Chaotic Cat Curse

Hey, guys! Wanted to say thank you for 1,000 likes, almost to 1.1k actually. I appreciate all the love, interest, followers, and engagement from you all the past few days!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡

I would love to partake in a writing challenge someday when my blog grows a bit more. As a reminder, my requests/asks are open if y’all would like to see a specific prompt come to life! Would also love to get to know you guys more. Happy reading!

Love Letters in the Smoke

Summary: During his rehabilitation, Bucky writes anonymous letters to process his thoughts. One night, he drops one at your circus campfire by mistake. You write back as a pen-pal romance begins. (Bucky Barnes x aerialist!reader)

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: I wanted to write something circus themed and thought this was a cute story. I hope the indents for the letters doesn’t look weird. Regardless, Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

The circus smelled of smoke, greasepaint, and a hint of nostalgia. The kind of place that looked like it had time-traveled from another century. Its canvas tents patched with care, and string lights casting soft golden halos in the dusk. You called it home.

Every night, after the crowd dispersed and the last child had been tugged away from the caramel stands, you’d sit by the communal fire pit with a notebook and your own thoughts. The crackle of flames soothed your nerves after a long evening performing. Tonight was no different until you found the letter.

Folded neatly in half, it was tucked beneath a rock near the fire. No name. No address. Just worn, thick paper, like it had been clutched tightly before being left behind. The handwriting was rigid, practiced, like someone who didn’t write often.

"I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe to make sense of the noise. I’m not used to silence. When I have it, the ghosts scream louder. I think I was someone good once, but I don’t know if that matters anymore. So I keep walking, city to city, place to place, hoping I can outrun myself."

Your fingers tightened around the paper, heart stirring with something strange. You didn’t know the writer, but you knew the feeling. So you wrote back.

Your first response was clumsy. You weren’t used to being vulnerable. But you scribbled on the back of a circus flyer:

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder if the reflection is mine or someone else’s memory. If you were good once, maybe that piece is still inside you. If it hurts, it means it mattered.”

You left your letter the same way by the fire, under the same rock. You didn’t expect anything to come of it. But the next night, there was another one waiting.

"Didn’t expect a reply. It’s strange. Your words feel like a calm I haven’t earned. But thank you. I needed them more than I thought."

The letters became a ritual.

While the rest of the troupe celebrated, drank, or collapsed into their trailers, you and your ghost wrote to each other. You told him about your performances, your nerves before every show, how the roar of the crowd always seemed distant. He told you about dreams he didn’t understand, faces he couldn't name but could never forget.

"Sometimes I see their eyes. Just eyes. Hundreds of them. People I’ve hurt. People I lost. I wish I could believe I was still worth saving."

Your response was always gentle, honest.

“Pain doesn’t cancel out worth. I don’t know what you’ve done. But if you’re trying now, if you’re writing to a stranger in the dark just to stay afloat… then yes. You’re worth it."

He never signed his letters. You didn’t, either. But a bond was forming. Raw and quiet. The kind of intimacy that only comes when truth is stripped bare, and nothing is expected in return.

A week later, a new stranger joined the circus.

He didn’t give much away, just said his name was James, and he was helping fix up the rigging for the aerial performers. He was tall with broad shoulders. Dark hair pulled into a low bun. Quiet, watchful, like a man used to danger. You noticed the glove on his hands, the way he flinched when touched, and the haunted glint in his eyes.

He didn’t say much, but when he watched you during your act, a graceful ribbon aerialist twisting in midair, there was something almost reverent in his gaze.

He started lingering by the fire after hours, sitting a few feet away. You’d nod. He’d nod back. Neither of you spoke much. But his presence was… comforting.

The letters continued.

"There’s a performer here. I don’t know her name yet. She climbs like she wants to touch the stars. When she’s up there, it’s like she’s weightless. Untouchable. I think she feels more at home in the air than on the ground. I envy that."

You read that one twice, your stomach fluttering. Could it be?

You looked at James differently after that. You caught him watching you once, a rare smile twitching at his mouth before he quickly looked away. He never asked personal questions, but he always listened when you spoke. Even the small things. What you had for dinner. What color ribbon you liked the best.

