Obsessive Love
Obsessive Love
Summary: 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. The love you two share was not born out of malice, rather need, devotion, and a love that tightens like a noose. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x Yandere!reader)
Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Dark reader. Yandere themes. Implied stalking/watching immensely.
Word Count: 1.9k+
A/N: This was so fun to write. It has a second part to it too. I might post it tomorrow. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.
Main Masterlist | Devoted Possession (Part 2.)
It was never supposed to happen like this.
You never expected to be in the situation you were in now; curled in the arms of Bucky Barnes, eyes barely open as you lay against him. The warmth of his body acts as a shield from the world. At first, you were just part of the team because it was just a job. Just a mission, something you’d done countless times before, working alongside the Avengers to take down the bad guys. But then came Bucky.
It didn’t happen all at once. It was subtle, like the slow spread of a virus, but by the time you realized what had changed, it was already too late.
The beginning was almost innocent. Almost.
When you first met Bucky Barnes, you had no idea that he would become the center of your world. At first, he was just another soldier, another teammate. A broken man struggling to piece himself back together. But there was something about him that intrigued you, something hidden behind the dark intensity of his gaze that drew you in like a magnet.
You didn’t mean to get so close. You honestly didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did.
Because Bucky was different. He wasn’t like the others. His scars, both physical and mental, made him stand out in a way you couldn’t ignore. He didn’t pretend to be perfect. And you didn’t want him to be. The cracks in him made him… real. He wasn’t like the men from your past who had lied, manipulated, and betrayed. He wore his flaws like armor. And, for you, that was everything.
You started off by offering quiet companionship. A kind word here, a soft smile there. You knew that Bucky wasn’t someone who trusted easily. He had been through too much. So, you didn’t force it. You just… waited. Watched him from afar, letting your presence be a steady, comforting thing in the chaos that surrounded him.
It didn’t take long before Bucky began to notice you. It wasn’t obvious though at first. He would give you a nod here and there, maybe a short, clipped sentence when the mission was over. But it was enough. It was enough to make your heart race every time he glanced in your direction, to make you feel like he saw you. Really saw you.
And then, one day, it happened.
You were on a mission together, as usual, when the two of you got separated from the rest of the team. It was a small thing, just a few minutes of being alone in a quiet corner of a dark building, but it was enough for something to shift. Bucky looked at you in a way he hadn’t before. No longer as a teammate, not as someone to protect or be protected by, but as something else entirely. Something you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your bones.
It was there, in the silence, that you took your first step.
You smiled at him. “Are you okay, Bucky?”
He blinked, but then something softened in his eyes. He looked away briefly, like he was trying to hide his vulnerability. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
But you knew better. You could always tell when someone wasn’t being honest, and Bucky… Bucky was never truly fine. You could see the cracks in his composure. It made you want to protect him. To shield him from whatever haunted him, even if that meant making sure no one else could ever touch him.
It wasn’t malice. It wasn’t some dark desire to hurt others. But it was a need. A need to care for him. To love him in a way that no one else could. To make sure he was only ever yours.
The thought was almost comforting, becoming something you would rely on and remind yourself of often. The world was big, but when you were with Bucky, it felt so small. Just the two of you. No one else mattered.
Your affection grew slowly, like a seed planted in the quiet moments. You would find yourself lingering near him, watching him without his knowledge, memorizing the way his jaw tightened when he was thinking too hard, the way he would instinctively hold things with his normal arm instead of his metal arm and you, being ever so observant, saw the way he flinched when someone made a joke about the metal appendage. You wanted to shield him from those moments. You wanted to be the one he turned to, the one he could rely on, even if you two just sat in silence.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You didn’t need to be loud about your affection. You didn’t need to be overt. You were like a shadow, always there, always watching. Just enough to make sure he never strayed too far from you. To ensure that no one else could have him, not when you were so willing to give him everything. Your love was sweet, soft even. But beneath it was something darker, something that always kept a careful eye on the world around you. You’d smile at others, be polite, make them feel comfortable. But you were always watching. Always waiting.
But you weren’t the only one watching. Bucky noticed you, just as keenly. He wasn’t blind to the way you lingered around him, the way your eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to keep track of his moods as if you could anticipate them before they even formed.
But it didn’t scare him. No, it intrigued him. Because, as much as Bucky was a soldier with a dark past, he craved that connection. He craved someone who saw him, who understood him without him needing to explain.
Bucky’s obsession was different. It wasn’t that he was unaware of his feelings, but they were more visceral. More possessive. The way he looked at you when someone spoke to you for too long, the way his hand would always drift to your back when others tried to get too close. He was marking his territory. He didn’t just want you. He needed you.
And when he needed something, it wasn’t just for a moment. It was forever.
Therefore, one day when it was late in the night with a mission recently finished and the team dispersed to their own things, you weren’t ready to go back to your room. Not yet.
The hallway was empty, lit only by the dim flickering of old lights above. You hadn’t even noticed Bucky following you, your footsteps echoing softly on the cold concrete floor. It was a rare sight to see someone as observant as you being lost in thought. Your mind was still running through everything: the mission, the battle, the faces of the enemies you’d taken down. It was all so mechanical, so numb.
But then, you finally noticed it. The sound of boots on the floor, slow but deliberate, the familiar thump-thump-thump that you’d come to associate with him.
You didn’t have to turn to know it was him.
“Are you okay?” Bucky’s voice was low, soft, but the underlying tension was palpable. As always, he’d been the one to watch you, the one who noticed when you slipped into yourself, when you started retreating into that space where everything felt too overwhelming.
You didn't respond at first. Your chest tightened and your thoughts were spinning. You desperately wanted to reply, use this moment to talk to him. But you couldn’t, not now. Instead, you kept walking, your shoes tapping against the floor in a steady rhythm. You didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to let him see the cracks forming inside of you. But you knew he wouldn’t let you get away that easily. He never did.
He caught up with you, walking just behind you now, close enough that you were sure he’d run into you if you stopped. The air between you thickened with each step. Then, without warning, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
The sudden contact startled you. You whipped around, meeting his gaze to see those piercing blue eyes, full of questions, full of something more.
Bucky didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watching you, his grip on your wrist not letting go, as though he was afraid you might slip away if he loosened it. And maybe he was right.
“You’re not okay,” He said finally, his voice quiet but intense. “I can see it. You’re not okay, and you keep pretending you are.”
You swallowed, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to let him in. So you looked away, your eyes drifting toward the floor.
But he didn’t let you turn from him. Instead, his other hand found its way to your cheek, lifting your face up to meet his. His touch was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters, unsure if you’d pull away.
But you didn’t.
It was that moment. That moment where everything changed.
There was a flicker of something in his gaze: something raw, something darker than you’d ever seen. It made your heart race and made your breath catch in your throat. You could feel the heat of his body close to yours, the scent of him, the sound of his heartbeat matching your own. And in that space, it was like time slowed down. Everything faded away, and there was only him. Only Bucky.
And before you could even register what was happening, he closed the distance between you.
His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, your hands finding his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, frantic. As if you both needed it. Needed the connection and the reassurance that you weren’t alone in this twisted, broken world. His lips pressed harder against yours, and your grip on him tightened, pulling him closer, deeper, until you could feel the thudding of his heart against your chest.
You both stopped thinking. There was no time for reason, no room for hesitation. There was just the moment. The kiss.
When you finally pulled away, your breath was shallow, your face flushed, and your heart raced as though you’d been running for miles. Bucky’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, and he was breathing just as heavily as you were. His hand cupped your face, gently this time, like he was afraid you might shatter in his hands.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Bucky murmured, his voice rough, as though it hurt to hold back for so long.
You blinked, your pulse still racing. “Me too,” You whispered, your voice barely audible, but it was enough.
In that moment, everything made sense. All the confusion, the loneliness, the emptiness you’d both been carrying for so long, it was gone. In its place was something else. Something new. Something unspoken. And you realized then, with chilling clarity, that there was no going back.
You didn’t care about the Avengers anymore. You didn’t care about the missions, the enemies, nor the people you were supposed to protect. The only thing that mattered was Bucky. And now, him and you were tangled so deeply that there was no way out. No way back to who you used to be.
And that’s how it happened. Slowly. Quietly. You became his obsession and he became yours.
More Posts from Orellazalonia and Others
THANK YOU!!! So happy you liked it. Hopefully I’ll have more out soon, maybe a first date or something. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
Heart First, Sanity Later
Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.
Word Count: 3.4k+
A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.
You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”
He stared at you. Everyone did.
