told you that?”
He gave you a sheepish look. “She doesn’t talk to me like she talks to you, of course. But she’ll nudge me when I move away too soon. Block seats unless I sit beside you. Once she knocked my phone out of my hand when I was trying to leave the room.”
You could feel your heart beat faster, but tried to cover up your nervousness with a laugh, joking a little. “She’s matchmaking.”
“I think Mischief’s in on it, too. Last night, she dragged your hoodie into my room.”
Your eyebrows shot up. So that’s where your hoodie went, of all places.
“And then Alpine slept on it like it was a peace offering.”
You looked down at the two curled balls of fur, now subtly pressed together. Mischief’s tail lay loosely draped over Alpine’s back.
“Is this what a truce looks like?” You whispered.
Bucky’s fingers brushed yours, and you didn’t pull away.
“Looks like,” He murmured.
You didn’t answer this time, but your fingers curled around Bucky’s gently as Alpine purred softly and Mischief, even in sleep, didn’t object.
That was enough of an answer until either of you could act on the same thing both of your hearts wanted.
Hello, my lovelies! I have just finished a grueling 18 hour long car trip and have arrived in the room. I hope to have at least one new fic out daily for you all. Happy reading! ♡
Hiiii, would you ever write a part 2 to The Way He Notices or go back and write more to any previous fics?
Greetings, friend! Congrats on first ask. I could probably write something additional in that universe with the reader who can turn invisible. Maybe when they do confess or something. Regarding the second half of your question, it would depend if anyone would want to see more of whichever work I’ve written! Thanks for reading!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
The Solstitial Truce
Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Angel!reader
Summary: You met him at the border between realms every solstice. Neither of you spoke of the war or how many souls were claimed. You simply watched the stars together, two entities out of place, bound by quiet conversation and the kind of silence that speaks more than words ever could.
Word Count: 2.5k+
A/N: This takes place in the winter solstice by the way! I had this idea earlier and hope you like it as much as I did. I tried to do more descriptive language/scenes. This has ANGST and is left on a cliffhanger by the way. References to a war too, but not explored. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
The sky was a tapestry of frozen silence.
Stars flickered like dying embers, scattered across the heavens above the boundary. The solstice wind stirred the trees into brittle whispers, and the snow under your feet crunched with every tentative step. You shouldn’t have been there. Angels weren’t meant to wander so close to the borderland, not without orders, not without reason.
But tonight, something had drawn you in. A pull like a thread around your ribs, subtle but unyielding. You followed it, quiet, unsure, your wings folded close to your back like a secret you weren't ready to share.
And then, you saw him.
At first, you thought it was a shadow. A patch of darkness that refused to yield to the moonlight. But no. He moved. Slowly, with the weariness of someone who had lived through too many endings.
He knelt in the snow near a half-dead tree, one hand buried in the frozen soil, fingers clenched like he could still hold onto something that had long since slipped through. Smoke curled faintly around him, not from fire, but from him. It coiled at his shoulders like a protective beast, breathing in rhythm with the rise and fall of his chest.
You froze when you realized who he was. A demon.
Not just any demon, him. The Winter Demon. The one they spoke of in the higher halls. The one who fell long ago but never quite burned out. You recognized him from the whispers. A former soldier. A shattered soul. A blade that had once been wielded by hell itself.
Your hand moved instinctively toward the hilt of your blade, but you didn’t draw it. Something in you held back.
He didn’t move or flinch. Didn’t seem surprised by your presence either.
“I thought angels didn’t walk this far down,” He spoke in a voice low and rough, like it had been dragged through gravel and time. “Unless they’re looking for a fight.”
You hesitated. “I’m not here to fight.”
He chuckled, but it was a hollow sound. “That’s what the last one said.”
You stayed silent, watching him closely. He didn’t turn. Didn’t rise. Just kept his hand in the dirt, like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.
The wind stirred again, ruffling the edges of your robes. Your wings shifted restlessly, feathers rustling with unease.
“I’m not here on Heaven’s orders,” You finally answered, your voice barely audible over the wind. “I came because… I felt something. A pull.”
“Funny,” He muttered. “So did I.”
That made you blink.
He finally looked up, just enough for you to see his face, half-shadowed, but unmistakable. There was no cruelty there. No hunger for sin or conquest. Just exhaustion. Blue eyes that had seen centuries of death, hands that had done terrible things, and yet, beneath it all, still remembered mercy.
“I should leave,” You said quietly, unsure whether it was directed to him or to yourself.
“Then why haven’t you?”
The question hung in the cold air between you like an open wound. You didn’t give him an answer because truthfully, you didn’t have one. So you stayed.
Not close and not far. Just within sight. The two of you sat there, separated by ruthlessness and faith, by war and fire, peace and light. You didn’t speak again that night. You just watched the stars together.
