Even If You Forget
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.
More Posts from Orellazalonia and Others
LOL, I KNOW RIGHT? Such a fun story to write for, I love it. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron
Summary: Exploring more of your relationship and dynamics with the rest of the Avengers, they are well-acquainted with how much whiplash and how many headaches you give them on a daily. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Word Count: 1.2k+
A/N: The other going on dates fic didn’t have enough unhinged questionable reader for me. And to be honest….I didn’t like it as much as the prequel. So! I wrote this to cheer me up and feed my need for dumb & genius reader. Purely self-indulgent but hopefully you like it too. Happy reading!!!
Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
Being an Avenger came with certain expectations. Tactical prowess. Cool one-liners. Teamwork. A mild-to-moderate understanding of physics.
You had exactly none of that. And yet, you were thriving.
You had taken on aliens, mercenaries, HYDRA agents, and that one time, an actual raccoon with a vendetta. You once guessed the password to a SHIELD vault on the first try by inputting “boob69.” It worked. Nobody ever explained why. You were untouchable.
But nothing broke the team more than the group chat.
It had been a standard team communication channel at first: briefings, updates, emergency alerts. Then you joined and everything fell apart.
-
GROUP CHAT: “Earth’s Mightiest Dumbasses”
Tony: Meeting in the conference room at 9 A.M. sharp.
You: what’s 9 AM in frog time
Natasha: What does that mean?
You: like if a frog wears a watch is the time upside down
Tony: Please, I’m begging you to just answer the question like a normal person.
You: normal is a strong word
-
You once sent a photo of a pigeon wearing a hat with the caption “me when I infiltrate enemy lines.” No one questioned it. Mostly because they couldn’t.
After all, you’re the same person who confidently gave a TED Talk about the strategic history of medieval siege warfare mid-mission while wearing Crocs. The same person who once said, “Vibranium tastes like disappointment,” and then refused to elaborate. You somehow manage to both ace every debrief but also once asked if Wi-Fi is just helpful air soup.
Thor called you “small thunder” after you electrocuted yourself trying to microwave aluminum “as a science experiment.” You did not have lightning powers. It was just dumb luck. And you’d do it again.
-
GROUP CHAT:
Clint: who the hell labeled all the fridge items in latin?
You: idk man maybe someone wants you to be cultured
Bucky: You labeled the eggs, “Future ankle peckers, do not anger them”
You: ...and have you been attacked? no? you’re welcome.
-
Bucky still doesn't understand you. Not even a little.
And a lot of times, that haunts him.
He watches you eat hot sauce straight from the bottle like it's a health tonic, quote Shakespeare when you’re tired, and wear mismatched crocs into certain battles because "they're my war shoes." One has a tiny sword glued to it.
You once looked him dead in the eye and said, “I wasn’t born. I was assembled in a Target parking lot during a thunderstorm.”
And then walked away.
He’s been thinking about it for months.
Another time you brought him a bag of gummy worms, patted his head, and said, “For when the depression demons attack.”
Despite all your nonsense, he can’t stop looking at you like you hung the moon with glitter glue and then ate half of it because that brand “smelled like frosting.”
He had tried to pretend you’re a nuisance at first, shaking his head and sighing at some of your antics. But it’s all morphed to reluctant acceptance of the fact that he’ll have to live with so many unanswered questions. That doesn’t stop him from taking care of you though.
He brings you hot chocolate after missions. He makes sure you’re behind him when it gets dangerous. He drags you out of fountains you jump into because you wanted to know what the regals birds like about it. He even downloaded TikTok just to understand your references.
One time you disappeared in the Tower. For five hours.
He found you in the broom closet, sitting cross-legged with three Roombas, wearing a crown made of forks.
“They know secrets,” You whispered. “I’m learning their ways.”
Bucky blinked.
“…I brought you pizza.”
You gasped. “I knew the prophecy would come true.”
-
GROUP CHAT:
Steve: Can someone explain what this is?
Image attached: You in a vent near the ceiling wearing a bad ghost outfit like a cursed Halloween decoration, eating Cheez-Its.
You: surveillance
Steve: Why…
You: i wanted to know what Bucky does when I’m not looking
Bucky: They’ve been up there for 6 hours. I offered help. They hissed at me.
-
Despite it all, you were deadly in the field.
You’d spout off the periodic table in the middle of a fistfight, pull off gravity-defying stunts “because I saw it in a cartoon once,” and solve encrypted Hydra codes in 30 seconds, all while questioning if Mickey Mouse and his friends ever had to pay rent to live in the Mickey Mouse clubhouse.
Bucky, your begrudgingly loving boyfriend, no longer reacts when you do things like wear medieval armor to a stealth op for morale reasons or quote Shrek during hostage negotiations. He just quietly takes your hand and steers you away before you lick anything radioactive.
Steve once asked why you were on a mission wearing roller skates. You said, “Speed and style, Cap,” then crashed directly into a vending machine and pulled out a single uncrushed Twix with solemn reverence.
Tony called you “the human embodiment of a broken Google search.” Wanda called you “a mystery I’ve chosen not to solve.” Natasha just called you “terrifying.”
Because for every baffling thing you did, like calling her “Mom” during a sniper stakeout because “you give off stern PTA energy”, you turned around and cracked encrypted intel before Bruce finished making coffee.
Once, in a mission briefing, Rhodey asked, “Wait, wasn’t the Hindenburg caused by a gas explosion?” and you, dead serious, replied, “Who’s the Hindenburg? That sounds like a guy who collects teeth.”
Everyone went dead silent.
Sam just nodded slowly and said, “Right, okay. Yeah, cool. This is the part where I stop paying attention.”
Nobody could figure you out.
Bruce once ran 14 psychological profiles on you. None of them matched. One came back as possibly a goat in human form.
Clint swears you once explained string theory using sock puppets and a waffle. And it made sense.
-
GROUP CHAT:
Tony: I’m updating the security protocol. Everyone needs to re-register their biosignatures.
You: what if I am a security risk
Tony: You are. Absolutely. Every day. In every way.
You: then I win
Natasha: What did you win?
You: You’ll see 😈
Tony: I have forgotten what peace feels like anymore.
-
You called yourself “The Distractinator” in combat.
Enemies didn’t know what to do with you. Were you a genius? Crazy? Feral? Was that a printer you just threw at their face while quoting Pride and Prejudice?
Yes. To all of it.
And somehow, impossibly, you were everyone’s favorite. Because while you were a chaos gremlin of untold magnitude, you cared.
You noticed when Clint seemed tired and unorthodoxically left snacks in his quiver.
You taught Steve how to use TikTok but made sure to curate only dog videos and motivational frog memes.
You convinced Bucky he could wear purple and look amazing. He does now. Regularly.
You helped Tony fix a faulty AI loop by accident while trying to build “a blender that screams.”
You’re not just a part of the team. You’re the emotional support cryptid.
And no matter how many explosions you cause with your “experiments,” or how many philosophical debates you start about whether lasagna is a cake, the Avengers wouldn’t trade you for the world.
…Though Tony did try to sell you to the X-Men once.
It didn’t work.
They sent you back with a fruit basket and a strongly worded letter.
Glitter, Gunfire, and Grape Juice
Summary: You throw yourself between a rookie and an energy blast. Bucky panics. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Word Count: 1.3k+
Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
The mission was going well. Suspiciously well, which should’ve been your first red flag. Another ordinary Hydra facility with minimal guards that was unusually quiet. You were even humming as you strolled through the hallway, twirling a baton and pointing it at doors like a remote.
Behind you, Bucky muttered, “Don’t touch anything.”
You responded, “That’s exactly what someone hiding treasure would say.”
Sam sighed. “Can you at least pretend to take this seriously?”
“I am taking it seriously. That’s why I packed four granola bars and a Capri-Sun.”
Bucky grinned, despite himself. He always did when you were like this, loose-limbed and smiling. Like the world couldn’t possibly touch you, which made what happened next all the more terrifying.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
An explosion of sound coming from the energy shot from a hidden drone. It was too fast to stop, too sudden to predict. One of the rookies on the mission—a wide-eyed kid with barely two field ops under his belt froze, dead in the line of fire.
So you didn’t.
You shoved him out of the way with a grunt and took the hit square in the side. It knocked you off your feet with a sickening crack.
The kid shouted. Bucky screamed your name.
When you hit the floor, you blinked up at the ceiling like it had just betrayed you. “Oh,” You said, dazed. “That’s not ideal.”
You were bleeding, quite a lot. Bright red blooming fast across your suit, staining your hand as you pressed it to your side with a hiss. “Y’know,” You mumbled, “I don’t remember having this many organs.”
“Stay with me- hey, hey, stay with me.” Bucky was suddenly at your side, voice hoarse, pressing his hands over yours to help stem the bleeding. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
You gave him a lazy grin, adrenaline running high. “If I die, delete my browser history and bury me with snacks. No one needs to know how often I google if raccoons can feel love.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Don’t joke.”
“You love me because I joke.”
“I love you because you’re you,” He rasped. “But right now, I need you to fight and stay with me, okay?”
“Already fought,” You slurred. “I did the thing, saved the baby agent. Hero moment. I want a sticker.”
“Doll, if you die on me, I will bring you back just to yell at you.”
You laughed and winced immediately. “Hurts to laugh, write that down and it to the science books.”
The med team arrived then, Sam yelling over his comms, the rookie sobbing apologies, the chaos dimming into a kind of tunnel vision where all you could see was Bucky’s face above you. His eyes were wet and scared.
You lifted a bloody finger and tapped his nose weakly. “Boop.”
“God, you’re infuriating,” He whispered. Then he kissed your forehead with trembling lips. “Don’t leave me, okay? I don’t care how many granola bars you packed. You don’t get to check out early.”
-
A day later in the medbay, you woke up groggy and attached to enough wires to hack a satellite. You blinked blearily at the ceiling.
Bucky was there, instantly. “You’re awake.”
You looked at him then looked around. “Where’s my Capri-Sun?”
He closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. “You almost died, and that’s what you’re asking?”
“I saved a life, I bled dramatically, I deserve juice.”
He let out a shaky breath. Then, quietly, “Don’t ever do that again.”
You turned to get a good look at him. He looked wrecked honestly. Unshaven, sleepless, and red around the eyes. It’s clear he had barely left your side. “Hey,” You said softly, reaching for his hand. “I’m here.”