And still, each night, the letters came.

Until the day it stopped.

You came to the fire, letter in hand, heart pounding. You had written it that afternoon, deciding finally to sign it with your real name.

But there was no letter waiting. Not that night. Not the next.

And James was gone.

You asked around only to find out that he had packed up quietly, said goodbye to no one, and left like a ghost.

-

Weeks passed. The circus moved on, as it always did.

You still checked the firepit sometimes. Just in case. A hope inside your heart that would be chipped away each time you found no letter.

Then, one night, as the stars blanketed the sky and your arms ached from rehearsal, you found it. A single letter. Folded tight.

Your name was on the front.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. I was afraid. You knew me before you knew who I was. And that scared me more than anything. I’ve done things, things I can’t ask forgiveness for. But when I read your words, I believed for a moment that maybe I wasn’t just a weapon. That maybe I could be more. You called me worth saving. No one ever said that to the Winter Soldier. But you said it to James."

Your hands trembled as you read the last part.

"I want to see you again. If you'll let me. There’s a train station just outside the next town. I’ll be waiting. – Bucky"

You folded the letter to your chest and smiled through your tears.

Finally, a name.

And maybe, just maybe, a beginning.

The next town was a blur of winding back roads and wind-chilled mornings. The circus was set up at the edge of a sun-dried field, the ground cracked from lack of rain. But you barely noticed any of it. Your mind was somewhere else, back at the firepit, at the letter pressed to your chest, at the name that made everything real.

Bucky.

It suited him somehow. Solid and sincere. A little old-fashioned like the man himself.

You folded the letter so carefully that it felt like folding a prayer. You didn’t show it to anyone. Some part of you was still terrified it might vanish if you spoke it aloud. But you couldn’t ignore it.

He said he’d be at the train station. So you went.

You left after rehearsal dressed in simple clothes, your hair braided back, and palms sweating in your coat pockets. The station was small and mostly empty. Just one old bench, a vending machine that wheezed when it tried to light up, and a single streetlamp buzzing like a nervous heart.

He was there.

Bucky stood near the tracks, hands in his pockets, back tense like he wasn’t sure he should stay. A battered duffel sat by his boots. His eyes were distant, tracking the horizon. Like he was still prepared to run.

You almost called out to him, but he turned first. When your eyes met, it hit you like a second heartbeat.

You'd read this man’s pain. Held his words in your hands like they were fragile glass. You had whispered encouragement to him under stars he couldn’t see. And now he was here. Real. Vulnerable. Waiting.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” He said, voice rough with nerves.

“I wasn’t sure you would wait,” You answered, stepping closer.

He let out a low quiet laugh, more exhale than sound. “I almost didn’t.”

“I’m glad you did.”

There was a long pause, but it wasn’t awkward. It was full. Thick with every letter, every word, every emotion neither of you had dared speak aloud.

“I’m sorry for disappearing,” Bucky began as his gaze dropped. “I… panicked. Thought it was safer if I left before I messed it up. But the truth is… I missed you.”

Your throat tightened. “You didn’t mess anything up. I… I missed you too. Every night I checked that fire.”

He stepped closer, the soft scrape of gravel under his boots. “I didn’t know how to do this. I still don’t.”

“Me neither,” You whispered. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest.

His gloved hand lifted, like he wanted to reach for you but was waiting for permission. So you met him halfway, pressing your hand gently to his chest. Through his shirt, you could feel the heavy rhythm of his heart, strong and steady, like it had finally found a beat worth chasing.

“I wasn’t falling for a stranger,” You said softly. “I was falling for the man in the letters. For the one who writes like he’s fighting for every word. That was you. It was always you.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Then, slowly, carefully, he leaned his forehead against yours.

And in that moment, there were no ghosts. No stages. No performances. Just the hush of the night air, the scent of iron and oil and smoke, and two people who had found each other in the most unexpected of ways.

“I want to try,” He murmured. “With you. If you’ll have me.”

You smiled. “Only if you write to me sometimes, even if we’re just a tent away.”

He chuckled, and it was the most alive you’d ever heard him. “Deal.”