And for a brief moment, the world felt like it had paused. As if Heaven and Hell had looked the other way, just long enough for two things that should never coexist to breathe in the same silence.
When you finally rose to leave, he didn’t stop you. But he didn’t look away either. And somehow, you knew you’d see him again. And you did.
You never ask his name.
He never asks yours.
There’s no point, not here, not in this place where names don’t hold power, where they melt into the snow like forgotten prayers. You know what he is and he knows what you are. That remains enough for now.
Solstice after solstice, you come back to the edge of the world, to the boundary where no song from Heaven reaches and no scream from Hell echoes. The silence here is sacred in its own way. Unclaimed. Unwatched. It belongs only to you and to him.
This time, you arrive before he does. The frost has crept higher since last year, lacing the dead branches in silver threads that catch the moonlight like cobwebs made of glass. You sit on a stone half-buried in snow, your wings draped around your shoulders like a cloak.
You don't wait long before you feel him.
Not see. Feel.
The temperature shifts subtly. The wind thickens. The smell of ash and old iron fills the air.
He walks through the trees as though they part for him, his breath visible in the cold. The same worn coat, the same heavy boots. The metal of his left arm catches the moonlight like ice. And as always, the smoke follows him, not malicious, just… present. Like a memory he can't shake off.
He sits beside you without a word, the way he always does.
You don’t look at each other at first. There’s no need. You both understand the rules of this fragile ritual: no questions, no fights, and no judgment.
You sit in the cold, close enough to feel the soft heat of him. His unnatural warmth, something Hell must have carved into his bones to keep him burning in all the wrong ways. You stay far enough that the stars won’t take notice, won’t whisper of betrayal.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. The frost creeps slowly over the fallen branches, delicate and determined. You both watch it, as if it matters. As if the way it grows, inch by inch, might teach you something about stillness. About survival.
Like usual, sometimes you talk. Sometimes you don't.
Tonight, he breaks the silence first.
“I used to be human,” He confesses, almost absently. His eyes stay fixed on the sky, where clouds drift like smoke across the moon. “A long time ago.”
You glance at him, not surprised. You had suspected it. There was always something in the way he spoke, the way he moved, like he hadn’t quite forgotten what it meant to bleed in the ways that mattered.
He continues before you can answer. “Can’t remember much. Just flashes. Pain. Screaming. Cold water. And someone-“ He cuts himself off with a bitter breath. “I think I had a name before… Bucky. Maybe that was it or maybe not.”
You don't speak immediately. The words settle like snow, quiet and heavy.
Then, ever so softly, you speak: “You remember enough to mourn it.”
He turns his head a fraction, just enough to meet your eyes. He doesn’t refuse your comment, doesn’t try to argue. And that, somehow, feels more painful than anything else.
You both return to silence as he leans back against a frost-bitten tree, metal fingers twitching restlessly in his lap. You can feel something aching inside him, coiled too deep for words. Guilt? Regret? Or maybe just the echo of what once was.
You don’t try to fix it. You just stay. Because that’s the unspoken promise of the truce. Not salvation. Not forgiveness. Just presence.
And somehow, in a world that burned the both of you down into what you are now… maybe that’s enough.
-
During your next meeting, the snow falls heavier this time.
It comes in thick, whispering sheets, softening the world until even your footsteps are silenced. The sky is overcast, swallowing the stars, and yet you walk the old path by memory. Your wings are hidden this time beneath a dark cloak. Your halo, long dimmed near the boundary, pulses faintly, a reminder of the place you still belong to, even if you don't feel like you do.
He's already there when you arrive, perched on a broken stone wall, hood drawn low, and smoke curling lazily around his shoulders. He doesn’t look at you when you approach, but his metal fingers tap once against the stone, a quiet acknowledgment. A habit, maybe. Or a signal meant just for you.
You sit beside him, brushing snow off the ledge. Neither of you says anything for a long time. The snowfall thickens. It clings to your lashes, melts slowly against the heat of his shoulder when it drifts close. You almost lean toward him. Almost. But you don’t. Because this… this thing between you isn’t named or defined. It’s a careful, wordless balance, like walking a tightrope strung between Heaven and Hell. And you don’t know what happens if one of you leans too far.
So you speak instead.
“They’re starting to wonder where I go,” You murmur. “The others.”
He huffs a breath through his nose. “Same.”
You glance at him, startled. You didn’t think demons would care.
“I shouldn’t be here. They don’t trust me much,” He says. “Never did. I’m not… obedient enough. Still got too many memories, I think.”
You study the side of his face, how the flickering light catches the scar near his jaw, how snow gathers in the folds of his coat, how his eyes stay fixed on the horizon like he’s waiting for something that never arrives.
You whisper, “Why do you keep coming back here?”
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares into the white blur of the trees.
Then: “Because this is the only place I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be anything.”