You slurped. “What?”
Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.
A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”
And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.
When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.
But outside of that? Absolute chaos.
One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.
"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”
He blinked slowly. “Yes.”
“Sounds fake but okay.”
He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)
Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”
Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”
You beamed. “I know, right?”
And that was just the beginning.
-
Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:
“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”
He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.
You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.
“What?” He hissed.
You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”
Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.
Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”
You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.
Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?
You were something else. A walking contradiction.
You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”
And tonight was no different.
By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.
That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.
Affection.
It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.
“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”
He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.
You had two blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.
“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.
“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.
You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”
He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.
“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”
You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”
The jet went quiet.
And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.
You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.
You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.
And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:
He was fucked.
In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.
You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”
“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”
“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.
“…Terrifying.”
You winked. “Same difference.”
And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.
-
The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.
A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.
“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” you said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.
Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”
“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”
You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”
He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”
“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.
“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.
“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”
He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”
“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”
Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”
You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”
Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.
You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”
He stared at you, speechless.
"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.
Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"
“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”
Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.
You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.
But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”
His chest tightened.
“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”
He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”
“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”
Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”
Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.
Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”
You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.
But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”
Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.
But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.
-
The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. I You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.
“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.
Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”
“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”
Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.
Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”
Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”
It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.
“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”
As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”
“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”
Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.
Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.
“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.
You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”
“No.”
“Then I’m doing taxes.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”
You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”
You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.
Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.
Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.
“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.
Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”
“I do not look like-“
“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”
“I am not emotionally unavailable.”
“You have a go bag, Bucky.”
“…That’s standard protocol.”
“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.
“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”
Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.
-
When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.
And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.
“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”
Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.
“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”
You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”
He ran a hand down his face.
“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”
You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”
He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”
But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.
You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.
And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.
“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”
You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”
“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”
“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”
“That’s not a thing!”
You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”
He froze.
“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”
You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”
”I love you, you absolute menace!”
Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.
“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.
Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“Say it like what?”
“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”
“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”
“Yes!”
“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”
“Also yes!”
“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”
“I almost killed you.”
You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”
He stared. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”
He laughed, just once, short and stunned.
You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”
Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet. You’re in love with me.”
“I’m regretting it deeply.”
“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.
And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.
When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”
Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”
What You Can’t Heal
Summary: You would think being a healer made you careful, more cautious of getting hurt. However, it made you the opposite, more willing to throw yourself head first into danger. And your mission partner does not like that one bit. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: Reader has the power to heal. You and Bucky get hurt in this.
Word Count: 1.7k+
A/N: To be honest, I want to write another version of Healer!reader where her powers can transfer injuries onto herself. But I thought it’d be fun to explore the recklessness that having healing powers can bring.
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist
The compound gym was almost empty when you slipped in, quiet as breath. Just the sound of gloves striking a punching bag. Slow, rhythmic, and methodical. The kind of pace that didn’t burn energy but burned thoughts. You stopped just inside the doorway, watching the man in front of it all.
Bucky Barnes.
His black t-shirt clung to his back, soaked with sweat, muscles rippling beneath ink and scars. His metal arm glinted in the low light, the sound of knuckles against canvas falling into a pattern like a heartbeat. You hadn’t known he’d be here. Or maybe you had. Subconsciously.
He didn't look at you. Not right away.
“You gonna stand there all day or join in?” He asked, voice low, still facing the bag.
You blinked, then stepped in. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked like you were winning the argument.”
“Wasn’t an argument,” He muttered, grabbing a towel and rubbing the sweat from the back of his neck. “Just… quiet.”
He finally turned, eyes landing on you. Not unkind, but guarded, always guarded. Like he expected you to flinch at something he hadn’t said yet.
“You’re not on the rotation today,” He pointed out.
You shrugged, tapping the inside of your wrist where a faint mark from yesterday’s spar still lingered. “Figured I could use the practice.”
He scoffed softly. “You mean more bruises to fix.”
You smirked. “Lucky for me, I’m the easiest medic to find.”
He didn’t smile, not really , but something in his jaw relaxed.
“…You’re too comfortable with pain,” He said after a moment, picking up a pair of training pads.
“You’re too afraid of it,” You countered, stepping onto the mat.
He paused. That sharp glance again, not angry and not insulted. Just watching. Assessing. Like you’d said something truer than he wanted to admit.
“Alright, healer,” He said, tossing you a pair of gloves. “Let’s see if you’re as tough as you act.”
You caught them easily, grinning.
You didn’t notice the faint flicker in his expression, the one that wasn’t annoyance or frustration. It was worry. Care, maybe. Hidden so deep, not even he knew where it lived anymore.
The training room echoed with the dull thud of fists against pads and the occasional grunt of effort. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting a sterile glow over the gym's scarred walls. Bucky Barnes stood in the center of the mat, arms crossed, the faintest trace of a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"You’re not supposed to let them hit you just to prove you can heal," He said, voice sharp but quiet, like thunder muffled by snow.
You shrugged, rolling your bruised shoulder. The bone was already snapping back into place beneath your skin, just a faint crunch and a soft hiss of pain. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not the point.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to take every hit. Healing doesn’t make you invincible.”
You hated how his gaze pinned you. The ex-soldier still wore that half-haunted, half-suspicious expression like a second skin. But you knew he meant it. Not just the words. The worry behind them.
“You’re treating this like a game,” Bucky continued. “Out there, if you rely on your powers like a crutch, someone’s going to find a way to break you faster than you can fix yourself.”
“I don’t use it as a crutch,” You tried to keep your tone even. “It’s a tool. Just like your arm. Or your training.”
He stepped closer, close enough that the steel of his vibranium arm caught the overhead light. “Difference is, my arm doesn’t stop me from bleeding out if I get cocky.”
You looked away, jaw tight.
That was always the line, wasn’t it? The part they didn’t say out loud, the assumption that your powers made you reckless. Untouchable. Like pain didn’t matter to you.
But it did. You just didn’t show it.
“I’m not afraid of getting hurt,” You said finally, sighing in the process.
Bucky’s voice softened, but the weight in it didn’t lift. “Then maybe you should be.”
You met his eyes again. Blue-gray, storm-worn, and so damn tired. He looked at you the way someone looks at a puzzle they’ve tried to solve too many times. His frustration wasn’t just with you. It was with himself too, but you didn’t know that.
“…We’ll start again tomorrow,” He turned away now. “Don’t show up unless you’re ready to stop playing superhero.”
Then he left you standing on the mat. Your shoulder was fully healed, but your chest aching in a way no power could fix.
Two days later, the mission came.
A Hydra splinter cell operating out of an abandoned medical research facility on the outskirts of Munich. Stark had muttered something about leftover tech, too unstable to be ignored. You and Bucky were assigned to go in quiet, extract the data, and disable any weapons they were cooking up.
Bucky didn’t speak to you much on the quinjet. Just the usual mission prep. Tactical. Tense. You sat across from him, checking your gear in silence, biting down the bitter aftertaste of his last words.
”Don’t show up unless you’re ready to stop throwing yourself into danger.”
You showed up anyway.
The facility was dark, corridors lit only by flickering emergency lights. It smelled of antiseptic and rust, of blood dried long ago. Bucky moved ahead of you, every step measured, gun raised, breathing steady. You were right behind him, senses stretched taut. It wasn’t fear of getting hurt, not really. It was the quiet between you, heavier than the air, more suffocating than the mission itself.
Then came the ambush.
The first explosion sent you both to the floor. Ears ringing, you scrambled behind a lab table, catching a glimpse of Bucky. He was bleeding from a small gash near his temple, dazed but moving.
Three Hydra operatives advanced from the left.
Bucky cursed, firing off a few shots, but they kept coming. One tackled him, knocking the gun from his hands, the two others circling like wolves. You bolted forward without thinking, slamming into one with your shoulder and catching a knife through your side in return.
Pain flared. Warm blood soaked your shirt.
You welcomed it.
Bucky’s voice cracked through the haze as he shouted your name.
He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing the soldier by the throat and slamming him into the wall with a growl. The second Hydra agent went for you, but your powers were already at work. The tissue knitting, nerves sparking back into place, the blade sliding out of you with a slick noise.
You stood, bloody but calm, and delivered a solid punch that sent him sprawling.
By the time it was over, Bucky was breathing hard, hands shaking. Not from the fight, but from seeing you go down.
“Are you insane?” He shouted, storming toward you. “You ran into a knife! You could’ve-“
“I healed.”
“That’s not the damn point!”
His eyes burned. Your heart pounded. Not from adrenaline, but from the sharp edges in his voice, the way they cut deeper than any wound.