Obsessive Love

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes fall into a quiet but intense obsession with each other. While your love is sweet, watchful, and clingy beneath a gentle surface, Bucky’s affection turns darker and more possessive. The love you two share was not born out of malice, rather need, devotion, and a love that tightens like a noose. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x Yandere!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Dark reader. Yandere themes. Implied stalking/watching immensely.

Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: This was so fun to write. It has a second part to it too. I might post it tomorrow. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist | Devoted Possession (Part 2.)

It was never supposed to happen like this.

You never expected to be in the situation you were in now; curled in the arms of Bucky Barnes, eyes barely open as you lay against him. The warmth of his body acts as a shield from the world. At first, you were just part of the team because it was just a job. Just a mission, something you’d done countless times before, working alongside the Avengers to take down the bad guys. But then came Bucky.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was subtle, like the slow spread of a virus, but by the time you realized what had changed, it was already too late.

The beginning was almost innocent. Almost.

When you first met Bucky Barnes, you had no idea that he would become the center of your world. At first, he was just another soldier, another teammate. A broken man struggling to piece himself back together. But there was something about him that intrigued you, something hidden behind the dark intensity of his gaze that drew you in like a magnet.

You didn’t mean to get so close. You honestly didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did.

Because Bucky was different. He wasn’t like the others. His scars, both physical and mental, made him stand out in a way you couldn’t ignore. He didn’t pretend to be perfect. And you didn’t want him to be. The cracks in him made him… real. He wasn’t like the men from your past who had lied, manipulated, and betrayed. He wore his flaws like armor. And, for you, that was everything.

You started off by offering quiet companionship. A kind word here, a soft smile there. You knew that Bucky wasn’t someone who trusted easily. He had been through too much. So, you didn’t force it. You just… waited. Watched him from afar, letting your presence be a steady, comforting thing in the chaos that surrounded him.

It didn’t take long before Bucky began to notice you. It wasn’t obvious though at first. He would give you a nod here and there, maybe a short, clipped sentence when the mission was over. But it was enough. It was enough to make your heart race every time he glanced in your direction, to make you feel like he saw you. Really saw you.

And then, one day, it happened.

You were on a mission together, as usual, when the two of you got separated from the rest of the team. It was a small thing, just a few minutes of being alone in a quiet corner of a dark building, but it was enough for something to shift. Bucky looked at you in a way he hadn’t before. No longer as a teammate, not as someone to protect or be protected by, but as something else entirely. Something you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your bones.

It was there, in the silence, that you took your first step.

You smiled at him. “Are you okay, Bucky?”

He blinked, but then something softened in his eyes. He looked away briefly, like he was trying to hide his vulnerability. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But you knew better. You could always tell when someone wasn’t being honest, and Bucky… Bucky was never truly fine. You could see the cracks in his composure. It made you want to protect him. To shield him from whatever haunted him, even if that meant making sure no one else could ever touch him.

It wasn’t malice. It wasn’t some dark desire to hurt others. But it was a need. A need to care for him. To love him in a way that no one else could. To make sure he was only ever yours.

The thought was almost comforting, becoming something you would rely on and remind yourself of often. The world was big, but when you were with Bucky, it felt so small. Just the two of you. No one else mattered.

Your affection grew slowly, like a seed planted in the quiet moments. You would find yourself lingering near him, watching him without his knowledge, memorizing the way his jaw tightened when he was thinking too hard, the way he would instinctively hold things with his normal arm instead of his metal arm and you, being ever so observant, saw the way he flinched when someone made a joke about the metal appendage. You wanted to shield him from those moments. You wanted to be the one he turned to, the one he could rely on, even if you two just sat in silence.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You didn’t need to be loud about your affection. You didn’t need to be overt. You were like a shadow, always there, always watching. Just enough to make sure he never strayed too far from you. To ensure that no one else could have him, not when you were so willing to give him everything. Your love was sweet, soft even. But beneath it was something darker, something that always kept a careful eye on the world around you. You’d smile at others, be polite, make them feel comfortable. But you were always watching. Always waiting.

But you weren’t the only one watching. Bucky noticed you, just as keenly. He wasn’t blind to the way you lingered around him, the way your eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to keep track of his moods as if you could anticipate them before they even formed.