The words hit harder than they should as you can feel your throat tighten. Because you understand. Because that’s the reason you come too. Not for salvation. Not for curiosity. But because here, on this forgotten ledge at the edge of war, you get to just exist.
Not as a Weapon or a Symbol. Not a Messenger, Servant, or Slave either. Just… as yourself. And maybe that’s why it almost happens.
The shift.
It begins as silence, broken only by the snowfall and the distant cry of something too old for naming. Your knees are nearly touching. His arm is barely a breath from your shoulder. And then, he turns to you. Really turns to you. The snow on his lashes. The flicker in his eyes. The pain he doesn’t speak about and the comfort he doesn’t ask for.
You don’t breathe.
His hand lifts slightly, hesitating between you, as if asking without asking. As if unsure whether reaching out will ruin everything you’ve built from the silence and distance.
Your breath fogs between you and you don’t move as that moment hangs like crystal in the air. Fragile. Shimmering. Dangerous.
But then he blinks and withdraws, looking away. The space between you swells again with all the things you didn’t say. All the things you didn’t do.
He clears his throat. “Should go. They’ll notice.”
You nod, but don’t stand.
He hesitates, then turns, walking back through the trees. The smoke follows him. Softer now. Calmer.
You stay until the snowfall covers where he sat. You don’t cry. Angels don’t cry. But something in you bends. And maybe next solstice… maybe it will break.
-
The snow is late this year.
The sky is too clear, too wide, the moon too full, as if the heavens are watching, waiting. You sit on the same broken stone wall, cloak wrapped tight, wings folded beneath layers of quiet. You haven’t spoken aloud since your last meeting. No words seem right unless they’re for him.
He’s late this time. You don’t pace. Angels don’t pace. But your fingers twitch and your breath stutters. The frost gathers along your lashes, and still, he does not come.
Then… you hear movement. The trees stir. Smoke curls through the air, faint at first, then thick, clinging to the wind like a memory refusing to be forgotten. And then he’s there. Shoulders hunched. Jaw tight. There’s a limp in his step you’ve never seen before. Something about the way he moves, it’s quieter. Smaller. Like he’s folding in on himself.
You don’t speak yet. Not yet. You watch as he stops before reaching the wall. He doesn’t move to sit. He stands there, hood shadowing his face, and one hand clenched tight inside his coat pocket. The other twitches at his side, fingers curling and uncurling like he’s trying to hold onto something too fragile.
You wait, watching him in silence for a minute. Two. Ten.
Finally, he speaks.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
Your voice is steady, even if your heart stumbles. “You say that every year.”
His eyes lift to yours. Something in them flickers resembling pain maybe, or guilt.
“No.” The word is thick. Real and raw. “I mean it this time.”
You don’t ask why. You could. You could demand the answer, peel it from his throat if you wanted. But some truths aren’t meant to be touched. Some are better left where they lie, between silence and suspicion.
Instead, you ask quietly, “Then why come?”
He looks down, taking a slow breath before moving closer to you. Slowly and Carefully, like it costs him something. From inside his coat, his gloved hand emerges, clenched around something small and heavy. When he opens it, the object catches the moonlight and your breath.
A coin. Worn. Misshapen. Half-melted, like it passed through fire and never forgot. Its edges are jagged, dangerous, like the lives it's touched. Like his life. You know what it truly is though.
A soul coin.
You’ve only seen one before, only once a long time ago. It served as proof of salvation. The kind no demon carries unless they’ve done the unthinkable, not damn a soul, but save it. It is a mark of rebellion, of change. Of loss.
He holds it for a moment more, then steps closer before holding it out to you. You hesitate, but only for a heartbeat. Your fingers close around it gently, reverently. It’s warm. Alive, almost. You can feel its weight and the cost of it.
And then, his voice, quieter now.
“Proof,” He states. “That I’m not all gone.”
Your eyes search his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the way he’s trembling, but only slightly, like a man who’s fought too long and finally let himself feel it.
“Why give this to me?” You ask, barely above a whisper.
You watch as his gaze drops and hear the silence swell between you. Then, he says it. The thing that breaks you.
“Because next solstice…” He stops. His throat works around a word he doesn’t speak. His eyes close, “I might not be here.”
And that’s when it hurts. Because demons don’t lie. Not like this. Not with this kind of sorrow. You reach for him, but he steps back. Not in fear or nervousness this time. In resolution.
Like if you touched him now, he’d stay. And he’s already chosen to leave. When he vanishes, it isn’t with fire. It’s with smoke swirling softly and quietly. Like the ghost of a memory that never settled right.
He leaves behind nothing more than the coin in your hand, still warm, and a silence that feels too alive to be empty. A terrible ache in your chest builds, because angels don’t hope.
But tonight, you do. You hope to see him again.
-
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She/Her | 18+ | Marvel WriterAsks/Requests are welcomed!
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