“You said I wasn’t ready,” You defended, quietly. “I proved I was.”
“No,” He said, stepping closer, voice dropping. “You proved you’re still willing to throw yourself away.”
You didn’t have a response to that.
He reached for you suddenly; gloved fingers brushing your side, feeling the warm blood that was already drying. His touch hovered, unsure.
“Stop doing that,” He spoke softer now. “Stop making me watch you get hurt just because you can.”
There it was. Raw, bare, unguarded. Not anger. Not frustration. Fear.
“I’m not afraid…” The rebuttal came out, barely above a whisper.
“I am.”
His voice barely made a sound, but it hit you like a punch to the ribs. Not the Winter Soldier voice, cold and precise. Not the soldier tone that was tactical, measured, and distant. No, this was Bucky. Just Bucky. Human. Frayed around the edges. Afraid.
Of losing you.
You stood frozen, not from pain, that was already gone, but because of the crack in his walls. The thing no one else ever got to see.
“You’re afraid for me,” You corrected, voice steadier than you expected.
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, Bucky dragged a hand down his face, leaving a smear of blood on his cheekbone, yours or his, you didn’t know. He looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the mission.
“Every time you go down, even for a second…” He exhaled hard, shaking his head. “I forget you’ll get back up. My body still reacts like I’m watching someone die. Like I’m helpless again.”
Your breath caught. He didn’t mean to say that last part. Helpless.
The word hung between you like smoke in a locked room. Bucky Barnes, who’d had his mind torn apart, his hands used for things he didn’t choose. Of course he feared helplessness. And now you understood why watching you get hurt, even if you healed, chipped away at whatever fragile peace he’d built. Your voice came next.
“I didn’t think it scared you like that.”
“I know,” He replied. “That’s the part that scares me more.”
You stepped closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, to see the small tremor in his metal hand. Close enough that the scent of his sweat and blood mixed with yours.
“I’m not trying to prove anything,” You explained yourself softly. “I just don’t know how else to help. I can’t punch like you. I can’t take down ten guys with one arm.”
“No,” He said firmly, meeting your gaze, “But you run toward pain like it’s your job to carry it.”
Silence filled the air once again. Then, gently, like he thought he might scare you; Bucky reached out, his hand brushing the side of your jaw, just enough pressure to ground you.
“I don’t want to watch someone I care about get used up trying to make up for everything they can’t fix.”
You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until those words.
Care about.
You leaned into his touch, just barely. Enough to let him know you weren’t running. Not from this. Not from him.
“I’m trying to learn,” You whispered. “Maybe… you could help me.”
Bucky’s thumb grazed your cheekbone, just once, before he let his hand fall. But something had shifted, something deeper than bone and scar tissue. His walls weren’t down, not completely, but they weren’t steel anymore. He nodded once.
“I’ll teach you how to fight smart,” He said, voice low. “And in exchange, you stop putting yourself in harm’s way every time.”
And just like that, the truce between you wasn't just tactical anymore.
It was personal.
When They Need You
Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression!]
Summary: 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, offering him a stuffed bear, sharing your favorite snack, and gently inviting him for cuddles.
Word Count: 1k+
A/N: I also realized I’ve been writing too much fluff, too much happiness. Needed some variety to balance it out lol. Remember! You are responsible for the media you consume.
Main Masterlist
It was a quiet evening, the kind that stretched longer than usual as the golden hues of sunset slowly faded into dusk. You sat cross-legged on the couch, a blanket thrown over your legs, surrounded by your stuffed animals, a cup of juice resting beside you. The soft hum of the TV played in the background, but your attention was elsewhere. Steve had been unusually quiet all day. He’d been frowning when you saw him, his voice a little lower, his steps a little heavier. It wasn’t like him at all.
You hadn’t asked, but you could tell something was wrong.
Bucky had noticed, too, though he’d been the one keeping his distance, busy with his own tasks in the living room. He’d been giving Steve space, just like Steve liked when he had a bad day, but that didn’t stop Bucky from throwing occasional glances at his partner. His eyes filled with worry and concern made it clear he, too, was picking up on it.
The silence finally broke when Steve settled on the couch beside you. He let out a deep sigh, trying to hide the exhaustion on his face with a forced smile. “Hey, kiddo,” he said softly, his voice strained. “How’s my favorite little star?”
You didn’t buy it. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the way his shoulders slumped was something you’d seen in the past when he was trying to hide something from you. He was good at it, but not good enough to fool you.
You scooted closer to him, sensing his discomfort. “You okay…?” You asked, tilting your head, not fully regressed but definitely in a tender little space. You didn’t speak much when you were in these moments, but you were always in tune with their moods.
He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Bucky before giving you a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, sweetheart. Just… tired, I guess.”
Bucky, who’d been standing nearby, noticed the exchange. He stepped closer, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “He’s been a little off all day,” Bucky explained quietly, trying to keep it light. “You think you could cheer him up, princess?”
You looked between Steve and Bucky for a moment, then nodded. They were your family, your safe place. You always wanted to make sure they were happy and taken care of, just like they did for you. There was no question about it. You knew you could help, in your own little way.
Moving off the couch and going over to your pile of stuffed animals, you pulled out one of your favorite bears, the one with the soft, patchy fur and the little bowtie that was starting to fray at the edges. You walked back to the couch and held it out to Steve with both hands, your eyes wide and full of affection. “Patches is here, Papa,” You said, your voice sweet and comforting. “He makes people feel better.”
Steve chuckled quietly, his eyes softening as he took the bear from you. He squeezed it slightly, a little sigh of relief escaping him. “Thanks, kiddo,” He muttered. The bear was a small gesture, but it seemed to soothe him more than he let on.
You weren’t done, though. You noticed the faint bags under his eyes, the way his fingers fidgeted with the bear’s ears. That was your cue. You reached over to the coffee table, where one of your caregivers had set out a small bowl of goldfish crackers earlier, and grabbed the edge of the bowl. You gently nudged the bowl towards him, offering the snack like it was the most important thing in the world.
“Want some?” You asked with a little smile, your voice hopeful. “Goldfish make you smile.”
Steve’s lips twitched at the corner, a faint smile tugging at them. He reached forward slowly, taking a few of the crackers, his fingers brushing against yours. You watched him with a hopeful gaze, waiting for his reaction. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just chewed thoughtfully, but when he looked at you again, the weight in his eyes seemed to lift slightly.
“They do, huh?” He said with a soft laugh, as if it was the first real laugh he'd had all day.
You nodded seriously, making sure he understood the importance of snacks in lifting a mood. “Uh-huh. And cuddles too.”
At your words, Bucky chuckled softly and sat down on the couch and pulled you close to him with one arm. You felt his steady heartbeat next to you, the way his chest rose and fell in that reassuring, comforting rhythm.
With a gentle hand, you reached out for Steve’s hand, tugging it lightly. “You come cuddle too?” You asked quietly, not demanding but gently offering. You’d seen how Steve and Bucky needed affection in their own way, and sometimes, just being close was enough.
Steve’s smile grew a little wider as he glanced at Bucky, who just nodded, a silent encouragement. Slowly, Steve shifted, inching toward the two of you. He sat with his back against the couch, pulling you between him and Bucky, your head resting on his chest and your legs tangled with theirs.
Bucky wrapped his arm around you tighter while Steve found his place to cuddle you closer. For a long moment, the three of you just sat there in quiet comfort. You felt their tension start to melt away, slowly but surely, the weight of the day lifting in the warmth of each other’s presence.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Steve whispered after a while, his voice softer than before. “I feel better just being with you two.”
You smiled sleepily, your eyes drifting half-closed as the peaceful feeling of being surrounded by love made your own worries fade. “We always take care of each other,” You murmured, your voice drowsy now.
Bucky kissed the top of your head, his voice low and steady. “That’s right. And we’ve got you, always.”
And as you rested there, between Steve’s comforting warmth and Bucky’s steady presence, you realized you didn’t need to do much more than just be there. Because sometimes just being there is enough to lift up anyone’s day.
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.
When you find it, let me know 😔 (Lol)
Thank you for reading!!! ♡
A Place They Call Home
Summary: You, a regular person with no powers, 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. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
Word Count: 700+
Main Masterlist
You weren’t part of their world, not really. Not in the way most people defined it. No powers, no enhanced serum in your blood, no combat training etched into your muscles. You didn’t fly, or punch through walls, or wear a suit of armor. But somehow, you’d become just as necessary as any shield or weapon.