But it didn’t scare him. No, it intrigued him. Because, as much as Bucky was a soldier with a dark past, he craved that connection. He craved someone who saw him, who understood him without him needing to explain.

Bucky’s obsession was different. It wasn’t that he was unaware of his feelings, but they were more visceral. More possessive. The way he looked at you when someone spoke to you for too long, the way his hand would always drift to your back when others tried to get too close. He was marking his territory. He didn’t just want you. He needed you.

And when he needed something, it wasn’t just for a moment. It was forever.

Therefore, one day when it was late in the night with a mission recently finished and the team dispersed to their own things, you weren’t ready to go back to your room. Not yet.

The hallway was empty, lit only by the dim flickering of old lights above. You hadn’t even noticed Bucky following you, your footsteps echoing softly on the cold concrete floor. It was a rare sight to see someone as observant as you being lost in thought. Your mind was still running through everything: the mission, the battle, the faces of the enemies you’d taken down. It was all so mechanical, so numb.

But then, you finally noticed it. The sound of boots on the floor, slow but deliberate, the familiar thump-thump-thump that you’d come to associate with him.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

“Are you okay?” Bucky’s voice was low, soft, but the underlying tension was palpable. As always, he’d been the one to watch you, the one who noticed when you slipped into yourself, when you started retreating into that space where everything felt too overwhelming.

You didn't respond at first. Your chest tightened and your thoughts were spinning. You desperately wanted to reply, use this moment to talk to him. But you couldn’t, not now. Instead, you kept walking, your shoes tapping against the floor in a steady rhythm. You didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to let him see the cracks forming inside of you. But you knew he wouldn’t let you get away that easily. He never did.

He caught up with you, walking just behind you now, close enough that you were sure he’d run into you if you stopped. The air between you thickened with each step. Then, without warning, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

The sudden contact startled you. You whipped around, meeting his gaze to see those piercing blue eyes, full of questions, full of something more.

Bucky didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watching you, his grip on your wrist not letting go, as though he was afraid you might slip away if he loosened it. And maybe he was right.

“You’re not okay,” He said finally, his voice quiet but intense. “I can see it. You’re not okay, and you keep pretending you are.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to let him in. So you looked away, your eyes drifting toward the floor.

But he didn’t let you turn from him. Instead, his other hand found its way to your cheek, lifting your face up to meet his. His touch was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters, unsure if you’d pull away.

But you didn’t.

It was that moment. That moment where everything changed.

There was a flicker of something in his gaze: something raw, something darker than you’d ever seen. It made your heart race and made your breath catch in your throat. You could feel the heat of his body close to yours, the scent of him, the sound of his heartbeat matching your own. And in that space, it was like time slowed down. Everything faded away, and there was only him. Only Bucky.

And before you could even register what was happening, he closed the distance between you.

His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, your hands finding his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, frantic. As if you both needed it. Needed the connection and the reassurance that you weren’t alone in this twisted, broken world. His lips pressed harder against yours, and your grip on him tightened, pulling him closer, deeper, until you could feel the thudding of his heart against your chest.

You both stopped thinking. There was no time for reason, no room for hesitation. There was just the moment. The kiss.

When you finally pulled away, your breath was shallow, your face flushed, and your heart raced as though you’d been running for miles. Bucky’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, and he was breathing just as heavily as you were. His hand cupped your face, gently this time, like he was afraid you might shatter in his hands.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Bucky murmured, his voice rough, as though it hurt to hold back for so long.

You blinked, your pulse still racing. “Me too,” You whispered, your voice barely audible, but it was enough.

In that moment, everything made sense. All the confusion, the loneliness, the emptiness you’d both been carrying for so long, it was gone. In its place was something else. Something new. Something unspoken. And you realized then, with chilling clarity, that there was no going back.

You didn’t care about the Avengers anymore. You didn’t care about the missions, the enemies, nor the people you were supposed to protect. The only thing that mattered was Bucky. And now, him and you were tangled so deeply that there was no way out. No way back to who you used to be.

And that’s how it happened. Slowly. Quietly. You became his obsession and he became yours.