He held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
And for the first time, you didn’t joke. Didn’t quip. You just said, quietly, “I’d take the hit again, Buck. Every time.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t make me live in a world without you, alright?”
You smiled. “Deal. But next time, you bring the juice.”
-
As you had to spend more time in the medbay for recovery, you gradually grew bored. You’d never been a fan of hospital beds. They were too stiff, too white, too… beep-y.
So naturally, the first thing you did the moment you could sit up without passing out was try to climb out of one.
“Sit. Down.”
Bucky’s voice cracked like a whip across the room. He was standing by the medbay door with a takeout container in one hand and the fury of a thousand protective boyfriends in the other.
You blinked up at him. “I’m just stretching-“
“You have stitches, dumbass.”
You squinted. “You still love me though.”
He sighed and walked over, setting the food on your tray. “Unfortunately.”
You poked at the soup. “This doesn’t look like juice.”
“It’s miso. Doctor Cho said no juice until you’re off pain meds.”
You gasped like he’d personally betrayed your bloodline. “What about a popsicle?”
“You were clinically dead for twelve seconds and you want a popsicle?”
“…grape, preferably.”
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do I love you.”
You leaned back against the pillows, smug. “Because I am an intellectual enigma with the survival instincts of a cat in traffic.”
Before Bucky could respond, there was a knock on the door.
Enter: The Rookie.
He crept in like a kid walking into the principal’s office, holding something behind his back and looking two seconds from crying again. “H-Hey.”
You grinned. “If it isn’t the human shield I saved.”
He flinched. “I’m so sorry-“
“Hey, no. Don’t do that.” You waved your spoon like a wand. “No guilt in my presence. It was my call and I would do again.”
Bucky muttered, “Don’t say that,” but you ignored him.
The rookie stepped forward, visibly shaking, and handed you what looked like… a paper plate necklace. With glitter. It said: “#1 Chaos Hero.”
You stared at it, then at him, then back at it.
“I didn’t know what to get you and I felt awful and I don’t have clearance for flowers and this was the only glitter glue left in the break room,” He rambled. “Also it’s taped because we ran out of string.”
You put it on immediately. Bucky just stared like he was reevaluating every life decision that led him to this moment.
“This is the greatest honor I’ve ever received,” You declared.
“You’re literally wearing a paper plate.”
“From a child soldier,” You corrected.
“I’m nineteen!” The rookie said.
“Exactly,” You said.
Later on, Bucky helped you back to your quarters. The both of you were walking slow with his metal hand on your back like he was afraid you might fall apart again. You let him tuck you in, mostly because you were still high on painkillers and partially because you liked the way he fussed when he was scared.
“I mean it,” He said quietly, sitting beside you. “You can’t keep risking yourself like that. Not for people who won’t do the same.”
“They will someday. Because people pay kindness forward, especially when it costs someone else blood.” You nudged him. “Plus, you did the same for Steve a hundred times.”
“That was different.”
“It wasn’t.”
He was quiet for a long time. Then:
“I almost lost you.”
You took his hand and held it gently.
“But you didn’t.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re infuriating.”
“You love me.”
He sighed before whispering into your hair, “I really do.”
-
GROUP CHAT:
Tony: Who tf gave glitter glue to the interns?
Sam: The rookie made her a PAPER PLATE NECKLACE
Steve: She hasn’t taken it off in six hours.
Natasha: She told me it’s a ‘badge of honor’…
Wanda: They also threatened the vending machine for not having grape juice
Bucky: She got shot and she’s more upset about the juice
You: i saved a life AND survived a flesh wound, i earned grape juice
You: also i’m naming the scar after the rookie
Bucky: Please don’t
You: too late, buckaroo. i christen it kevin 2.0
[Bucky has left the group chat.]
It’s so interesting to see how the recent three additions to the Whispers of the Gifted series are doing relatively well with over 60 notes/likes each when I had initially thought each one of them would flop when I posted it. I’m not sure what powers reader should have next though…
Fun fact, each of those fics from that series can be extended to a part 2 or additional content surrounding those characters, I definitely have ideas. But I think maybe people would like ‘em better as one-shot single fics.
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.
Caged in Comfort (Pt. 5)
Summary: You’re slowly starting to slip into exactly what they want. While you aren’t their bright little girl yet, they’re patient and present as your inner turmoil and outward resistance gradually fades. How long it will last is unknown to both you and them. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)
Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression (Implied drugging). Kidnapping. References to Labs. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely. You are responsible for the media you consume.
Word Count: 2.3k+
A/N: Would love to do a timeskip next chapter so I can explore interactions with the other Avengers. Maybe some of the others are in similar dynamics.
Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Previous | Next
You don’t know how much time passes. Minutes stretch long inside the room, dulled by soft lights and the gentle hum of something mechanical just out of sight. It’s too quiet. No voices outside. No footsteps. Just Steve and Bucky and you.
You keep your hands busy with the coloring book, eyes low. You can feel Bucky’s stare less now. He’s sitting in the corner, arms no longer crossed, just resting, watching. Steve’s still near, perched on the edge of the armchair like he’s about to tell a story. And maybe he is.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Steve says gently. “You’ve done really well today. And we’re proud of you for being so brave.”
You don’t respond, but you tilt your head slightly toward him. That’s enough to make him smile.
“We think it’s time we start going over the rules now,” He continues, voice warm like he’s saying something kind. “Just so things stay nice and easy here. You want things to be easy, don’t you?”
Your heart gives a dull thud, but you nod once.
“We’re gonna keep things simple for now,” He seems pleased, folding his hands together. “Rule number one: No wandering off. Ever. Not without one of us holding your hand. If you leave your room, it’s because one of us is with you. At least for now.”
You swallow as Bucky speaks next. His tone is low and gravelly, less gentle, more grounding.
“Number two: No lying. Not about how you’re feelin’, not about what you want, and definitely not about tryin’ to leave.”
Your shoulders tense, but you don’t move.
Steve gives him a quick look. Then softens his own voice again, like it’s meant to balance the weight of Bucky’s.
“We’ll always keep you safe. But we can only do that if you’re honest with us, okay? If something’s wrong, you tell us. Littles don’t need to worry about anything grown-up. That’s our job.”
You glance up at him. “What if I don’t wanna be… little?”
It comes out smaller than you mean it to. Careful. Testing.
Steve’s smile doesn’t falter. “That’s just the scared part of you talking, honey. You are little. You’ve just forgotten how to feel safe.”
Bucky stands now, slow and steady, and walks over. You hold your breath as he kneels beside you again. His eyes don’t soften, but his voice drops to something quieter.
“You’re ours now. You get to stop running.”
You turn your gaze away as Steve continues.
“Rule number three: Big girls don’t make the rules here. Littles follow the routine. You’ll get up when we say, eat what we give you, and nap when it’s time. And if you’re good, sweetheart…” His tone drops to a purr. “You’ll get certain rewards. Books. Toys. Maybe outings if you’ve been extra good.”
“And… if I’m not good?” You ask, voice barely a whisper, already suspecting the answer.
Bucky speaks first.
“Then we teach you.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
Steve gives a lighter version. “We help you remember what’s best. That’s all.”
There’s a silence after that, thick and expectant. Then Steve brightens a little, clapping his hands softly once.
“But you’ve been very good today, haven’t you? I think someone’s earned a little reward.”
You sit frozen, the rules echoing in your head. No wandering. No lying. No questioning the routine. You’re sure there’s more they aren’t mentioning yet.
You’re still holding the crayon in your hand, the colors blended together on the page. Steve’s footsteps are soft as he walks to the small counter on the other side of the room, but you don’t pay any attention to him. The world feels strange, like the edges are becoming blurry. You can’t focus on the drawings anymore. The crayon feels wrong in your fingers, too heavy. Everything’s shifting, like the walls are closing in.
Bucky’s voice breaks through the fog. It’s firm, steady, like it’s always been, but now there’s something gentler behind it. Like he’s trying to make you feel something you can’t put into words.
“Time for your snack, little one.”
You flinch. The words hang in the air, just as oppressive as they were earlier, but now, they feel different. Heavy. You swallow hard and feel a knot form in your throat. It’s like your brain can’t decide whether to resist or to just let it happen. Your fingers tremble as they grip the crayon tighter.
Steve’s voice is next, and it’s gentler, almost coaxing. “You’ve been a good girl. Now, it’s time to get your treat. You deserve it, sweetheart.”
The word girl makes something tighten in your chest. You want to argue. Want to snap that you’re not a child. That you can take care of yourself. But the resistance feels… heavy. It’s like a pull inside your chest, urging you to listen, to do what they say.
Bucky returns with a bottle given to him by Steve. The milk inside is warm and thick, the smell faintly sweet, like it’s supposed to be comforting. Your stomach churns. It smells like safety, something your body is telling you it’s supposed to trust, even though your mind rebels.
You try to pull away, but Bucky’s already there, crouching beside you again. His eyes flick over your face, calculating. For a moment, it feels like he’s waiting for you to make the next move, but you don’t. Your head dips a little. A silent surrender. You feel the smallest twinge of guilt, like something inside of you’s letting go. The last thread of resistance. Your mouth parts instinctively as Bucky raises the bottle to your lips.
“It’s good for you,” Steve says softly, standing close behind him. “Nice and warm. Makes you feel better.”
The bottle feels too big in your mouth. You sip it slowly, unsure, but the warmth settles in your stomach, spreading outwards. It feels… safe. A little too safe. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s there. You almost want to sink into it, but you can’t.
You drink, slow and hesitant, until the bottle’s empty. Bucky takes it away without a word, and you blink up at him, trying to hold onto some fragment of yourself, some edge of defiance. But the fog is thicker now. You can feel your eyelids heavy, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Still, you fight to keep your eyes open, not wanting to give in.
Steve’s voice cuts through the haze.
“Good girl.”
His words are soft, but they settle in your chest like something warm. You don’t know why, but it’s enough to make your body sink a little deeper into the softness of the cushions, like your muscles are finally giving up the fight.
“You’re doing so well,” Steve continues, his fingers brushing through your hair gently. “We’re proud of you.”
A part of you wants to pull away, to refuse the soft touches, the kind words that feel too familiar now. But another part of you is weak, and it feels nice. Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the pressure build up behind your eyes.