You met Steve first years ago, back when everything still felt a little raw after one of his missions. You were a barista then, tucked into a cozy corner café just off one of the quieter streets of the city. He came in looking like the ghost of a time long gone, polite to a fault, his smile more habit than warmth. You served him chamomile the first time he walked in and a honeyed espresso the second. By the third visit, he remembered your name. By the fifth, he asked if he could sit near the back, away from the windows. He said it was for the quiet. You didn’t press.
Then came Bucky.
Rough edges and distant eyes. The first time he walked into the café, Steve stood up instinctively like a soldier ready to meet a comrade in arms. You noticed the way Bucky’s eyes flicked over every exit, every reflective surface. The way his hands, always gloved, never truly relaxed. You didn’t say much that day, just placed his coffee on the table with a gentle, “No charge. First one’s always free.” You caught the twitch of his lips. Almost a smile. Almost.
They started coming together after that. Sometimes they’d stay until closing, long after the last customer left, helping you clean tables or fix the flickering light in the storeroom. You never asked them for anything. Maybe that was why they kept coming back.
You didn’t mean to become their safe place.
It started in little moments. Steve would bring you books he thought you’d like. Bucky would fix your broken sink without asking. You’d find yourself cooking too much food and pretending you hadn’t expected them to show up. When the nights grew long and cold, they stayed longer. When the world felt too loud, too harsh, too damn fast, they found themselves in your apartment above the café, Bucky curled into the corner of your couch like he was hiding from the world, Steve softly reading aloud from whatever book he could find on your shelves. You never minded.
You became a routine. A quiet rhythm. The world outside buzzed with chaos, but here, in your apartment lit by mismatched lamps and warmed by the scent of cinnamon and dust, everything stilled. There were nights when neither of them said a word, and yet none of you wanted to leave. Just the soft click of a record player, your hand brushing against Steve’s when you passed him a cup of tea, the way Bucky’s posture would finally relax when he fell asleep on the couch.
You didn’t know when it changed.
Maybe it was the night you found Bucky asleep in your bed, not because he’d planned to be there, but because you’d offered, gently, when he couldn’t stop shaking. Maybe it was the way Steve held your hand after you fell asleep watching an old film, fingers laced like he’d been waiting a lifetime to touch you. Or maybe it was the morning you woke up wedged between both of them on your too-small couch, their heartbeats steady, anchoring you to something real and lasting.
One night, you found yourself dancing in the kitchen. No music, no occasion. Just soft light, leftover pasta cooling on the stove, and Steve’s hand in yours. Bucky leaned against the counter, watching with a fondness he didn’t bother to hide. When he stepped in to join, Steve only smiled, and you felt something shift in the air, like all three of you had silently agreed on something unspoken. Something fragile and deeply needed.
“I never thought peace would look like this,” Steve whispered, forehead resting against yours.
“I didn’t think I deserved it,” Bucky added, his voice quiet from behind you as his arm slid around your waist.
But he did. All three of you did.
And in that tiny kitchen, warm with heart and memory, you realized something simple but powerful: they didn’t come to you because they needed saving.
They came to you because, with you, they were already home.
Operation: Lover’s Retreat (You Think)
Summary: Sent on a recon mission in the Carpathian Mountains, you treat it like a romantic getaway including but not limited to bath bombs, a sparkly kazoo, and one shared bed. Bucky remains constantly torn between exasperation and deep affection. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)
Word Count: 1.2k+
A/N: More fun stuff while I think of other stuff. Happy reading!!!
Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
To be fair, no one explicitly said it wasn’t a romantic vacation. Which is why, when Fury assigned you and Bucky to a “low profile surveillance op” in the Carpathians, your brain heard:
Secluded mountain lodge. Cozy fires. Spy sex.
So naturally, you packed accordingly.
Bucky blinked at the rolling heart-shaped suitcase you proudly hauled to the Quinjet, emblazoned in bold pink letters: “His & Hers”.
“What is that?” He asked flatly.
You grinned. “Our mission supplies, James.”
“I said pack light.”
“I did! This is vacation-light. I only brought four books, one board game, two full sets of bath bombs, a crockpot for ambience and a grappling hook.”
He opened the suitcase, found the glow-in-the-dark stars you planned to stick on the ceiling of the safehouse, and muttered, “We’re supposed to be covert.”
“And what’s more covert than a deeply-in-love couple on a sensual nature retreat where someone might accidentally dismantle a black market weapons trade?” You batted your lashes. “Besides, you love when I do the ‘danger honeymoon’ bit.”
He exhaled slowly. “I never said I loved it.”
“You didn’t have to,” You whispered dramatically, wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying like you were dancing to a song only you could hear. “Your eyes said it. Remember when I threw that flaming fondue pot at that one Hydra guy last time? There were hearts in your eyes.”
“There were burn injuries, sweetheart.”
“Burns of passion.”
He tried, really tried hard to look annoyed, but you saw it. The tiniest twitch of his lips. He kissed the top of your head like he was apologizing to himself for encouraging you.
“You’re lucky I love you,” He said.
“I am lucky. And hot. And very well packed.”
He peeked into the duffel again. “You brought a kazoo.”
“For distraction purposes.”
“You labeled it ‘Sexy Danger Kazoo.’”
You nodded proudly. “It has sparkles.”
-
The Quinjet touched down just as twilight was bleeding over the dense Carpathian forest, a soft purple washing the sky. You hopped off with all the energy of a kid who just found out naps were optional as Bucky followed, grim-faced but patient, lugging a backpack that looked suspiciously heavier than your luggage.
The safehouse was an old cabin, camouflaged perfectly by thick vines and the shadows of tall pines. From the outside, it looked like it hadn’t been touched since the Cold War, but inside? Well… that was a different story. Stark had apparently outfitted the place with every modern convenience a couple on a "low-profile mission" might need. You immediately spotted the sleek coffee maker and made a beeline for it.
“Why do you think Fury left us here?” Bucky muttered, peeling off his jacket.
“Because this is the perfect place for a romantic getaway disguised as espionage,” You answered, pulling a ridiculous “MISSION: COZY” banner from your bag and hanging it over the cracked fireplace mantel.
Bucky froze, then rubbed his temples. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’m also in love with you,” You added, flashing a grin that was half apology, half challenge.
He sighed, shaking his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Fine. But this is recon. Keep it professional.”
“Professional as in,” You plopped down on the one and only large bed, arms stretched wide, “Professional cuddles?”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and then his lips curved into something like a smile. “You know there’s only one bed, right?”
“Oh, I know. It’s your fault for not bringing a sleeping bag.”
“You knew that,” He said, sitting down heavily next to you.
“Details, details.” You leaned your head on his shoulder and pulled the blanket over both of you. “This is perfect.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable. Bucky’s hand found yours, fingers lacing together like they fit perfectly. After a moment, you whispered, “So, what’s the actual mission?”
“Observe and gather intel. Don’t get caught. Probably freeze our asses off.” He let out a dry chuckle. “And babysit you.”
You smirked. “Babysitting, huh?”
“Yeah. Someone’s got to keep you from setting off the alarm with your kazoo.”
You pouted but laughed anyway. “Hey, I’m a tactical genius with a flair for drama.”
“And a flair for eating four bananas in one sitting,” He reminded you, eyes softening.
You groaned. “Don’t remind me. My stomach is still plotting revenge.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The soft crackle of the fireplace was the perfect soundtrack to your “romantic” evening. Bucky, finally starting to relax after a long day of surveillance and your relentless banter, had just pulled the blanket tighter around you when you produced your “Sexy Danger Kazoo” from your jacket pocket. You gave him a mischievous grin.
“Want to hear my latest war tactic?” You whispered, raising the glittery instrument like a weapon.
Bucky’s eyes widened. “No.”
But of course, you played it anyway. A bizarre, off-key rendition of the Avengers theme that sounded more like a dying duck than a call to arms.
His sigh was so long it almost became a sound effect. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly in love,” You corrected, settling back down with a triumphant smirk.
Then, just as you were about to doze off, because even chaotic geniuses need sleep, the quiet night shattered.
CLANK.
The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the cabin.
Bucky shot up, pulling you with him. “Hydra.”
You blinked. “Already?”
He didn’t wait for you to grab your grappling hook or glitter gel pens. He was moving, fast and silent. You tried to follow, but your pajama pants tangled on the bedframe, and you stumbled, barely catching yourself on the wooden floor.
“Smooth,” Bucky muttered from the shadows.