Remember that one fic with the original character I made that got 2 notes. No? Good…. I’m tempted to just write whatever I want from it in the present day and let everyone else figure out the lore later even if it doesn’t make sense at first. Like a mother bird kicking the baby birds out to see if they fly or not lol

Fort Kingdom

Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression!]

Summary: To cheer you up from a change of plans, you spend a rainy evening with your caregivers, Bucky and Steve, building the ultimate blanket fort. With cozy lights, stuffed animals, snacks, and more, the night becomes a warm, magical escape filled with laughter, cuddles, and comfort.

Word Count: 900+

Main Masterlist

It starts in the late afternoon, when the rain outside is soft and steady, tapping against the windows like a lullaby. The clouds hang low and gray, and everything feels quieter than usual. Your daddies had initially planned a picnic that day to go to one of your favorite playgrounds. You had been looking forward to it too for quite a few days. However, the weather, unexpectedly, seemed to have other plans.

Steve had been the first to notice the way your energy has shifted today, the way you’re curled up under your blanket with your thumb in your mouth and your favorite stuffie tucked against your chest. He kneels beside you with that gentle smile he saves just for moments like this.

He brushes a hand through your hair as he asks softly, “How about a fort tonight, sweetheart?”

You shot up so fast the blanket fell off your shoulders, your previous disappointment forgotten almost instantly. "YES! Fort! Fortfortfort!" You changed as your words tumbled out in excited little bounces as you scrambled to your feet, eyes already scanning the room for the best blanket candidates. “We can make the big kind, right? With the sparkly lights and the snack zone and the snuggle nest and the tiny reading corner?!”

Bucky looked up from his book, sitting in the chair nearby smirking. "Sounds like we’re going full deluxe mode tonight."

Steve gave you a wink. “Deluxe mode it is. Go pick your best fort-building blankets, tiny architect. We’ve got a kingdom to raise.”

You squealed and took off like a rocket down the hallway, only vaguely hearing Steve’s voice remind you not to run as you slow down just a bit. Trailing happy little noises and slippered feet as you gathered every soft, fluffy thing you could find. You came back with arms overflowing: the cloud blanket, the soft pink quilt, even that one fuzzy one that always smells like comfort and cocoa. You dragged them into the living room like a victorious knight returning from battle, disregarding how you had to make a second trip to get the giant Avengers throw.

Meanwhile, Bucky was already deconstructing the couch with practiced precision, lining up pillows like fortress walls and stacking cushions like throne seats. Steve brought over dining chairs and helped drape sheets from their tops, creating a tall, cave-like space that grew more magical with every layer.

“This is gonna be so cozy,” You chirped as you helped tuck a blanket corner beneath a lamp. “It's gonna be the best fort ever in the history of all forts ever!”

Steve laughed, hanging up the battery-powered fairy lights carefully. “That’s a pretty high bar, sweetheart.”

“It’ll be the Fort Kingdom,” You declared proudly. “With dragons. And snacks. And a stuffed animal army!”

Bucky grinned. “Sounds like my kind of kingdom.”

Once everything was perfect; the lights glowing like tiny stars, the blankets sagging just right to make the air feel secret and soft, you crawled inside with a huge smile on your face. “Come in! Come in!” You called, waving them in dramatically. “Welcome to my Fort Kingdom! You may enter the Royal Cuddle Fort!”

Bucky entered first, ducking his head and flopping onto the pillows with a content sigh. “Comfy rating: 12 out of 10.”

Steve followed soon after, now with a tray of snacks containing sliced apples, little crackers, mini marshmallows in a dish, and your favorite: a purple sippy cup full of warm cocoa. You gasped and clapped. “You brought the special cocoa!”

He handed it to you with a gentle smile. “Just for tonight, sweetheart. And look, extra marshmallows. Just for you.”

You grabbed it happily, already taking a sip as Steve found a spot to rest as well. Setting it back down on the tray, you now found a place curled up between them. Both your daddies warm on either side. Bucky tucked the blanket around your legs, and Steve offered one of your other favorite plushies, the floppy bunny with the stitched ear. You took it with a bright smile, snuggling it close as the rain tapped gently from the windows.