But Bucky’s voice cuts through before you can retreat any further.
“You’ll learn to trust us,” He mutters, like a promise. “You’ll see that we’re here to take care of you.”
You feel yourself shrinking inward, like the words are pushing you back into a corner. Your face heats, your stomach tightens. The bottle and the warmth from it make your body want to give in, even if your mind still screams to fight.
You want to escape. You want to run, but there’s nowhere to go. Your body’s too heavy, too compliant now. And your mind is so small, so young. You can’t focus on anything other than the weight of their presence, their hands, their soft, soothing words. They surround you like a cocoon, and part of you feels like you could disappear into it. It’s almost easier.
But it’s not right. You know that. You want to scream, but instead, the words come out weak, almost childlike.
“Don’ wanna be here… wanna go home…”
It’s barely a whisper, and before you can even think about it, tears prick at your eyes. Your chest tightens painfully, longing for a home that never existed.
Steve’s eyes soften immediately. His hand moves to your cheek, warm and comforting, like the moment your vulnerability slips free, he’s there to catch it.
“You are home,” Steve reminds you, voice quiet but firm. “This is where you’re safe now.”
And that’s when you realize, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how much you wish it weren’t true, their version of safety has started to settle into your bones. You blink back the tears, but they come anyway, soft and silent, like a child finally giving in to the feeling of being held. Steve is there to hold you gently as your body melts into his arms even if your mind rebels, comforting you softly.
Steve and Bucky exchange a quiet look. There’s something different now in the air, something that shifts the dynamic between them, like they’re waiting for something to happen. But they’re patient, and that patience settles over you, pushing your shoulders to relax just a little bit more.
Steve’s voice comes first, low and soothing.
“You’re feeling little now, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
You nod slowly, your head still heavy, your body sluggish, but warm. Comfortable. It’s a strange sensation. It’s like something that feels a little too good to resist, even though you know, deep down, it’s wrong. You swallow, trying to fight it, but your body betrays you. You feel small, too small to push away their words, to hold onto the edges of yourself.
Bucky’s gaze flickers over to Steve for a moment before he turns back to you. His voice is softer than it has been all day.
“Alright, little one. Wanna get back to your playtime?”
Your heart skips a beat at the question. It sends a ripple of discomfort through you, but it’s too late to pull back now. The milk and the warmth have dulled everything down, leaving you tired and vulnerable. You look up at them, uncertain, like a child unsure of what’s coming next.
Steve looks down at you, his expression patient but expectant. “We got you some other toys to play with. Do you want to see them?”
Your eyes flicker between them, making a small movement of your head, nodding. Like you’ve given in without realizing it.
Bucky moves across the room, gathering a few plush toys, blocks, and a soft blanket from a nearby shelf. He arranges them in front of you, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s setting up a space for you to feel safe.
“There you go,” He mutters, settling on the floor beside you. “All for you.”
You stare at the plush toys and blocks, unsure of what to do with them. The toys look soft, inviting, like something that should belong to a little girl. A little you. Something in you pulls at the thought, and your fingers twitch as if reaching for them, but your mind is still cloudy. It’s hard to make decisions now, hard to decide whether you want to push away or lean in.
Steve’s voice is gentle when it comes again, pulling you back into the moment. It’s like he can see you struggling as he encourages you, “You can do whatever you want, honey. Just relax and have fun. No need to think about anything else.”
You hate the way they make you feel, like you have to be small. But there’s an undeniable pull in his tone, something comforting that makes it hard to resist. And so, your hands move almost automatically toward the plush toys. They’re soft, almost too soft, and they feel like a childhood that you never got to have.
You turn your attention to a stuffed bear, picking it up and running your fingers over its fuzzy ears. Your face softens without meaning to as you curl the bear into your lap. Something inside you lets go.
Bucky watches you from his place on the floor, his gaze is less guarded now. There’s a small shift in his posture, like he’s watching a part of you unfold that he’s been waiting for. Both of them are being careful in their movements as they watch you regress.
“That’s a great friend you have there, kiddo,” He speaks, his voice lower now, less sharp.
Steve sits beside you, his hand resting gently on your back, providing an anchor. His touch is comforting in a way that feels almost too real.
“You’re safe, sweetheart. Just play with your bear, okay? No one’s going to hurt you here.”
The words sound so simple. So easy. But they strike deep. Your fingers move to tuck the bear into the crook of your arm, holding it close. You feel small. Like a child. And even though part of you tries to pull away, tries to scream no, another part of you is so tired, so tired of resisting. You bury your face against the soft fur, closing your eyes for just a moment.
A soft sigh escapes you, and you feel Steve’s hand rub your back gently. His thumb makes little circles, just enough to ground you. Just enough to make it easier to slip deeper into this state.
And you become a little more pliable in that moment. The situation settles in like a balm to a wound. Your body feels heavy, lethargic, and in the same breath, there’s a part of you that’s letting go. Fully leaning into the care they’re offering. You don’t have the strength to fight anymore. Not now, at least.
You curl the bear tighter, pulling it to your chest as if to keep the tiny shreds of your older self intact. The way you play is slow, hesitant, and yet… you start to feel like it’s not that bad. Not if you let it wash over you like this. Let yourself be small.
Mischief Meets Alpine
Summary: Bucky introduces Alpine to you and Mischief one afternoon. An intense, one-sided, stare off ensues with an interesting truce that practically leaves you speechless when they start influencing each other for better or worse. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.
Word Count: 2.3k+
A/N: To be honest, I wrote this one based on the idea given by @kissingkillercriminals in their reblog of the prequel. Hope it turns out to be a fun read for you and everyone else. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel | Finale
It was a slow afternoon in the Tower. Clouds had gathered thickly in the sky, casting a grayish hue through the windows. Rain pattered gently against the glass, the soft drumming filling the silence in the common room.
You were curled up on the armchair with a book in your lap and Mischief lounging across your legs like the possessive feline empress she was. Her tail twitched lazily every few seconds, ears flicking to the rhythm of the raindrops. Her eyes were half-lidded, content.
That is, until the elevator dinged. Her ears perked immediately. You looked up as footsteps echoed down the hallway. Familiar ones.
“Hey,” Bucky greeted from the doorway, a little damp from the drizzle. But he wasn’t alone.
Nestled comfortably in his arms, perched like a queen surveying her domain, was a stunning white cat. Blue-eyed, snowy-soft, and eerily calm, almost regal in the way she looked around the room.
Mischief went still.
Your eyes widened. “Is that… Alpine?” You had heard of Bucky’s cat before, but never seemed to have the chance to meet her until now.
Bucky nodded, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he stepped in. “She was pacing by the window when I left the room this morning. Figured she might want a change of scenery.”
Mischief lifted her head. Her pupils narrowed sharply as she fixed her gaze on the uninvited guest. A low growl began to bubble in her throat, barely audible to anyone but you.
You gently placed your hand on her back. ‘Easy’, You thought, not even needing to speak it aloud. She didn’t seem to pick up on your message because her entire body was locked, tense, and offended.
Bucky moved slowly, like he knew he was treading on sacred ground. “Didn’t mean to start a turf war. Just figured maybe it was time.”
You stood slowly, Mischief reluctantly hopping off your lap. Her tail whipped once in warning.
Alpine was unfazed. Her blue eyes landed on Mischief with mild interest. She gave a soft, courteous mrrrow, as if greeting a fellow royal.
Mischief’s eyes narrowed. She sat, but her body language screamed intruder.
“She’s beautiful,” You said gently, watching Alpine with cautious awe. “I didn’t know she was so calm around new places.”
“She’s used to traveling,” Bucky replied, setting Alpine down slowly onto the floor. “Doesn’t like being cooped up. Kinda like me.”
You watched with a held breath as Alpine took a few exploratory steps forward. Mischief didn’t move, but her eyes tracked every inch like a sniper zeroing in. When Alpine got within a few feet, she paused. Then, with the unbothered grace of someone who feared nothing, she laid down.
Mischief hissed. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even aggressive. But it was unmistakably territorial.
“Mischief,” You warned softly, crouching next to her. “She’s not a threat.”
Bucky crouched too, beside Alpine, who had begun grooming her paw without a care in the world.
“Look at them,” He said, his voice hushed like it was a secret. “It’s like they’re trying to decide who owns the building.”
You laughed under your breath. “Mischief thinks she owns it.”
“Alpine knows she doesn’t need to prove it.”
As the two cats stared each other down, you caught it, soft and calm, threaded right beneath the silence.
She’s dramatic.
You blinked. Wait… That voice, sleek, composed, feminine, was Alpine’s. Not a meow, not a growl. Words.
You glanced at Bucky, but he was oblivious. Still watching the feline standoff like it was a chess game. Mischief’s growl rose slightly. Alpine remained still.
She likes you. That’s why she hasn’t lunged yet.
Alpine added, her voice as silky as her fur.
But I don’t back down either. So this should be interesting.
You noticed Mischief didn’t seem to hear your telepathic conversation with the newcomer. So you didn’t respond aloud, instead responding in your mind. ’You’re really not bothered, are you?’
He smells like snow and blood, but his hands are gentle. She’s possessive, not of the tower. Of you.
You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. ‘I can see why.’
Mischief hissed quietly, and you caught a flicker of Alpine’s tail.
She wants me to leave.
’Will you?’ You thought, unsure if you were asking out of hope or curiosity.
No. But I’ll wait. I’m patient. She’s not the only one who’s bonded.
The two cats remained still, locked in a silent standoff. Well, more like a one-sided standoff. A slow, deliberate blink passed from Alpine to Mischief.
To your utter shock, Mischief paused for a moment before blinking back. A beat passed before she turned her head and sat down with a huff. Not surrender. But perhaps a reluctant acknowledgment.
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Was that…?”
You blinked. “I think that was the feline equivalent of a handshake.”
He grinned, proud. “Progress.”
You looked down at both of them, one lounging and one sulking. You rose to your feet now, and as you did, Mischief brushed your leg with her tail, circling your feet like she was claiming you. Alpine simply hopped onto the rug and began inspecting a string toy left forgotten from Tony’s latest failed bribery attempt.
“So,” Bucky said after a moment, straightening. “What are the chances our girls end up tolerating each other?”
You glanced down at Mischief, who gave you a look that seemed to say, I allow this only because you do.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” You murmured. “But… It’s a start.”