The door to the cabin burst open, and two Hydra agents stepped inside, rifles raised. But before they could fully process their surroundings, a sudden blaring kazoo shattered the silence. Yours, of course.
“Surprise!” You yelled, charging like a glitter-wielding warrior.
Bucky facepalmed.
Before the Hydra agents could react, you whipped out a handful of glowsticks and started flinging them like grenades, the room suddenly glowing in psychedelic neon colors that were suspiciously brighter than any he had ever seen.
“What the hell is going on?!” One Hydra operative shouted, squinting at the glowing chaos.
Bucky took the opportunity to disable one with a swift punch, then ducked behind the counter to cover you.
“You did say you had distraction expertise,” He hissed.
You grinned wildly, still buzzing with adrenaline. “I’m a tactical genius. Trust me.”
The fight was brief but chaotic, involving a lot of slipping on stray bananas you’d left in the kitchen (don’t ask), glitter explosions from one of your surprise bombs, and a kazoo solo that was definitely more disorienting than tactical.
When it was finally over, Bucky turned to you, exasperated but undeniably impressed.
“You’re the worst mission partner I’ve ever had.”
“And the best,” You said, grabbing his hand and pulling him close. “But hey, if you wanted a boring recon op, maybe you should’ve asked Sam.”
He shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Next time, I’m bringing the actual weapons and leaving the kazoo at home.”
You leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
Outside, the Carpathian night resumed its quiet, the stars blinking down on a cabin that was very much not low profile. But inside, you and Bucky knew something important:
Chaos was one of the only things you did well and somehow, it was working perfectly.
Thank you! I’m glad you liked it. Thanks 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
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.
That photo made me laugh ngl, I’m so happy you liked it!
Thank you for reading! <3
Mischief Meets Alpine
Summary: Bucky introduces Alpine to you and Mischief one afternoon. An intense, one-sided, stare off ensues with an interesting truce that practically leaves you speechless when they start influencing each other for better or worse. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.
Word Count: 2.3k+
A/N: To be honest, I wrote this one based on the idea given by @kissingkillercriminals in their reblog of the prequel. Hope it turns out to be a fun read for you and everyone else. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel
It was a slow afternoon in the Tower. Clouds had gathered thickly in the sky, casting a grayish hue through the windows. Rain pattered gently against the glass, the soft drumming filling the silence in the common room.
You were curled up on the armchair with a book in your lap and Mischief lounging across your legs like the possessive feline empress she was. Her tail twitched lazily every few seconds, ears flicking to the rhythm of the raindrops. Her eyes were half-lidded, content.
That is, until the elevator dinged. Her ears perked immediately. You looked up as footsteps echoed down the hallway. Familiar ones.
“Hey,” Bucky greeted from the doorway, a little damp from the drizzle. But he wasn’t alone.
Nestled comfortably in his arms, perched like a queen surveying her domain, was a stunning white cat. Blue-eyed, snowy-soft, and eerily calm, almost regal in the way she looked around the room.
Mischief went still.
Your eyes widened. “Is that… Alpine?” You had heard of Bucky’s cat before, but never seemed to have the chance to meet her until now.
Bucky nodded, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he stepped in. “She was pacing by the window when I left the room this morning. Figured she might want a change of scenery.”
Mischief lifted her head. Her pupils narrowed sharply as she fixed her gaze on the uninvited guest. A low growl began to bubble in her throat, barely audible to anyone but you.
You gently placed your hand on her back. ‘Easy’, You thought, not even needing to speak it aloud. She didn’t seem to pick up on your message because her entire body was locked, tense, and offended.
Bucky moved slowly, like he knew he was treading on sacred ground. “Didn’t mean to start a turf war. Just figured maybe it was time.”
You stood slowly, Mischief reluctantly hopping off your lap. Her tail whipped once in warning.
Alpine was unfazed. Her blue eyes landed on Mischief with mild interest. She gave a soft, courteous mrrrow, as if greeting a fellow royal.
Mischief’s eyes narrowed. She sat, but her body language screamed intruder.
“She’s beautiful,” You said gently, watching Alpine with cautious awe. “I didn’t know she was so calm around new places.”
“She’s used to traveling,” Bucky replied, setting Alpine down slowly onto the floor. “Doesn’t like being cooped up. Kinda like me.”
You watched with a held breath as Alpine took a few exploratory steps forward. Mischief didn’t move, but her eyes tracked every inch like a sniper zeroing in. When Alpine got within a few feet, she paused. Then, with the unbothered grace of someone who feared nothing, she laid down.
Mischief hissed. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even aggressive. But it was unmistakably territorial.
“Mischief,” You warned softly, crouching next to her. “She’s not a threat.”
Bucky crouched too, beside Alpine, who had begun grooming her paw without a care in the world.
“Look at them,” He said, his voice hushed like it was a secret. “It’s like they’re trying to decide who owns the building.”
You laughed under your breath. “Mischief thinks she owns it.”
“Alpine knows she doesn’t need to prove it.”
As the two cats stared each other down, you caught it, soft and calm, threaded right beneath the silence.
She’s dramatic.
You blinked. Wait… That voice, sleek, composed, feminine, was Alpine’s. Not a meow, not a growl. Words.
You glanced at Bucky, but he was oblivious. Still watching the feline standoff like it was a chess game. Mischief’s growl rose slightly. Alpine remained still.
She likes you. That’s why she hasn’t lunged yet.
Alpine added, her voice as silky as her fur.
But I don’t back down either. So this should be interesting.
You noticed Mischief didn’t seem to hear your telepathic conversation with the newcomer. So you didn’t respond aloud, instead responding in your mind. ’You’re really not bothered, are you?’
He smells like snow and blood, but his hands are gentle. She’s possessive, not of the tower. Of you.
You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. ‘I can see why.’
Mischief hissed quietly, and you caught a flicker of Alpine’s tail.
She wants me to leave.
’Will you?’ You thought, unsure if you were asking out of hope or curiosity.
No. But I’ll wait. I’m patient. She’s not the only one who’s bonded.
The two cats remained still, locked in a silent standoff. Well, more like a one-sided standoff. A slow, deliberate blink passed from Alpine to Mischief.
To your utter shock, Mischief paused for a moment before blinking back. A beat passed before she turned her head and sat down with a huff. Not surrender. But perhaps a reluctant acknowledgment.
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Was that…?”
You blinked. “I think that was the feline equivalent of a handshake.”
He grinned, proud. “Progress.”
You looked down at both of them, one lounging and one sulking. You rose to your feet now, and as you did, Mischief brushed your leg with her tail, circling your feet like she was claiming you. Alpine simply hopped onto the rug and began inspecting a string toy left forgotten from Tony’s latest failed bribery attempt.
“So,” Bucky said after a moment, straightening. “What are the chances our girls end up tolerating each other?”
You glanced down at Mischief, who gave you a look that seemed to say, I allow this only because you do.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” You murmured. “But… It’s a start.”
Bucky stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “They’re like us,” He said quietly. “Cautious. But… maybe not beyond letting someone in.”
You turned your head toward him slowly, heart skipping.
“Maybe,” You said. “If they’re lucky enough to find the right person.”
And beneath the steady sound of rain, the two of you watched the loved cats learning the quiet language of trust across the room.
-
Though, you didn’t know what that trust would actually entail. The first incident began with silence, which, in your experience with Mischief, was never a good sign.
The Tower was unusually quiet that morning. You were sipping tea in the kitchen, reading reports while waiting for the coffee machine to finish sputtering its way through Bucky’s drink order. Mischief had been suspiciously absent since breakfast. Alpine had vanished not long after.
You glanced toward the hallway only to find nothing out of the ordinary.
Then, a crash, coming from the direction of Tony’s lab.
Not a small bump or a gentle thud. No, this was a metallic, shattering, the Tony-will-not-be-pleased sort of crash.
You bolted upright, nearly spilling your tea, and sprinted toward the noise. Bucky was already there, jogging in from the elevator, sweatpants loose, hair damp from his time at the gym.
“You heard that too?” He asked, eyes narrowing.
Another sound followed. A high-pitched zip-zip-zip noise, like drones activating. Followed by… pawsteps?
You and Bucky skidded to a stop at the entrance to Tony’s lab. It looked like a bomb had gone off.
Three of Tony’s prototype micro-drones were hovering erratically midair, one of them twirling in panicked circles. The rest lay in pieces scattered across the floor, wires tangled like a crime scene. And in the middle of the chaos sat Alpine, tail curled delicately around her paws, completely unbothered.