Steve picked up a picture book and began reading in a soft, warm voice, filling the space with quiet wonder. Bucky added his own sound effects at times; dramatic gasps, silly growls, tiny meows for the kitten characters. You giggled so hard you nearly spilled your cocoa.

Soon, though, the excitement melted into something softer. You felt yourself sinking down deeper into the warmth, into the safety. Your body relaxed, all your energy replaced by heavy eyes and a floaty feeling. You leaned against Steve’s side, letting your head rest on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat matching the rhythm of the rain.

Bucky brushed his fingers gently through your hair, slow and steady. “Getting sleepy, bug?”

You gave a tiny nod, eyes blinking slow. “Mhm… but wanna stay here forever…”

“Don’t worry,” Steve whispered, kissing the top of your head. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Bucky leaned in close too. “This fort’s got rules. Rule one: Littles stay warm. Rule two: Littles stay cuddled. Rule three…” He smiled. “…Littles always wake up knowing they’re loved.”

You hummed softly, the sound barely a breath, and clutched your bunny tighter as your eyes finally slid closed. Outside the fort, the world could be big and complicated and overwhelming. But inside, it was just the three of you, wrapped in soft light and even softer love.

You fell asleep between them, their arms holding you safe as the fairy lights twinkled above and the storm outside passed by unnoticed.

I just read your Bucky and unhinged reader and I don’t know what kind of drugs you put in there but I’m going to need more of that

LOL, I’m wheezing. I need more of them too, I will certainly be working on that soon. Thank you for reading!!! ♡

Aww… I hope everything goes well, dear. May you have or find someone in your life that is just as comforting and supportive as Bucky is. Thank you for reading! ♡

Exactly As You Are

Summary: You slowly form a tender, deeply emotional relationship with Bucky Barnes supports you through the bad days and gently breaks down the walls you’ve built from past abandonment. Despite fears of being a burden, Bucky stays, proving with quiet strength and unwavering presence that love doesn’t need to be perfect to be real. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Reader is chronically ill. Mentions/Depictions of symptoms of said illness. Angst. Hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 2.3k+

A/N: This is sort self-indulgent but still an enjoyable read regardless. I left the type of illness ambiguous. You are responsible for the media you consume. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

The first time Bucky saw you, he thought you were just tired.

You were sitting on a bench outside a small, independent bookstore in Brooklyn, a reusable water bottle half-empty beside you, a paperback open in your lap. It was cold out, the kind of sharp October chill that cuts through jackets and settles in bones. But you sat completely still with your shoulders slumped, hands trembling slightly, and breath shallow.

He might not have noticed if not for the way your fingers struggled to hold the book steady.

He didn’t stop. Not at first. He just glanced, like a thousand other people passing by, and kept walking. But two blocks later, something tugged at him soft and persistent, like a memory he couldn’t place. He turned around.

You hadn’t moved from your spot.

By the time he walked back and crouched in front of you, your lips were pale, and your skin had that waxy undertone he recognized from war hospitals and med units. His instincts kicked in, but not the soldier kind, rather the man who’d learned how to read distress in the quietest forms.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low but steady.

You blinked up at him slowly, as if hearing him from underwater. Then you offered a weak, breathless smile and said, “Yeah, just… my body does this sometimes.”

“Does what?”

“Stops.”

He didn’t fully understand what that meant then. But it wasn’t pity that made him sit beside you, not fear or heroism either. It was something else. Familiarity. A kind of haunted recognition.

“Can I call someone for you?” He asked. “Friend? Partner? Family?”

You shook your head. “No one close by. It’ll pass. I just need a minute.”

But your hand was still shaking as you reached for the water. He watched silently, then gently reached over and held the bottle steady so you could drink.

“Thanks,” You murmured.

He nodded. He didn’t press. He simply sat there, beside a stranger who looked like their body was betraying them one breath at a time.

After a long stretch of silence, you spoke again. “You don’t have to wait.”

“Don’t want you to pass out on a sidewalk.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “Romantic.”

He smirked. “I’ve heard worse.”

You turned to look at him then, and something in your expression shifted.

“You’ve had bad days too,” You said.

His breath caught. You weren’t asking. You knew.

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

Your eyes softened. Not out of pity, but out of understanding. “Then you get it.”