Bucky stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “They’re like us,” He said quietly. “Cautious. But… maybe not beyond letting someone in.”
You turned your head toward him slowly, heart skipping.
“Maybe,” You said. “If they’re lucky enough to find the right person.”
And beneath the steady sound of rain, the two of you watched the loved cats learning the quiet language of trust across the room.
-
Though, you didn’t know what that trust would actually entail. The first incident began with silence, which, in your experience with Mischief, was never a good sign.
The Tower was unusually quiet that morning. You were sipping tea in the kitchen, reading reports while waiting for the coffee machine to finish sputtering its way through Bucky’s drink order. Mischief had been suspiciously absent since breakfast. Alpine had vanished not long after.
You glanced toward the hallway only to find nothing out of the ordinary.
Then, a crash, coming from the direction of Tony’s lab.
Not a small bump or a gentle thud. No, this was a metallic, shattering, the Tony-will-not-be-pleased sort of crash.
You bolted upright, nearly spilling your tea, and sprinted toward the noise. Bucky was already there, jogging in from the elevator, sweatpants loose, hair damp from his time at the gym.
“You heard that too?” He asked, eyes narrowing.
Another sound followed. A high-pitched zip-zip-zip noise, like drones activating. Followed by… pawsteps?
You and Bucky skidded to a stop at the entrance to Tony’s lab. It looked like a bomb had gone off.
Three of Tony’s prototype micro-drones were hovering erratically midair, one of them twirling in panicked circles. The rest lay in pieces scattered across the floor, wires tangled like a crime scene. And in the middle of the chaos sat Alpine, tail curled delicately around her paws, completely unbothered.
On the counter nearby, Mischief crouched with a gleam in her eye that could only be described as unrepentant. She looked directly at you, then at Bucky, and gave a soft meow as if to assert her innocence.
“I think we just missed the heist,” You said breathlessly.
Bucky muttered, “Alpine was supposed to be the calm one.”
“I never said Mischief was a good influence.”
You both stepped forward carefully, surveying the disaster. Mischief had clearly pried open one of the drawers, Tony’s "Do Not Touch" ones. Wires were dragged out like spaghetti noodles. A spilled jar of who knows what rolled lazily across the floor.
“Is that my cloaking device?” Came a voice from the hallway.
You winced as Tony rounded the corner before stopping dead at the sight.
Alpine jumped gracefully down and walked over to Bucky’s feet, brushing against him as if she hadn’t just helped dismantle a small fortune in tech.
Tony's eye twitched. “Why are your cats smarter than my interns?”
“I ask myself that every day,” Bucky said, scooping up Alpine. “You didn’t leave any exploding gadgets out, right?”
“Not this week,” Tony snapped, waving a tablet like a club. “Do you even understand what they’ve broken? That drone was programmed to help defuse bombs.”
“I’m sure they had a good reason,” You offered, not that it helped, gently lifting Mischief off the counter. She purred, content and absolutely smug.
“Ask her what the hell kind of reason that would be,” Tony snapped at you.
You looked at Mischief, questioning in a flat tone. “Why?”
Mischief stretched lazily, flicked her tail, and in a nonchalant, mental whisper, said:
It blinked first.
You groaned at the excuse, hesitating before giving the answer. “She says it blinked at her.”
Tony blinked. “It blinked? That’s your defense?”
“She’s a cat, Tony.”
“Whatever.” He pointed at Bucky. “And your cat?”
Bucky looked down at Alpine, who yawned wide and graceful. She murmured to you with eerie composure,
I wanted to know if it could fly backward. It couldn’t.
You snorted before you could stop yourself.
“What?” Tony demanded, head snapping towards you.
You waved him off. “You… don’t want to know.”
Later that evening, after Tony had barricaded the lab and implemented new retinal scans to keep out the feline menaces (his words, not yours). You found Bucky in the living room with Alpine lying beside him with a toy and Mischief perched on the back of the couch.
“They’re lucky they’re cute,” You muttered, flopping down beside him.
Bucky glanced sideways. “I think they’re bonding.”
“They broke a drone.”
“Exactly.”
You looked at the two cats now comfortably sharing the space, Alpine nibbling at the feather toy, Mischief eyeing the object like it had wronged her.
You shook your head. “It’s like watching spies team up.”
“They are spies,” Bucky corrected, definitely not taking this seriously, evident by the grin he wore. “Tiny, furry, manipulative spies.”
Mischief flicked her tail in agreement as Alpine blinked slowly. And for a brief moment, peace, albeit temporary, settled over the Tower.
-
However, while the first incident was annoying for Tony, the second was catered more toward you and Bucky.
It started small to the point where you didn’t notice it at first. Mischief, your eternally territorial shadow, began to behave… differently. She still took up her usual place on your lap, still growled at anyone who got too close, and still owned the Tower like she paid the bills. But she started following you and Bucky when you left rooms. Lingering in the halls, appearing on counters and ledges when the two of you happened to be in the same space.
Alpine, meanwhile, watched everything from a perch of regal detachment, or so it seemed. But you knew better since you heard her.
Don’t hiss this time. Just watch. Let him sit next to her first.
You had paused when you heard it the first time, over breakfast. Mischief was on the table (illegally), staring daggers at Bucky as he walked in. Alpine, curled on the windowsill, barely flicked her tail, but her voice unintentionally slipped into your thoughts again as she directed the ‘secret’ information to Mischief:
She likes it when he brings her things and when he calls her 'trouble.' You should let her admit that.
You almost choked on your toast, but didn’t say anything when Bucky looked over at you with a questioning, concerned gaze.
That was the first clue.
The second clue came two days later, when Bucky was helping you patch up a cut you'd gotten during training. It was nothing, barely a nick, but he'd insisted. Kneeling in front of you, his gloved hand cradled your wrist while the other applied antiseptic.
Mischief watched from the armrest, her ears twitching. It was clear she was tense, jealous… until Alpine hopped up beside her and gently nudged her with her head.
Now. Purr. So she relaxes.
Mischief blinked slowly, tail twitching. Then, shockingly, she purred. Loudly and deeply. You actually laughed, easing into the moment, and Bucky glanced up at you with that rare, boyish half-smile that made your chest ache.
You knew that had been Alpine's doing. And Mischief, traitor that she was, seemed fine with it.
The third clue? Bucky confessed it.
You were sitting together in the lounge late one night, watching the rain tap softly at the windows, each of you nursing mugs of tea. Mischief dozed between you on the couch. Alpine had curled beside her, touching, no less. A miracle in itself.
Bucky tilted his head toward the sleeping cats. “You know, Alpine's been… weird.”
“Weird how?”
He hesitated. “She… keeps pushing me toward you.”
Your heart did a very stupid, very hopeful thing. “She told you that?”
He gave you a sheepish look. “She doesn’t talk to me like she talks to you, of course. But she’ll nudge me when I move away too soon. Block seats unless I sit beside you. Once she knocked my phone out of my hand when I was trying to leave the room.”
You could feel your heart beat faster, but tried to cover up your nervousness with a laugh, joking a little. “She’s matchmaking.”
“I think Mischief’s in on it, too. Last night, she dragged your hoodie into my room.”
Your eyebrows shot up. So that’s where your hoodie went, of all places.
“And then Alpine slept on it like it was a peace offering.”
You looked down at the two curled balls of fur, now subtly pressed together. Mischief’s tail lay loosely draped over Alpine’s back.
“Is this what a truce looks like?” You whispered.
Bucky’s fingers brushed yours, and you didn’t pull away.
“Looks like,” He murmured.
You didn’t answer this time, but your fingers curled around Bucky’s gently as Alpine purred softly and Mischief, even in sleep, didn’t object.
That was enough of an answer until either of you could act on the same thing both of your hearts wanted.
I’m pretty sure they demanded extra treats for their hard work lol
Thank you so much for reading!!! ♡
Mischief and Alpine, Matchmaker Extraordinaires
Summary: One quiet morning between you and Bucky, the matchmaking schemes of your cats finally pay off. The smugness and victory of their successes evident almost each time you and Bucky are together now. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.
Word Count: 2.9k+
A/N: And here lies the Finale so to speak. It was more so to wrap up the story of the second part. However, I don’t mind writing smaller fics or updates of our favorite feline matchmakers. Thank you to @kissingkillercriminals and @mysweetbucky and everyone else who has read this mini series so far! Happy reading!!! ♡
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel | Sequel
The plot was thickening. Mischief had started to show up at the most inconvenient moments, trying to nudge you closer to Bucky just when there was a hint of quiet tension in the air. Alpine had taken to sitting at the foot of your bed on some nights, watching over you with an oddly protective gaze that seemed more deliberate than before.
It was only when you woke up from a movie marathon on the couch one morning with Bucky beside you that their matchmaking days might finally be over. Mischief jumped into your lap and Alpine quietly walked over to his side.
“Alright, you two…” You muttered, rubbing your eyes. Mischief purred smugly. Alpine, with her quiet wisdom, gave you a single, slow blink.
Bucky sat up, rubbing his face. “I think they’re getting impatient.”
“Impatient.” You echoed before asking carefully, “Impatient about…?”
Bucky shifted, his hand brushing yours for a moment before he drew it back. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while now. I mean… you know what I’m talking about, right?”
Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, but you didn’t have the chance to respond before Mischief leaped off your lap and sauntered to the window, eyes sharp, tail flicking in time with her calculated movements.
You glanced at Alpine. She was staring at you, piercing eyes that seemed to say, This is the moment. Do it.
You looked back at Bucky. He was already watching you, that soft vulnerability in his eyes that always seemed to come out when the world wasn’t trying to tear him apart. But this… this was different. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the steady rhythm of the rain outside, or the fact that Mischief was sprawled on the windowsill like a queen, watching her hard work finally pay off.
And Alpine? She was sitting directly between you and Bucky, tail curled neatly around her paws, like she was guarding some invisible line that neither of you could cross unless you finally admitted it.
“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” Bucky murmured, breaking the silence. His voice had a quiet rasp, but there was a warmth in it, like he was giving you space to speak or not speak, depending on how you wanted to handle it.
“I…” You took a breath. Your palms felt a little sweaty. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
You’d meant to sound casual, but the words came out soft, unsure. Mischief gave a low, disapproving meow from the windowsill, like she was scolding you for not being more forward.