On the counter nearby, Mischief crouched with a gleam in her eye that could only be described as unrepentant. She looked directly at you, then at Bucky, and gave a soft meow as if to assert her innocence.
“I think we just missed the heist,” You said breathlessly.
Bucky muttered, “Alpine was supposed to be the calm one.”
“I never said Mischief was a good influence.”
You both stepped forward carefully, surveying the disaster. Mischief had clearly pried open one of the drawers, Tony’s "Do Not Touch" ones. Wires were dragged out like spaghetti noodles. A spilled jar of who knows what rolled lazily across the floor.
“Is that my cloaking device?” Came a voice from the hallway.
You winced as Tony rounded the corner before stopping dead at the sight.
Alpine jumped gracefully down and walked over to Bucky’s feet, brushing against him as if she hadn’t just helped dismantle a small fortune in tech.
Tony's eye twitched. “Why are your cats smarter than my interns?”
“I ask myself that every day,” Bucky said, scooping up Alpine. “You didn’t leave any exploding gadgets out, right?”
“Not this week,” Tony snapped, waving a tablet like a club. “Do you even understand what they’ve broken? That drone was programmed to help defuse bombs.”
“I’m sure they had a good reason,” You offered, not that it helped, gently lifting Mischief off the counter. She purred, content and absolutely smug.
“Ask her what the hell kind of reason that would be,” Tony snapped at you.
You looked at Mischief, questioning in a flat tone. “Why?”
Mischief stretched lazily, flicked her tail, and in a nonchalant, mental whisper, said:
It blinked first.
You groaned at the excuse, hesitating before giving the answer. “She says it blinked at her.”
Tony blinked. “It blinked? That’s your defense?”
“She’s a cat, Tony.”
“Whatever.” He pointed at Bucky. “And your cat?”
Bucky looked down at Alpine, who yawned wide and graceful. She murmured to you with eerie composure,
I wanted to know if it could fly backward. It couldn’t.
You snorted before you could stop yourself.
“What?” Tony demanded, head snapping towards you.
You waved him off. “You… don’t want to know.”
Later that evening, after Tony had barricaded the lab and implemented new retinal scans to keep out the feline menaces (his words, not yours). You found Bucky in the living room with Alpine lying beside him with a toy and Mischief perched on the back of the couch.
“They’re lucky they’re cute,” You muttered, flopping down beside him.
Bucky glanced sideways. “I think they’re bonding.”
“They broke a drone.”
“Exactly.”
You looked at the two cats now comfortably sharing the space, Alpine nibbling at the feather toy, Mischief eyeing the object like it had wronged her.
You shook your head. “It’s like watching spies team up.”
“They are spies,” Bucky corrected, definitely not taking this seriously, evident by the grin he wore. “Tiny, furry, manipulative spies.”
Mischief flicked her tail in agreement as Alpine blinked slowly. And for a brief moment, peace, albeit temporary, settled over the Tower.
-
However, while the first incident was annoying for Tony, the second was catered more toward you and Bucky.
It started small to the point where you didn’t notice it at first. Mischief, your eternally territorial shadow, began to behave… differently. She still took up her usual place on your lap, still growled at anyone who got too close, and still owned the Tower like she paid the bills. But she started following you and Bucky when you left rooms. Lingering in the halls, appearing on counters and ledges when the two of you happened to be in the same space.
Alpine, meanwhile, watched everything from a perch of regal detachment, or so it seemed. But you knew better since you heard her.
Don’t hiss this time. Just watch. Let him sit next to her first.
You had paused when you heard it the first time, over breakfast. Mischief was on the table (illegally), staring daggers at Bucky as he walked in. Alpine, curled on the windowsill, barely flicked her tail, but her voice unintentionally slipped into your thoughts again as she directed the ‘secret’ information to Mischief:
She likes it when he brings her things and when he calls her 'trouble.' You should let her admit that.
You almost choked on your toast, but didn’t say anything when Bucky looked over at you with a questioning, concerned gaze.
That was the first clue.
The second clue came two days later, when Bucky was helping you patch up a cut you'd gotten during training. It was nothing, barely a nick, but he'd insisted. Kneeling in front of you, his gloved hand cradled your wrist while the other applied antiseptic.
Mischief watched from the armrest, her ears twitching. It was clear she was tense, jealous… until Alpine hopped up beside her and gently nudged her with her head.
Now. Purr. So she relaxes.
Mischief blinked slowly, tail twitching. Then, shockingly, she purred. Loudly and deeply. You actually laughed, easing into the moment, and Bucky glanced up at you with that rare, boyish half-smile that made your chest ache.
You knew that had been Alpine's doing. And Mischief, traitor that she was, seemed fine with it.
The third clue? Bucky confessed it.
You were sitting together in the lounge late one night, watching the rain tap softly at the windows, each of you nursing mugs of tea. Mischief dozed between you on the couch. Alpine had curled beside her, touching, no less. A miracle in itself.
Bucky tilted his head toward the sleeping cats. “You know, Alpine's been… weird.”
“Weird how?”
He hesitated. “She… keeps pushing me toward you.”
Your heart did a very stupid, very hopeful thing. “She told you that?”
He gave you a sheepish look. “She doesn’t talk to me like she talks to you, of course. But she’ll nudge me when I move away too soon. Block seats unless I sit beside you. Once she knocked my phone out of my hand when I was trying to leave the room.”
You could feel your heart beat faster, but tried to cover up your nervousness with a laugh, joking a little. “She’s matchmaking.”
“I think Mischief’s in on it, too. Last night, she dragged your hoodie into my room.”
Your eyebrows shot up. So that’s where your hoodie went, of all places.
“And then Alpine slept on it like it was a peace offering.”
You looked down at the two curled balls of fur, now subtly pressed together. Mischief’s tail lay loosely draped over Alpine’s back.
“Is this what a truce looks like?” You whispered.
Bucky’s fingers brushed yours, and you didn’t pull away.
“Looks like,” He murmured.
You didn’t answer this time, but your fingers curled around Bucky’s gently as Alpine purred softly and Mischief, even in sleep, didn’t object.
That was enough of an answer until either of you could act on the same thing both of your hearts wanted.
Beach Day
Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression!]
Summary: 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.
Word Count: 3.1k+
A/N: I tried to make reader actually speak more this time, more excited in little space. I’m also going to the beach this week, so maybe I’ll find some inspiration to write more beach-related scenarios. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
Sunlight peeks through your curtains, warm and golden. Before you’re even fully awake, you feel it, that fluttery kind of excitement deep in your belly. Today is the day you take a trip with your daddies to the beach.
You practically tumble out of bed, your stuffie clutched in one hand and your blanket trailing behind you like a cape. Your feet patter down the hall to the kitchen where Steve is already pouring coffee and Bucky’s at the table packing snacks and food into a cooler bag.
As soon as they see you, both of their faces light up.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Steve says with a grin, crouching down as you barrel into him for a hug.
“‘S beach day!” You declare, bouncing on your toes and giggling. “Gon’ swim, an’ eat sammiches, anddd… maybe find a crab!”
Steve chuckles and ruffles your bedhead. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”
Bucky comes over and lifts you into his arms with a dramatic motion. “You sound ready to explode with excitement, doll.”
“Boom!” You shout happily, flopping into his shoulder with a squeal.
“Alright, tiny firecracker,” Bucky says with a smirk, kissing your temple, “Let’s pick out that swimsuit, huh? I laid out a few.”
He carries you back to your room, setting you down in front of the bed where three different swimsuits are folded: one with little sharks, one with rainbows and glitter, and one with ducks wearing sunglasses.
You gasp. “Ducks!! ‘M wearin’ the ducky one!”
“Excellent choice,” Steve says from the doorway, holding up a tiny bottle of sunscreen like it’s a secret weapon. “Operation Sunshield begins after we’re dressed.”
You squeal again and squirm excitedly while Bucky helps you into the ducky swimsuit, gently tugging the fabric into place and letting you spin in front of the mirror.
“Look at you,” He teases. “The duck commander herself.”
You pose with your hands on your hips. “Quack,” You say seriously before breaking into giggles.
Steve brings over your favorite sunhat, the one with little cat ears sewn on top. He crouches down to tie the strings carefully under your chin. “There. Our beach baby is ready.”
You nod with a wide smile, pointing to yourself. “Beach baby. Dat’s me.”
Bucky hands you your beach bag, shaped like a strawberry, already packed with your floatie, water bottle, a towel, and your favorite shell-collecting bucket. You peek inside and spot your teddy tucked in there too, wearing his own little sunglasses.