He didn't reply out loud, but the way his hand hovered hesitant, then steady, offered the only answer you needed.

Eventually, you regained enough energy to stand. He offered his arm, and you took it without flinching at the metal. That surprised him. Most people still tensed.

Inside the bookstore, he bought a copy of the same book you'd been reading before slipping you his number. You noticed, and raised a brow.

“Trying to impress me?”

He shrugged. “Trying to have an excuse to see you again.”

You laughed then. Still tired, still aching, but real. “Well. It worked.”

-

You didn’t start dating right away. There were slow texts. A few coffee shop visits where he learned which chairs were softest for you to sit in for long periods, which days your hands couldn’t hold a cup, and how sometimes you’d go quiet mid-sentence but not from disinterest, just exhaustion.

But Bucky never minded. He’d lived too many years rushing through the world. With you, everything slowed down. And for once, that felt like healing.

On your first date, he had planned it carefully.

Not because he thought you needed to be impressed but because he wanted to show you he was paying attention. That he’d been listening, clocking every tiny detail you never made a big deal about.

So when he asked, “Dinner with me?” and you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because your body was in one of its quiet warning phases, he didn’t try to convince you. He simply offered an alternative.

“I know a rooftop,” He said. “It’s a quiet and private place with a good view. I’ll bring the food.”

You smiled, that same tired-but-warm curve of the lips he was learning to read better each time. “What kind of food?”

“Soft stuff,” He smiled before teasing. “Things that won’t piss off your stomach.”

You laughed, which he counted as a win.

The night of the date, he showed up at your door with a reusable picnic bag over one shoulder and that awkward, lopsided grin of his. You were in your softest clothes, sweatpants and a knit sweater two sizes too big, and your hair wasn’t doing what you wanted it to.

But he looked at you like you were wearing a red carpet gown.

“I like this,” He said simply, and gestured to your entire self. “It’s very you.”

“Exhausted?”

“Real.”

The trip to the rooftop was just a short elevator ride and half a flight of stairs, but halfway up, your legs started to tremble.

You tried to play it off, pausing to “check the sky,” you said. But Bucky had already seen the shift in your breathing, the tremor in your hand as you gripped the railing.

Without a word, he stepped behind you and wrapped an arm gently around your waist, the cool metal of his left hand bracing your spine.

“You okay with help?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded once. He didn’t rush you. Just matched your pace, supporting you the whole way to the roof.

By the time you sat down on the old couch someone had dragged up there years ago, your body was already crashing. You tried to hide it like you always did. But your hands were limp in your lap, your eyes glassy, and your shoulders had that slight slump Bucky was learning to hate.

He knelt beside you.

“Tell me what you need,” He said gently. “No pressure. Just… tell me.”

You wanted to smile. To tell him he didn’t have to stay, or fuss, or worry. But the words stuck somewhere behind your ribs.

“…I don’t want to ruin this.”

His eyes softened. “You’re not.”

“It’s not fair. You finally ask me out and I’m… this.”

“You were always this,” He countered. “And I asked you anyway.”

That made you blink.

He took the blanket from the bag, yes he’d brought one, and wrapped it around your shoulders. Then he pulled out a thermos of broth and a soft rice dish you’d once mentioned in passing. No wine. Just herbal tea. No candles. Just the city lights. No pressure to be anything but what you were.

You looked at him and he didn’t flinch from the fog in your eyes or the weakness in your voice. He didn’t reach for the version of you from the good days. He reached for you.

“I don’t need the perfect night,” He told you gently, watching you carefully. “I just need you.”

You let out a slow, aching breath. “What if I never get better?”

He brushed a knuckle down your cheek. “Then I’ll learn every version of ‘bad’ until I can walk you through it with my eyes closed.”

You felt something in your chest unravel.

And when he curled up beside you, careful not to jostle your fragile form and content to just sit in silence; you knew, with absolute certainty, that this wasn’t the beginning of something fragile.

It was the beginning of something real.

-

There were days that weren’t as pleasant. Yet time and time again, Bucky insisted on staying. Comforting and reassuring you every step of the way.