Bucky’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “You know exactly what I mean.”
For a long beat, you stared at each other. Mischief’s tail twitched, as if encouraging Bucky to take that last step. Alpine was silent, but her intense gaze never wavered. She wasn’t going to let either of you back out of this.
“Bucky…Are you sure-” You began, but before you could continue, Mischief jumped back into your lap, purring loudly and dramatically, her head nudging against your chin in that way she did when she was trying to make you act. You weren’t sure if she was pushing you or just enjoying the chaos. Either way, she was going to make sure this moment didn’t pass.
“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, laughing softly as Mischief settled against you, almost as if she were physically forcing you to confront him. He moved closer, gently brushing your hair from your face.
“I don’t know how much more I can take of these two trying to play Cupid for us,” He admitted, his voice a little rougher than before.
“I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t notice it either,” You said, your heart racing.
You know all the quiet tenderness between you two that had been building for weeks. The soft touches, the shared silences, the way Mischief and Alpine always seemed to be around whenever there was a moment of uncertainty.
“I care about you,” Bucky said, his voice low, steady. “More than I thought I would. I just… didn’t know how to say it.”
You swallowed, meeting his gaze. The rain outside intensified, but inside, the world felt quieter, like all the noise of the outside world had vanished, leaving only the two of you finally on the same page.
“I’ve just been scared. I didn’t want to lose what we had. I think I’ve been waiting for you to say it,” You admitted quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips.
And just like that, the moment shifted. Mischief purred louder, now with what almost felt like approval, while Alpine gave a single, soft, contented meow.
“Guess we owe them one,” You murmured, glancing down at the two cats, who seemed to share some silent victory.
“Maybe,” Bucky agreed, his smile spreading. “But you know… I’m not sure they’ll let us have much of a private moment after this.”
Alpine tilted her head, as if agreeing with Bucky’s prediction. Mischief hopped into Bucky’s lap with the most satisfied expression, as if to claim her victory.
“Well,” You said with a half-laugh, your fingers tracing the outline of Bucky’s hand. “Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing as long as you’re here.”
“Always,” Bucky said, his voice soft, before gently leaning in and brushing his lips against yours.
And as the rain drummed against the windows, Mischief and Alpine curled up together, as though they’d known all along how this would end and they were content, their work here done. For now.
Later that day, after the soft glow of the moment had faded, you found yourself alone in your room, the hum of the Tower around you. Mischief was curled up on the windowsill, her tail twitching ever so slightly, while Alpine lounged at the foot of your bed, looking almost smug in her perfect little furball form. You could feel their eyes on you, and despite everything, the quiet weight of their gaze made you feel like they knew something you didn’t.
You sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at them for a moment, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to laugh at the situation. You knew what they had done. You knew exactly what they had been up to.
And now, it was time to talk about it.
“You two,” You began, your voice teasing but filled with an underlying sense of gentle disbelief. Mischief flicked an ear, but didn’t budge. Alpine, of course, kept her eyes closed like the queen she was, but you could feel the amusement radiating off her like a warmth in the room.
The silence stretched for a moment before you sighed and crossed your arms. “So. This whole ‘matchmaking’ thing. You’re really proud of yourselves, aren’t you?”
Mischief’s ears twitched, but she didn’t flinch. Alpine opened one eye, her head raising just enough to show she was paying attention.
“Come on,” You repeated, shaking your head. “You’re not exactly that subtle. You’ve been pushing us together all along.”
A purring sound emanated from Mischief, low and rumbling. Alpine’s tail flicked, and she gave a single, satisfied meow.
You blinked, the words you had been thinking all day finally clicking into place. “You knew the whole time, didn’t you?”
The answer was a soft, almost imperceptible meow from Alpine. Mischief stretched out lazily, rolling onto her back as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She already knew you were hopelessly in love with Bucky. You disregarded her advice before after all.
“Well, that’s just great,” You muttered, letting out a short laugh. “You’re both as bad as each other. I don’t know whether to thank you, or-“ You paused, realizing what you had just walked into. “Wait, are you pleased with yourselves?”
Alpine gave a low, almost triumphant purr. Mischief, for once, seemed unbothered by your tone. The two of them exchanged a glance before Mischief padded closer, her purr deepening as she nuzzled your leg. Alpine hopped up to sit beside her, looking at you with those wise, knowing eyes.
You really think we were just helping you?
Alpine’s voice echoed clearly in your mind, steady and gentle, like a quiet whisper.
We’ve seen you two dance around it long enough. Someone had to give you a little nudge.
Mischief’s voice came next, sounding smug but affectionate. Someone had to push things along. You two were taking too long to figure it out, and…
She stretched out in a luxurious way, ‘speaking’ in one of the most haughty tones you’ve ever heard from her, We don’t have time for slow burns.
You shook your head, half in disbelief and half in gratitude. “So, this was really was some grand scheme of yours? I’m not sure whether to be impressed or insulted.”
Alpine blinked slowly, her gaze unwavering.
There is no harm in helping destiny along.
She licked her paw lazily, as if nothing had happened.
The two of you were already meant to be. We just sped things up a bit.
Mischief, as usual, seemed to be more direct. It's simple. You like each other. He’s a good guy. You’re surprisingly good together. You just needed encouragement.
You stared at them for a long moment, your heart still racing with the unexpected shift of events. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You two are unbelievable.”
There was a pause, and then Mischief nuzzled her head into your hand, looking up at you with eyes that were almost… too proud.
It’s not just about you, She said with a flick of her tail. We look out for our people. And we think… you're good for each other.
Alpine added with a soft meow, We’ve been waiting for you both to catch up.
You let out a soft, affectionate sigh. There was no denying it. Mischief and Alpine had orchestrated it all, played their roles, and had succeeded where no one else had, helping you and Bucky find your way to each other.
“Well,” You said, crouching down to pet both of them. “I guess you two aren’t so bad.” You paused, eyes narrowing playfully. “But don’t ever pull that stunt again, alright?”
Both cats tilted their heads as though they didn’t quite understand the question, but the gleam in their eyes told you everything you needed to know. Mischief purred softly, and Alpine blinked slowly, as if to say, Of course we will. But only if you need it.
“Alright,” You muttered, leaning back against the bed. “I guess I owe you both. But you’d better not make a habit of this.”
Mischief’s tail flicked in amusement, and Alpine simply curled up beside her, content. You could feel their satisfaction radiating off them. They were pleased. More than pleased, in fact. They had done what they set out to do and they had done it perfectly. (Or so they liked to think.)
As the evening unfolded, you could hear Mischief’s soft purring and Alpine’s contented meows in your mind as a comforting background to your thoughts.
But no matter how ridiculous or obvious their methods were, it was official: Mischief and Alpine had succeeded in their little operation. And somehow, you were glad they had.
-
The Tower had felt different for the past few weeks. The moments between you and Bucky were no longer filled with lingering tension. Instead, there was an easy comfort, like two puzzle pieces that had finally clicked into place.
You found yourselves seeking each other out more often. Sometimes it was just for small moments like when you’d bump into him in the hallway and catch the familiar glint of warmth in his eyes. Or when you’d sit next to him on the couch after a long day, the silence between you not uncomfortable, but companionable. Mischief and Alpine’s matchmaking had worked, and now, you both were navigating the early stages of this new territory with a mix of cautious hope and nervous excitement.
And the cats, oh the cats continued to observe, as if they were silently proud of themselves. Mischief still had that knowing, almost smug look every time she’d saunter past you and Bucky, like she knew exactly how much closer the two of you had gotten.
But it wasn’t just the cats noticing. The rest of the Avengers were starting to pick up on the change, too.
It was Steve who first pointed it out, his usual lightheartedness tinged with amusement. “You two are… different. More together lately.” He smiled, glancing between you and Bucky. “It’s a good thing, though. You’re both happier.”
You and Bucky exchanged a look. It had been an unspoken agreement, the way your relationship had blossomed slowly, carefully, but surely. There was no rush, and no one else had been more patient than Bucky, often waiting for you to make the first moves. It was always the little things with him, like him checking in on you after a mission, his hand finding yours in quiet moments, or the way his gaze softened every time your eyes met.
“Guess we are,” You murmured, your voice a little more relaxed than it used to be. You couldn’t deny that something had shifted. You could feel it in the way he smiled at you when he caught you looking at him. How he’d wrap an arm around you when the team gathered for briefings or dinners, holding you close in a way that felt both natural and necessary.
Bucky chuckled, his hand brushing against yours. “Yeah. I’ve… uh, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” His voice was a little quieter now, more vulnerable. “I guess… I wasn’t sure how to take the next step. But now, with you here… I think we’re both past all the hesitations.”
And just like that, everything fell into place. The weight of all the past struggles, the doubts, and fears that had kept you both in limbo, melted away. With each passing day, you saw Bucky for who he truly was: the soldier who had fought countless battles, yes, but also the man who had learned to love and heal, someone who had found a home in you.
Later that evening, as the team gathered for a late dinner in the common area, it felt as though the world around you had slowed down, the noise fading into the background. There was something undeniably special in the way Bucky looked at you, how his gaze lingered a little longer than before.
When he reached for your hand under the table, you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers intertwined, and the simple touch was a quiet affirmation of everything that had shifted between you two.
Mischief, ever the observer, hopped up on the table in front of you, her fur sleek and pristine. Alpine, now regularly spending time with both of you, sat beside her, her eyes flicking from you to Bucky as though in approval.
“Alright, alright,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair with a mischievous grin. “We all see it. The cat’s out of the bag, no pun intended.” He nodded toward Mischief, who was now watching Bucky with a level of interest that could only mean she was approving. “You two are… a thing, aren’t you?”
You felt a slight blush rise to your cheeks, but Bucky just chuckled softly, squeezing your hand. “Yeah. Guess so.” He gave you a small smile, one that had become second nature, but it still made your heart skip a beat.
Wanda raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “About time,” she teased, but there was a warmth in her voice. “It’s nice to see you two so happy.”
It wasn’t just the team noticing. It was everyone who saw you and Bucky together, there was an undeniable sense of calm and happiness that seemed to radiate off you both. You had learned to open up to him, and in turn, he’d let you in. And now, there was nothing to hide between you anymore.