“Brownie comin’ tooooo!” You squeal, hugging the bag tight.
Steve chuckles and kisses your forehead. “Of course. He’s our co-pilot.”
You skip toward the door, flip-flops smacking the floor, bag bouncing against your side, already humming a made-up beach song.
And behind you, Steve and Bucky exchange a soft look, all warm smiles and quiet love, before following you out the door.
It doesn’t take long until you’re all buckled into your seat in the back of Steve’s big SUV, your strawberry beach bag beside you and Brownie resting in your lap. Your feet are swinging back and forth and you’ve got a sippy cup of cold apple juice in one hand.
Bucky’s driving, sunglasses on and arm relaxed out the window, while Steve twists in the front seat to check on you again.
“Got everything, sweetheart?”
You nod enthusiastically. “Mhm! Brownie, got snacks, got juice… oh! Forgot da crayons- wait, no I didn’t! They in the bag!” You unzip it and proudly show off your zip-up pouch full of stubby, broken crayons and coloring pages.
Steve gives you a dramatic sigh of relief. “Phew. Beach emergency averted.”
Bucky grins at the road. “Can’t survive a beach trip without crayons. Everyone knows that.”
You lean back and hum a little song to yourself while kicking your feet. Then, suddenly, “Papa?”
Steve turns again, his expression soft. “Yeah, bug?”
“How many waves do ya fink there gonna be? A gazillion?”
He hums in thought before answering, “Maybe a gazillion and one.”
You giggle and wiggle in your seat. “I’mma jump in alla them! Gonna splash ev’rywhere!”
Bucky snorts, joking. “Better not splash me, unless you wanna get launched into orbit.”
You gasp, wide-eyed. “Like a rocket?!”
“Yup. Straight to the moon, kiddo.”
Steve leans over and smacks Bucky’s arm playfully. “No launching beach babies today, sergeant.”
“Awwww,” You whine with a little pout, “But I wanna go moon swimmin’…”
They both laugh, and Bucky says, “Okay, okay. We’ll settle for ocean splashing. But you are gonna need to hold our hands in the water if you don’t have your floatie with you.”
You cross your arms with a dramatic sigh. “Cuz waves big?”
Steve nods. “And ‘cause we love you. Wanna keep you close.”
That makes you go quiet for a second before you agree with a nod, “Okay. I hold your hands forever!”
The car is quiet after that for a few minutes, filled only with the sound of tires on pavement and the music playing softly through the speakers, one of your favorite silly beach songs.
Eventually, your eyes start to feel a little heavy from the sun and excitement, and your voice gets small. “Tell me when we’re there?”
Steve turns slightly in his seat, watching you snuggle up with your teddy bear. “Of course, baby. You rest. We’ll get you there safe.”
And with Bucky humming along to the song and Steve’s assurance warm and steady, you drift off to sleep, dreaming of ducks in sunglasses and waves that reach the stars.
-
The car slows down into a parking lot full of stray sand, and you awaken instinctively.
“We here?” You mumble, still a little sleepy, rubbing your eyes.
“We’re here, baby,” Steve says, twisting to smile at you. “And there’s the shore.”
You sit up fast, blinking at the blue sky, the seagulls flying overhead, and the endless stretch of sparkling ocean beyond the dunes. Your mouth opens in a soft gasp. “Iss sooooo biiiiig!”
Bucky chuckles as he parks the car. “Told ya the ocean was a giant bathtub.”
“Bath tub don’t got birds,” You correct him seriously.
Steve laughs and gets out, opening the back door and unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you out. “You’re right, smarty-pants. No seagulls allowed in bathtubs.”
Bucky lifts the beach bag and tosses a towel over his shoulder. Your floatie, shaped like a giant donut with pink frosting, is tucked under his arm. “Alright, sunshine, grab a hand.”
You immediately reach for both of them, one hand in each of theirs, swinging between them as the three of you walk toward the beach. You can feel the sand seep onto the surface of your flip-flops and the ocean breeze tugs playfully at your hat, but you don’t mind one bit. You’re too busy bouncing in excitement.
“Papa! Daddy! Look, look, a doggie!” You shout, pointing to a golden retriever with a stick in its mouth.
“I see him,” Bucky says. “Reckon he’s here for the waves too.”
“Bet he surfs,” You whisper, awed.
The beach opens up in front of you, wide and bright, with the tide glittering under the sun. Steve lays down a big blanket while Bucky sets up the umbrella and cooler. You spin in place, arms out, squealing, “So big!! So blue!! So sandyyyy!!”
“You’re gonna be so sticky by the end of the day,” Steve teases, “Sticky and sandy and tired.”
You beam. “Dat’s the best kinda day.”
He chuckles, holding out the donut floatie. “Want it on now or wait till we go in?”
You tap your chin like you’re thinking real hard, then answer, “Gon’ wait. ‘Mma build da castle first.”
Bucky sets the floatie down, securing it to make sure it doesn’t blow away in the wind. “Then let’s build the biggest castle in the whole world. Fit for a beach princess.”
“I’m a queen,” You say matter-of-factly, plopping down and grabbing your bucket.
“Apologies, your majesty,” Bucky replies with a bow, handing you your shovel.
You take it gratefully. Now sitting criss-cross in the sand, shovel in hand, and your tongue poking out the side of your mouth in deep, serious concentration. “Dis side gonna be da dungeon,” You declare, patting down a lopsided tower with a wet slap.
“Uh-oh,” Steve says, leaning over with a raised brow. “Who’s getting sent to the dungeon?”
You look up at him dramatically. “Any bad guys. Like… da people who steal snacks. Or take my floatie wifout askin’.”
Bucky smirks. “That first one’s harsh, kiddo. Even I snuck a bite of your granola bar last week.”
You gasp, eyes wide. “DADDY!”
He holds up both hands. “I surrender to the queen.”
You scramble up and point your shovel at him. “To the dungeon!!”
Steve is already half-laughing as he scoops up a little wet sand with his palm and begins forming a jail cell beside your crooked tower. “There. You can lock him up right next to the crab moat.”
“Crab moat?” You squeak, spinning to look and sure enough, Steve has drawn a little wavy trench in the sand around your castle.
“Yup. To keep the villains out. Filled with tiny crab soldiers.”
You light up. “Can I name ‘em?!”
Bucky grins from where he’s now digging a tunnel. “They need names if they’re gonna work for you.”
You begin listing in a sing-song voice as you place little seashells at intervals around the moat. “Dis one’s Sir Pincie. Dat one’s Lady Clawdia. Ooooh! And King Crunch!”
“You’re a natural monarch,” Steve says, brushing sand off your nose gently.
The three of you work for a long while like that. Steve shapes towers and walls with his big, careful hands, while Bucky digs tunnels and hides treasure shells underneath the sand (“For adventurers later,” He says with a wink). Meanwhile, you are darting between them, giving orders, adding stick flags, and occasionally squashing the sand with your knees when things get too exciting.
At one point, you tug Steve’s hand and whisper, “Papa, look! I made a tiny throne!” and point to a lumpy mound near your castle.
He crouches beside you, looking at your creation with a warm smile. “That’s perfect, baby. Just your size.”
You plop onto it,sticking your legs out and puffing up proudly. “Now I’m da queen of da whole beach.”
Bucky bows low. “Queen of Shelltown.”
“Queen of Snacksville,” Steve adds with a smile.
You nod seriously. “I rule wif kindness… and naps.”
Sand coats your legs and arms, your cheeks are flushed pink from the sun and all the giggles, and there’s a little grain of sand stuck to your bottom lip, but you’re glowing from all the fun.
And when the tide starts creeping closer, Steve leans over and murmurs, “Wanna defend the castle, or let the waves have it?”
You consider that deeply, then whisper, “They can have it. I’ll build a new one. Wif you an’ Daddy.”
Steve kisses your temple. “Always, sweetheart.”
-
The castle’s been claimed by the tide, you had waved goodbye to Sir Pincie and Lady Clawdia, and now it’s ocean time.
Bucky crouches down beside you, holding your floatie. “Alright, sunshine. Arms up.”
You giggle and shoot both arms skyward. “Up, up, up!!”
He gently slides the floatie down over your head and around your tummy, adjusting the back. “There ya go. You’re officially donut-fied.”
Steve steps up beside you, brushing hair out of your face and slipping your goggles down over your eyes. “Ready to swim, baby?”
You nod furiously, bouncing in place. “Ready!! Wanna splash! Wanna gooooo!”
“Okay, okay,” Bucky chuckles, scooping you up into his arms. “Let’s get those little feet wet.”