That night, when the Tower was quiet again and the rest of the team retired to their rooms, you found yourself with Bucky on the balcony, gazing at the city lights below. The air was cool, the soft hum of the city in the distance adding a peaceful rhythm to the moment.
Bucky leaned against the railing, his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You know,” He murmured, “I never thought I’d get here.”
“Here?” You asked, your voice soft.
“Yeah,” His voice quieter now, his breath warm against your ear. “With someone who… makes me feel like it’s okay to be me. Not the soldier. Not a monster. Just me.”
You turned toward him, your heart swelling. “You are you, Bucky. The person who’s been through hell and back, and you’ve still got the strength to love.”
He smiled, his hand gently caressing your cheek. “And you’re the one who helped me realize that. You make me better, you know that?”
You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. For the first time in a long time, you felt whole. With him. With Bucky. And with the unexpected help of two very clever, very determined cats.
“You make me better too,” You whispered.
And when you kissed him softly at first, then with a growing intensity, you knew that the road ahead was uncertain, but as long as you walked it together, everything would be alright.
Rewritten
Summary: You wake up in a cozy home with no memory of anything. You find your alleged lovers reassuring you that you’ve always lived there and that they’ll stay by your side through this difficult time. However, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is wrong. (Dark!Bucky Barnes x reader x Dark!Steve Rogers)
Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Dark Steve Rogers. Psychological & emotional manipulation. Memory loss. Gaslighting. Alludes to Kidnapping.
Word Count: 4.9k+
A/N: To be honest, I had the idea for this one but struggled to write it. I hope it turned out decent enough. 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
You wake to the soft warmth of sunlight spilling through sheer curtains, casting an ethereal glow over the room. The faint scent of pancakes lingers in the air, drifting through your senses like an old, forgotten memory.
The bed is plush beneath you and too soft, almost as if it were made to cocoon you, to hold you in a place of perfect comfort. The sheets are smooth, cool, but they don't belong. They're foreign, unfamiliar. You blink, disoriented. Something about the room seems… off. There’s a quiet stillness to it, a sense of being watched, though the air is unthreatening. A low hum of something distant, like a heart beating just a little too fast.
The room is small, but cozy. Elegant, even. The soft glow of the morning sun is reflected in the delicate furniture such as a nightstand with a polished wood surface or the dresser with a few scattered items on top. Your eyes, still unfocused, drift to a framed picture on the nightstand. You reach out automatically, though your hand trembles slightly as you grasp the edge of the frame.
The photo inside is a strange sight.
It’s a picture of you. You’re smiling, laughing, in fact. Your arms are wrapped around two men, standing close to each other with their own hands resting on your shoulders. You look happy, relaxed. Safe.
But you don’t recognize them. Not at all.
The taller man has blond hair, a strong jawline, and eyes that should be comforting, but they don’t reach you. He’s smiling down at you as if you were someone he cared about, but you can’t remember ever knowing him. The other man has dark, disheveled hair, a shadow of stubble along his jaw, and eyes that seem… more distant. Cold. But even as you stare, your heart feels like it’s trying to remember something buried, something lost.
You drop the frame back onto the nightstand with a soft thud, and for a moment, the silence is deafening.
“Hey.”
The voice comes from the doorway, low and warm, though the words hold an edge you can’t place.
You snap your head up, your breath quickening as you sit up on the bed. A man stands there tall, broad-shouldered, with a metal arm hanging at his side. His eyes, dark and full of something unreadable, watch you carefully. You can feel his gaze weighing on you, measuring you.
“You’re awake,” His voice is soft but firm. He looks oddly… relieved. But there's something about the way he watches you, something that doesn’t feel quite right.
“Who… who are you?” Your voice is hoarse, trembling, and you immediately feel a sense of panic clawing at your chest.
The man takes a step forward, his expression unreadable. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. You don’t remember us again, but that’s okay.” His voice dips a little, softer. “It happens.”
“Remember? I don’t remember anything.”
A sharp, sudden shift in the air. You don’t realize it until the second man enters the room. He’s around the same height, though leaner. Blond. His gaze falls on you immediately, and you feel an odd wave of something unfamiliar crash over you, a strange mixture of comfort and something darker.
The first man, the one who spoke, stands a little straighter at the sight of him. The second man, Steve, doesn’t seem phased at all. If anything, he’s relieved to see you awake.
But something is wrong. You can’t place it. There’s an unease in the pit of your stomach, like the weight of their presence is too heavy for you to bear.
“You’ve been through a lot,” Steve says, his voice gentle but steady. “Hydra did things to you… erased your memories. But we’re here now. We’ll help you remember.”
Your hands grip the edge of the blanket, knuckles white. Your head feels thick, heavy, as if there’s a fog clouding your thoughts. “I don’t… know you. I don’t remember this place. I don’t know who you are.”
“You’ve been here before,” Steve continues, taking a slow step closer to you. “This isn’t the first time, but don’t worry. It will get easier. We’ll help you through it.” His hand reaches toward you, a tentative gesture, but there’s something possessive in the way he moves, something that makes you shudder.
“You always forget,” The man with the metal arm, Bucky, adds quietly. He doesn’t step closer, but his eyes are locked onto you, searching. “But it’s okay. We’ll remind you.”
“Don’t lie to me,” You say, your voice trembling. There’s an instinct in you, a pull to trust what they’re saying, but your gut screams that something isn’t right. “Who are you? What have you done to me?”
Steve’s hand lingers in the air, just a breath from your cheek, before he withdraws it slowly. “You were lost. You didn’t remember us the first time, either.” His words are soft, almost too soft. “But you will. You always do.”
Bucky stands silent behind Steve, his eyes fixed on you with something too intense to describe. His posture is stiff, controlled, as if he’s afraid of moving too suddenly. But there’s something cold in his gaze, something calculating, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll break.
A memory flickers in your mind, so brief it might have been imagined: a faint moment of laughter, of warmth. You and these men together, somewhere you can’t quite place. But it vanishes before you can hold onto it.
“Just… tell me the truth,” You whisper, your breath shallow. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“You’re safe,” Steve assures, kneeling beside the bed, his hand brushing the side of your face with the gentleness of a lover. “You’re always safe with us.”
Bucky steps forward then, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he watches you. His voice is low. “We’ve kept you safe every time, haven’t we?”
Something heavy fills the air between you. They’re speaking like you’re a child they’ve been caring for, but you know, something inside you knows, that’s not all of it. This isn’t just care. This feels like control.
“You belong with us after all,” Bucky murmurs, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.
You flinch back as the words reverberate in your chest.
The door locks behind them with a quiet click, and you feel it reverberate in your chest like the closing of a cage. The room suddenly seems smaller, suffocating. You try to stand, to make sense of your surroundings, but your legs feel unsteady beneath you, as if they’ve forgotten how to hold your weight.
Steve remains kneeling beside the bed, his hand still hovering near your face, his touch a strange mixture of warmth and weight. His eyes are searching your face with a tenderness that should be comforting. But it isn’t.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Steve says, his voice almost too smooth, too comforting. “You’re home now.“
“But I… don’t know you,” You whisper, the words breaking against the thick tension in the air.
You don’t know how to feel. There’s a pull in your chest, an undeniable ache to trust him, but every fiber of your being tells you to run, to escape this unfamiliar warmth. But where would you go? There are no windows in this room, only soft, almost hypnotic light and the oppressive presence of two men who insist they’ve known you for far longer than you can remember.
Bucky watches from across the room, his metal arm resting against the doorframe, his eyes dark and calculating. It’s hard to tell if he’s waiting for you to calm down, or if he’s simply studying you, waiting for the exact moment your resistance breaks.
“We’ve been through this before,” Bucky says, his voice low, but it carries an edge of something dark. "Every time, you don’t remember, but you get it back. We’re here for you.”
Your eyes flicker to him, his posture so tense, it’s like he’s bracing for something, waiting for a signal you can’t see. You don’t know him. You don’t know any of this, and yet… The flicker of a memory dances in the back of your mind again. You see yourself in his arms held close, like you belong. But it’s all too foggy, too distant. The image fades before you can grasp it fully.
Bucky shifts, his gaze flicking between you and Steve. His body language speaks of restraint, like he’s holding something back, fighting a temptation to move closer. His hand flexes by his side, the metallic fingers of his left hand clenching in a subtle but telling motion.
“You don’t remember the last time we had breakfast together, do you?” Steve asks gently, as if testing a boundary. “You laughed so hard when I tried to cook the eggs. You called me an idiot, and then we ate on the couch, watching that romance show you love.”
You search his eyes for any hint of deception, but they’re so earnest, so soft. The words tug at something inside you, a small thread of something familiar, but your mind stubbornly holds its ground. You’re not sure if you want to trust him or if you’re simply desperate to feel like you’re home.
“I don’t remember,” You whisper, your voice catching. You want to believe him, but the words don’t feel right. “I… I don’t know, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Steve says, smiling as though this is just another part of the process, as if it’s routine. As if the confusion is natural, and it should be expected. “We’ll remind you, just like we always do.”
Bucky steps forward, his voice colder now, more insistent. “You always say that, Steve.” His eyes never leave you. “We’ve done this before. She’ll get it back, eventually.”
There’s something unsettling in the way he speaks, as if he’s not entirely sure himself that you are the same person who walked in here before. You look at Bucky, trying to make sense of him. There’s an intensity to his gaze, a hardness in his features that doesn’t soften, not even when he speaks. The way he stands, so still and poised, makes you feel like a mouse trapped in a predator’s gaze.
“Every time,” He murmurs, a strange satisfaction in his voice. “We’ll remind you. You’ll come back.”
Come back.
It feels like a command, like a foregone conclusion, and something inside you rebels against it. You want to ask him what he means, ask them both what they mean, but the words stick in your throat. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
Steve reaches up, cupping your chin gently with his hand. His touch is soft, but there’s an undercurrent of something darker beneath it. “We’re not going to leave you. You’ll remember. It’ll be like it always was. Like it should be.”
A flicker of discomfort sharpens your senses. There’s a strange, hollow weight behind his words, as though they don’t just want you to remember—they need you to.
“What… what if I don’t remember?” You ask, the words coming out quieter than you intended.
Steve leans in closer, his voice lower now, coaxing. “You will. You always do.”
Bucky steps forward, his eyes cold, unreadable. His lips barely twitch into something resembling a smile, but it’s fleeting, like it doesn’t quite belong. “We’ll help you. We always do.”
Something dark unfurls in your chest, a quiet, nagging suspicion that they’ve been here before. They’ve watched you forget, watched you become someone else. Someone who depends on them, who trusts them. And every time, you come back.
You come back.
The weight of the realization presses into your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You don’t know why you keep forgetting, but surely that must mean something is wrong. However, you haven’t figured out yet if it’s you or them.
-
The days blur together. Each one feels like a repetition of the last, a loop that tightens around you with every passing moment. You never quite know if what you're experiencing is real or another fragment of the memory that Steve and Bucky insist belongs to you.
Today is no different.
The room you’re confined to feels like it’s been designed for you to forget where you end and the walls begin. It’s soft, sterile, but just close enough to warm for you to feel like you should be at peace. But there’s no peace in your chest. There’s only an aching tension that never seems to let up.
Steve enters first, his footsteps silent on the floor as he walks toward you. He doesn’t speak immediately, just watches, as if waiting for something to happen. His eyes lock on yours, and for a second, you feel as though he’s peeling you open, reading you like a book.
"You’re quiet today," He says, his voice low, almost coaxing. "Not feeling well? You know I’m always here to help."
It’s a familiar line, one that’s said so many times it sounds like a chant, a mantra. Each word meant to soothe, to ease you into a false sense of security. But it doesn’t work. Not anymore.
"I'm fine," You reply, the words tasting bitter as they leave your mouth. Your throat feels dry, constricted. You’ve said this before, but it’s always the same. The moment the words leave your lips, you realize you don’t mean them.
Steve tilts his head, his gaze narrowing slightly. "You know that’s not true. You’ve been pushing us away, but that’s okay. We can fix this. We always do."
You want to protest, to argue that you don’t need fixing, but the words get tangled up in your mind. Something about his certainty, the way he speaks, makes it feel like you’ve always been broken. Maybe you are broken. Maybe you’ve always been.
Before you can respond, Bucky steps into the room, his presence an undeniable weight. His eyes flicker over to you, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze. There's a moment where neither of them says anything, just letting the silence stretch and press down on you. It feels like an eternity.
"I told you not to rush it," Bucky says quietly, but there’s no malice in his voice, just an edge of impatience, like he's waiting for something more. "She’s still trying to adjust."
Steve glances at Bucky and then back to you, his smile softening. "I know. But we need you to start remembering, sweetheart." His voice takes on a subtle urgency, like this is the moment he’s been waiting for.
You feel a cold shiver run through your body at the word "remember." It’s always been the same, always the same pressure—remember who you are, remember what you’ve lost, remember them.
But what if you can’t remember? What if you never will?
"I don’t know how to," You say, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s the truth, and it feels like the most vulnerable thing you could admit. But it’s a risk. A dangerous one.
Steve doesn’t respond with anger or frustration, he simply steps closer to you. The movement is slow, deliberate. His fingers brush lightly against your wrist, sending a jolt through your body that feels almost too intimate. Like he's trying to ground you to him, to make you realize how close you are to him.
"That’s why we’re here," Steve says, his voice soft, but there's a weight behind it now, an undeniable intensity. "We’re not going to let you suffer through this alone.”
You try to pull back, but there’s nowhere to go. The bed, the walls, they close in around you. Steve’s hand is warm on your wrist, steady, unwavering. He’s not letting you escape. And even if you wanted to, even if you tried to run*, where would you go?
Bucky watches from the doorway, his eyes tracing the movement between you and Steve, his expression unreadable. There's something calculating about the way he stands there, like he’s waiting for a signal, for you to break, for you to return to him.
“You should let her breathe, Steve,” Bucky says, his voice like gravel. It’s a command wrapped in the semblance of care, but you hear the warning in it.
Steve nods, his hand slipping away from your wrist reluctantly. “You’re right,” He mutters, his voice distant as if lost in thought. He steps back, but only just. His presence still looms over you, like a shadow you can’t escape.
You don’t know how to breathe without him close, without Bucky just in the corner of your vision. They’ve become your everything and nothing. They’re all you know and all you can remember.
“What if I never remember?” You ask again, the question hanging in the air between the three of you.
Bucky’s lips curl into something that could almost be a comforting smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You will. You always do.” His words are like a broken record, but there’s something in the way he says them that makes your heart sink.
Steve leans in, placing his hands on either side of your face, his touch gentle but firm. “You don’t need to worry about that,” He says, his voice so soothing, so tender. “We’ll help you find it. Every time you forget, we’ll remind you. It’s what we do.”
You want to protest, want to scream that you don’t need them to remind you of anything. But the words choke you. You’re too scared to speak, too frightened to resist, because something in you knows, they won’t let you.
"You belong here with us," Steve murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, intimate gesture that makes your skin crawl, even as your body betrays you and relaxes into it. "You always will."
And when he pulls away, it’s with the unsettling certainty that, even if you can’t remember it now, you will. You’ll always come back to them. You always do.
-
The days have begun to bleed into one another with a strange consistency, each one more difficult to tell apart than the last. The constant pull of Steve’s calm assurance, of Bucky’s quiet intensity, is starting to unravel something deep inside you.
It’s not that you don’t resist. You do. You fight against the tug in your chest, the strange sense of familiarity that lingers in every word they say, every look they share. But it’s getting harder to find the strength to push back.
Tonight, the room feels different. Softer, maybe. The lights are dimmed lower than usual, the shadows casting a calming blanket over everything. It should be unsettling, the dark corners and the tightness in your chest, but it isn’t. Not tonight.
Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, his usual spot. He’s not forcing closeness, but you can still feel him there, a steady presence in your peripheral. Bucky stands near the door, leaning casually against the frame, his arms folded across his chest. They’re watching you, waiting.
You know what they want. They’ve made it clear in countless ways. Your memory. Your trust. Your acceptance.
And you don’t want to give it to them. But every time they speak, every time they’re close, it’s like the walls around you start to crumble. You don’t want to let go of what little resistance you have left, but the pull… it’s relentless.
“Do you feel it, too?” Steve asks, his voice low, as if the question is a secret shared only between the two of you. His eyes hold something tender, an almost imperceptible plea, hidden beneath the surface.
You know it’s a question you’re supposed to answer. You know that whatever response you give will shape what comes next. And for the first time in days, you feel the weight of that choice, heavy in your chest.
You swallow, your throat dry. “Feel what?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. You’re stalling, buying yourself time, but it’s pointless. You already know what he’s asking.
Steve’s lips curl into a small, patient smile. “That we’re closer now. You and I. Bucky too. We’re… we’re getting you back. Piece by piece.”
A wave of something washes over you, something so familiar it almost hurts. You don’t know if it’s relief or fear, but it feels like the beginning of something you can’t stop. Something you’ve been slowly inching toward since the moment you arrived.
“I don’t…” You want to protest, want to say you don’t need them, but the words die on your lips. I don’t need them, You try to think, but the thought has no weight anymore. It’s hollow, empty.
Bucky’s voice cuts through the air, low and almost soothing, though there’s a bite to it that feels like it’s meant just for you. “It’s okay to accept it, you know. You don’t need to fight anymore.”
You look at him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. His gaze isn’t soft, but it’s not cruel, either. It’s knowing. He’s been waiting for this. Waiting for you to break.
“I’m not…” You try to force the words out, but they don’t sound like your own anymore. You don’t know who you’re trying to convince. Them, or yourself.
Steve’s hand rests on your shoulder, his touch warm and gentle, but there’s an undeniable pressure in it. “It’s okay to stop fighting,” he repeats, softer now. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re the ones who care for you.”
And then, just as his words settle in, Bucky steps forward, his boots heavy on the floor, his presence overwhelming. He kneels beside you, his fingers brushing against your cheek in an oddly tender gesture.
“Let go,” He murmurs, his voice rough, like he’s almost pleading. “Let us take care of you. Let us remind you what it’s like. Let us remind you of who we are to you.”
His words are a poison you can’t resist. Something inside you stirs, a flicker of something you can’t place, but it’s undeniable. It’s like a missing puzzle piece clicking into place. You’ve always known them, haven’t you? You’ve always belonged to them. You don’t fight the tears that begin to well up in your eyes. Not because you’re afraid, but because it feels like something you’ve needed to release for so long. A truth you’ve buried deep, but they’ve pulled to the surface.
You don’t speak for a long moment, not sure what to say. You can’t say the words you need to. You’re afraid of the acceptance that’s threatening to bubble up.
But when Steve kisses the top of your head, when Bucky’s hand slides into yours, you feel the faintest hint of peace settle inside you. It’s quiet, like a lullaby you’ve heard before, long ago. Something you’ve always known. The tension in your chest begins to release, and your body leans into them.
“I… I remember,” You whisper, the words sounding fragile as they leave your lips. They’re barely a confession, more of an acceptance.
Steve’s smile widens, something dark and knowing in it. “Good. You always do.”
And as Bucky pulls you into his arms, the last remnants of your resistance fade away, leaving only the comforting weight of their control. You’ve stopped fighting. You’ve stopped trying to remember a life that’s no longer yours.
And now, it feels like you’ve come home.
As you lean into them, your body relaxed against theirs, Steve and Bucky exchange a quiet glance. To anyone else, it might seem like a moment of victorious tenderness, a sign that their carefully woven web of lies and control had finally worked. But for them, it’s the culmination of something far more sinister.
The truth, hidden behind layers of manipulation, slowly rises in the silence between them.
Bucky’s fingers curl tighter around the back of your neck, his touch deceptively soft. The dark gleam in his eyes says everything that words can’t. You’re finally theirs. The power, the rush of having you in their control, it’s almost intoxicating. But even now, when the most delicate part of their plan is complete, he can’t help but remember the meticulous preparations that had gone into this moment.
Steve is still close to you, his arm draped around your waist, his fingers moving gently up and down your arm in a soothing, possessive gesture. His smile is warm, patient, and reassuring, remaining on his face. It’s always been about the long game for Steve. They needed to win your trust first, break you down piece by piece. And it’s been slow. Too slow, maybe. But in the end, they always knew they’d have you.
What you don’t know, what you’ll never know, are the dark truths that have led them to this point.