As he carries you toward the water, your legs kick excitedly in the air. The waves rush up to greet you and Bucky sets you down in the shallows, keeping a hand on your floatie. “Whoa there, jellybean. Don’t go zoomin’ off just yet.”
The water laps at your knees and you squeal. When Bucky helps you a bit further to where you can float in the water, you exclaim with glee. “I’m floatin’! I’m a boat!! Papa, look!! I’m a boat!!”
Steve walks in beside you, letting the waves wash over his ankles as he chuckles. “Best boat I’ve ever seen. Might need to name you ‘Captain Giggles.’”
You dramatically turn the wheel of your imaginary ship. “Aye-aye, Captain Papa!”
Bucky lets you drift out a little more, still holding on. The floatie bobs up and down with the swell, and you squeal every time the water splashes up. “The ocean’s ticklin’ me!!”
“You’re lucky it likes you,” Bucky teases.
Another wave comes, bigger this time, and it lifts you gently, your floatie catching it just right. “WHOOOOA!!” You twist in the floatie and throw your arms up. “DO IT ‘GAIN!”
Steve laughs and nudges the float gently from behind so you rock back into Bucky’s waiting hands. “You’re fearless today, huh?”
You beam up at them through your goggles. “M’brave. ‘Cause I gots you two.”
Something about the way you say it makes both men soften instantly.
“That’s right, baby,” Steve murmurs. “You always got us.”
Forever, even when the tide rolls in.
-
After some more fun in the ocean, your floatie squeaks faintly as Bucky lifts you out of the water, droplets running down your legs and arms. “Okay, okay, little sea monster,” He says with a soft smile. “Time for snacks before you turn into a prune.”
You giggle, leaning your wet cheek against his shoulder. “I’m not a monster… I’m a…. mermaid now!”
“Even mermaids need snacks,” Steve calls from where he’s already crouched by the umbrella, unfolding a soft towel with cartoon sea creatures on it, the one you picked out at the store yourself and insisted “smells like sunshine.”
Bucky lowers you onto it, and Steve helps remove your floatie then immediately starts rubbing you down gently with another dry towel, working from your toes up with patient, warm hands. “You did a lot of splashing out there,” He says as he dries your hair with a little tousle. “You hungry, sweetheart?”
You nod dramatically. “M’really hungwy. Like…” You pause to think, then spread your arms wide, “…like this much hungry.”
Bucky chuckles as he pops open the cooler. “Well lucky for you, I packed the royal picnic. Your Majesty’s favorites.”
You scoot onto your knees and peek eagerly as he starts unpacking it all. Slices of juicy watermelon cut into stars, a crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into triangles just the way you like, a little container of goldfish crackers, and a juice box with a tiny superhero on it. Your mouth already waters just looking at the watermelon.
Steve sits cross-legged beside you, passing you the juice box with the straw already poked in. “Start with some sips, okay? You got lots of sun.”
You sip happily, legs folded under you. “Dis tastes like blue.”
“That’s ‘cause it is blue,” Bucky teases, handing you one of the watermelon stars on a tiny plastic fork. “Eat that before your sandwich. Hydration first.”
You crunch into it and immediately let out a content hum. “Mmmmmm. Cold!”
Both men smile as they eat alongside you, not rushing, not talking much. It’s just quiet, sun-warmed company. Seagulls squawk in the distance. Waves roll in soft and lazy now, like the ocean’s getting sleepy too. There’s sand on your knees, salt on your cheeks, and watermelon juice running down your chin.
Steve reaches over with a napkin and dabs your face gently. “You’re makin’ a mess, aren’t you?”
You look up at him, grinning. “I’m da mess queen.”
Bucky leans over and plants a kiss to your temple. “Then we must be the mess kings.”
You end up snuggled between them, leaning back against Bucky’s chest with your legs draped across Steve’s lap, half a sandwich in hand. The sun peeks out from behind a cloud, warming your face. You let out a little yawn around a bite.
Steve notices and brushes your damp hair back. “Sleepy?”
You shake your head slowly, though your body sags against Bucky. “Noooo. Jus’… comfy.”
Bucky pulls a second towel over your legs, letting you burrow in like a little cocoon. “That’s okay, sweetheart. You just rest. We’ve got you.”
“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed. “You always do.”
And they always will.
-
The sun is dipping low now, casting long golden streaks across the parking lot as Steve loads up the trunk. The beach towels are a little sandy, the cooler is mostly empty, and your floatie sits squished between the seats like a deflated donut. Everything smells like salt and sunscreen.
Bucky lifts you gently from where you were half-dozing under the umbrella, your cheeks warm and your limbs floppy with that worn-out, sun-drenched tiredness that only little ones know.
“C’mon, peanut,” He murmurs, cradling you close against his chest. “Time to go home.”
You mumble something into his shirt, mostly vowels and half-syllables, nothing real, but your arms curl around his neck automatically. He smiles, brushing a kiss into your damp hair.
The backseat’s already set up, your soft blanket with the stars and moons, Brownie resting nearby, and a small travel pillow that smells like home. Bucky settles you in carefully, buckling you up while keeping the blanket snug around your legs before shutting the door carefully and moving into the passenger’s seat.
Steve climbs into the driver’s seat and glances back at you in the rearview mirror. “All set, sweetheart?”
You blink slowly, eyes heavy. “Goin’ home?”
“That’s right,” He says, starting the engine. “You did so good today. Brave in the water, kind to the sand crabs, full of giggles. I’m proud of you.”
You smile sleepily, turning your head toward the window as the car pulls away from the beach. The world passes by in a blur of fading light, palm trees, street signs, the occasional swoop of a bird overhead. Your eyelids flutter, heavier with every mile.
Bucky twists in his seat, watching you for a moment. His voice is softer now. “Get some rest, babydoll. We’ll be home soon.”
You hum softly, barely awake, your fingers curling in the corner of your blanket. “You stay wif me?”
“Always,” He whispers. “Not going anywhere.”
The car hums along the road, the sound of tires and the occasional song from the radio blending into the perfect lullaby. Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting quietly on Bucky’s thigh, and the two of them share a look, the kind that says everything without words.
And in the back seat, warm and all out of energy from the big day… you drift off to sleepy, safe and loved as ever.
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.
-
alettena liked this · 1 week ago -
readingismyonlyhobby liked this · 1 week ago -
viktor-enjoyer liked this · 1 week ago -
bucket-3000 liked this · 1 week ago -
darknightsadecom liked this · 1 week ago -
literallyalbertcamus liked this · 1 week ago -
frosty3124 liked this · 1 week ago -
sweetcherryharry liked this · 1 week ago -
llibertee liked this · 1 week ago -
caffine-queen liked this · 1 week ago -
izhekx65 liked this · 1 week ago -
jembug28 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
zeroizsad liked this · 2 weeks ago -
mop-anon liked this · 2 weeks ago -
brooklynn3253 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
yrakashi liked this · 2 weeks ago -
nanamander liked this · 2 weeks ago -
shadowwarriorsstuff liked this · 2 weeks ago -
rosesandsundragons16 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
dleahrose liked this · 2 weeks ago -
love-aintzhir liked this · 2 weeks ago -
jelli-beanss liked this · 2 weeks ago -
firebreathingbitch17 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
prettychaos1409 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
anxiousceramicpot liked this · 2 weeks ago -
marylokona12 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
jan-otatani liked this · 2 weeks ago -
frillfish liked this · 2 weeks ago -
yamaxlee liked this · 2 weeks ago -
nath0212 liked this · 2 weeks ago
-
breatzatlantadays liked this · 2 weeks ago -
mikeys-waifu liked this · 2 weeks ago -
arefudefuku liked this · 2 weeks ago -
matthewgraygublerloverr liked this · 2 weeks ago -
applsy liked this · 3 weeks ago -
folkloreofyennefer liked this · 3 weeks ago -
flufftara liked this · 3 weeks ago -
thoughtfullydelightfulgiver liked this · 3 weeks ago -
crazyapplesgirl1q liked this · 3 weeks ago -
helplessautomaton liked this · 3 weeks ago -
imakeepers-world-blog liked this · 3 weeks ago -
bonafidebear liked this · 3 weeks ago -
kynamitedessert liked this · 3 weeks ago -
fallingstorm liked this · 3 weeks ago -
urfavegothstagemom liked this · 3 weeks ago -
gabby913 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
buckycomfortfics reblogged this · 3 weeks ago
She/Her | 18+ | Marvel WriterAsks/Requests are welcomed!
88 posts