-
Steve’s eyes glint with something darker, something sharper as he watches you, the one they’ve spent so long breaking down. You lean into him, hair brushing his shoulder. He could almost feel the weight of the years they’ve spent hiding their true intentions, every step of the plan coming to fruition. But in this moment, the only thing that matters is that you’re finally his.
Ours.
He thinks of the syringe hidden away in the drawer, tucked beneath a pile of medical equipment. The tranquilizer, strong enough to put even the most stubborn of minds to sleep, had been a backup. A backup they’d needed far too many times in the past. Every time you’d resisted. Every time you’d tried to break free from them. The memories you couldn’t keep, erased and rewritten. It had taken months to break you down. The endless resets, the subtle manipulation of your memories, it had all been worth it.
He thinks of the old HYDRA tech they’d found buried in the basement of the abandoned facility. They’d salvaged it, repurposed it for their own needs. It was the ultimate insurance policy. A device that would wipe your memories clean, start over again, give them the chance to erase everything and make you theirs all over again. They’d already used it once when you’d tried to escape. It had worked, just as they’d known it would.
And the faked photos. Oh, all the faked things they’d planted around the house and in your mind, subtle distortions of the past. You had thought they were real memories, but they were simply moments they’d manufactured from nothing. Childhood photos, moments that never happened. But you didn’t know. You never would. And now, as you lean into him, trusting him as if he’s the one person who truly cares about you, Steve can’t help but savor the sweetness of your submission.
Meanwhile, Bucky watches you, his fingers gently stroking the side of your face. He’s careful, almost tender, as if he’s not the one who had quietly orchestrated the destruction of everything you once knew. His eyes drift to the scarred corner of the room where they’d had their first confrontation, the first moment of resistance. He can still see the look in your eyes, the defiance, the unwillingness to bend. That’s when he’d first known they’d need to go further than they had before.
Bucky has always been the one to deal with the physical side of things. He’s the one who uses the needles when necessary, the one who watches as memories are erased and rewritten. He doesn’t mind. He never has. His past is just as twisted, just as broken, and he knows that the only way to keep someone is to make them forget everything they thought they knew. Make them bend to his will. Make them need him.
And so he did. The needles, the tech. He’d been the one to use the memory-wiping tech when you tried to break away, your mind racing with escape plans and a hope you hadn’t even known you were capable of. They couldn’t have you escaping again. No. You belonged to them. You would be made to understand that with time.
You don’t remember the screams, the pain. You don’t remember when they had locked you in that cold room and kept you there for days, only feeding you enough to keep you alive. You never remember the real consequences of those escapes. It’s for the best you didn’t.
Together, they had faked everything. The photos, the false memories, the false story, all crafted a perfect illusion of the past. Bucky had been the one to suggest it, to suggest that they give you a history. Let you believe in something. You were fragile after all, even with all the strength you had in you, and you needed the comfort of false hope to hold on to. It had been easy to implant those photos, to whisper lies of childhood friends and tender moments, and you had accepted them, like a child accepts the world their parents give them. You believed.
Now, you’re looking at them, unaware of the depths of their lies. Of how they’ve woven a prison out of every word, every touch. They’re building something permanent within you, and you can’t see it yet.
But you will. Eventually, you’ll understand. And when you do, you’ll want it. You’ll want them. They’ve worked too hard for you to slip away. You’ve already lost. And the more you lose yourself in them, the more you forget, the more they can control you.
That’s the way it always goes.
Bucky glances at Steve, catching the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. They’re in this together. Always have been. You’re theirs now.
And neither of them is letting go.
I’m genuinely so surprised that the recent addition (The Weight of the Truth) of Whispers of the Gifted has almost 200 likes/notes. It might take the most liked spot of The Way He Notices. Thank you all so much! Happy reading!!!
Exactly!! For real. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
Tiny Winged Trouble
Summary: You’re only a few inches tall, full of sparkle and mischief. When SHIELD accidentally captures you in a jar, Steve and Bucky are tasked with figuring out what you are. You refuse to speak at first, until Steve gives you a cookie. Now they’re stuck with a clingy, stubborn fairy who calls them “Tree” and “Shadow.” (Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)
Word Count: 1.1k+
A/N: It was either mermaid reader or fairy reader. Fairy was easier to write soooo… Enjoy! Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
You were caught in a jar.
A pickle jar, to be specific. It still smelled faintly of vinegar and dill, which you found personally offensive and not just because fairies are very sensitive to smell.
You were fluttering peacefully through the trees near the outskirts of New York when a group of shouting humans in dark armor leapt out from behind a bush and trapped you in what they called a “containment unit.” You didn’t know what SHIELD was, but their agents were very loud and very rough, and they didn’t even ask your name.
You sat cross-legged at the bottom of the jar, wings tucked in, arms folded across your chest, trying your best to look unimpressed.
And then he walked in. Tall, golden-haired, broad-shouldered, a man who practically radiated kindness and confusion in equal measure. Steve Rogers.
He approached the table with another man behind him, darker, quieter, haunted-eyed but alert watching everything. Bucky Barnes.
“I thought you said there was an artifact,” Steve said slowly, looking at the jar.
“It is,” The agent replied. “It talks.”
You gave the man your most dramatic eye roll.
Steve crouched beside the table, eyes soft, voice careful. “Hi there. What’s your name?”
You turned your head away and said nothing.
Bucky stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “Do fairies sulk?”
You didn’t like his tone not cruel, just skeptical. So you stuck your tongue out at him and turned invisible.
Bucky jumped slightly. “Okay. That answers that.”
“Hey, hey,” Steve murmured, holding his hands up gently. “We’re not gonna hurt you, promise. You just surprised everyone, that’s all. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Still, you said nothing.
It wasn’t until someone walked by with a coffee and a chocolate chip cookie that you broke your silence. You reappeared instantly, pressed against the glass, eyes wide.
Steve blinked, then laughed softly. “You want one of those?”
You nodded furiously.
Five minutes later, the jar was opened and you bolted straight onto Steve’s shoulder, snatched the cookie chunk he offered, and curled into the crook of his neck like you’d always lived there.
You stayed close after that. Not that they had much of a choice.
You built a tiny hammock out of tissues on their bookshelf. Braided thread into their laces. Tried to “fix” Bucky’s grumpy face with flower petals and got scolded, very softly, for it. You called Steve “Tree” because he was tall and smelled like sap. You called Bucky “Shadow” because he followed you around pretending he wasn’t trying to protect you.
You refused to be studied, refused to go back in any jars, and made it very clear you’d chosen your new home: right between two super soldiers who didn’t know how much they needed something as strange and sweet as you.
Sometimes, you’d land on Bucky’s shoulder when he couldn’t sleep, singing soft, wordless melodies that reminded him of something in the past. Sometimes, you’d perch on Steve’s chest as he read, snuggled into the fabric of his henley like a kitten with wings.
You were tiny, fragile, ridiculous, and completely, utterly theirs.
Even if you still left cookie crumbs everywhere.
-
Steve and Bucky discovered quickly how particular fairies could be. Or maybe it was just you.
See, they realized you were much more stubborn than they had anticipated which caused another one of your sulking moods. It started because you weren’t allowed to use the microwave. Which, in your defense, made no sense.
You weren’t trying to start another fire, that was an accident. And yes, maybe the leftover spaghetti had exploded the last time, but how were you supposed to know that foil was banned? You’d never had a microwave before. You grew up in moss and tree hollows and warm sunlight. Your diet was dew, nectar, and whatever you could barter from passing squirrels.
Now, you wanted popcorn, but Bucky had said no. He had looked down at you with his arms crossed and that stupid I care about you and you’re being ridiculous face, stating, “You almost fried the tower’s circuits last time. Find something from the fruit bowl if you’re hungry.”
You responded with the most dramatic gasp you could manage and fluttered up to the top of the cabinets, crossing your arms with a huff.
Steve tried to step in, intervening gently. “He’s not trying to upset you. He just doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
You didn’t answer. You turned your back with your wings flaring slightly in righteous fairy fury, you refused to acknowledge either of them. Not even when Steve sighed and offered you a piece of shortbread. Not even when Bucky muttered something like “She’s sulking again, isn’t she?”
You remained a furious little sparkle, curled into a puffball of wings and pouting.
Hours passed. You still refused to come down.
They tried tempting you with cookies, with your favorite mug of rose petal tea, with one of Steve’s socks (which you always stole to use as a blanket).
Nothing. You were mad. And fairies, though small, are very good at holding grudges.
By the time night fell, you were still wedged behind a cereal box, curled into a mopey heap. And then… you heard a sound. Thump. It was a soft knock on the cabinet.
You peeked over the edge to find Bucky standing there, holding a tiny plate.
“I made popcorn. Not with the microwave. Just the pan.”
You stared at him.
“I didn’t put salt on it. Figured you’d want to do that yourself.”
He set the plate down gently on the counter, then leaned against it, arms folded.
“…You gonna stay up there forever?” He asked after a pause, tone mild.
You turned invisible.
He smirked. “Cute.”
Moments later, you reappeared beside the popcorn and began nibbling, still silent, still frowning.
Steve walked in just then and paused. “Is that a peace offering or a trap?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Bucky replied.
You muttered something under your breath.
Steve blinked. “Did she just call you a ‘grumpy tin soldier’?”
“I think so,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.
You stuffed a piece of popcorn in your mouth and glared at them both, cheeks puffed out like a hamster.
Steve crouched beside the counter, eyes warm. “Hey, no one’s mad at you, sweetheart. We just don’t want you getting hurt.”
You looked away before mumbling, “I wanted to make it myself.”
And that was the truth of it. You wanted to prove you could. That you weren’t just tiny and delicate and fluttery. That you could be useful, capable. That you weren’t always the one needing help.
Bucky leaned closer, voice quieter now. “Next time… I’ll show you how.”
You peeked up at him, suspicious.
“You can hold the lid,” He said, tone serious. “That’s an important job.”
“…Fine,” You muttered.
Steve smiled gently, brushing your wing with one careful finger. “We’re proud of you, y’know.”
You huffed, still pretending you weren’t moved before climbing into Bucky’s hand, wings drooping slightly from exhaustion and popcorn forgotten. You curled into his palm with a sigh, tiny fingers gripping the edge of his sleeve.
Still sulking but not as much. And this time, you weren’t alone.
-
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She/Her | 18+ | Marvel WriterAsks/Requests are welcomed!
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