One afternoon, the apartment was quiet but not the peaceful kind. The kind of silence that pressed against the walls, thick and tense. The kind that settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

You sat on the couch with your knees pulled up, a blanket draped around your shoulders even though it was midafternoon. You should’ve taken your meds earlier, should’ve eaten something by now, should’ve answered the texts piling up on your phone. But your joints ached like they were full of broken glass, your head pounded from hours of tension, and every sound, every thought, felt like it might shatter you.

You didn’t hear Bucky come in. Not at first.

He always moved quietly, even when he wasn’t trying to. It was a habit that never left him. A ghost of another life. He didn’t say anything right away, just took in the picture in front of him. The faraway look in your eyes. The way your hand gripped the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing tethering you to the room. The way your body curled in, like it was trying to disappear.

He crossed the room slowly and knelt in front of you, not touching you yet, but remaining close.

“Hey,” He greeted gently. “Rough day?”

You nodded, barely. Your throat felt too tight to speak.

Bucky waited. He was good at that, waiting. Letting you come to him on your own time with no pressure or pity. Just quiet, patient presence.

But then the words came tumbling out before you could stop them.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this all the time. With me.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, not in confusion, but in a kind of slow heartbreak. Like he’d heard this before because he had, and every time it hurt more.

He reached slowly, brushing your hand with his gloved fingers before gently taking it in his.

“Don’t say that,” He spoke quietly.

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “But it’s true. You didn’t sign up for this. For all the canceled plans, and the bad days, and the… God, the way I feel like a burden.”

He exhaled, long and steady, and then stood, just enough to sit beside you. His arm curled around your shoulders, pulling you in with a kind of care that felt deliberate. Solid and unshakeable.

“I know what it feels like to think you’re too much,” He began slowly. “To think you’re broken, that people will get tired, or that you’ll wear them down until they leave.”

You swallowed hard.

“I spent years feeling like that,” He continued. “Even when Steve stayed. Even when Sam stuck by me. It never went away easy. But then I met you.”

His hand found yours again. Held it tighter.

“You taught me that people aren’t burdens. That pain doesn’t make someone less worthy of love. That needing help isn’t weakness.”

You shook your head, voice hoarse. “That’s different. You went through hell. You didn’t choose it.”

“And neither did you.” His voice was low but firm now. “You didn’t ask for this. You fight through more pain in a day than most people even imagine. And you still smile. You still care. You still show up.”

“But this isn’t fair,” Your voice was shaky. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this. You could… you could have anyone.”

Bucky went very still.

You turned your head away. “I don’t want you to stay because you feel obligated. I don’t want to trap you in something broken.”

His voice was low, firm as he asked. “You think I stay out of pity?”

“No. I think you’re kind. And maybe you don’t realize yet how permanent this is. How much this takes. I can’t go on missions with you, I can’t run, I can’t even cook without getting dizzy. Some days I can’t even-“

You broke off. Voice cracking.

“I can’t give you a normal life, Bucky. I’m tired all the time. And someday you’re going to wake up and realize I’m more burden than person and I can’t survive that again-“

Your breath caught. You hadn’t meant to say again. But it was out there now.

He didn’t try to shush you. He didn’t give you empty words or say you’re not broken, or you’re still beautiful, or it’s not that bad. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his forehead gently against yours. His voice was raw and honest.

“You think I want a normal life?”

You blinked at him.

“I spent years being turned into someone else’s weapon,” He whispered. “I wake up some nights not knowing what year it is. I have blood on my hands I can’t wash off, and a mind that doesn’t always feel like mine. You think I came here for normal?”

He exhaled shakily. “No, sweetheart. I came here for you. Just you.”

Your chest caved with a soft, helpless sob.

“I don’t want perfect,” He said. “I don’t want easy. I want real. And you… this pain, this fight, all of it; it’s real. You’re still here. You keep going. And if you think for one second I’m walking away because your body’s at war with you…”

His hand slid into yours, careful and steady.

“…then you don’t know me yet. I choose to be here,” He said. “Not out of obligation. Not because I feel sorry for you. But because I love you. All of you. Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad days.”

Tears welled up before you could stop them. You hated crying in front of people but with Bucky, it never felt like weakness. It just felt honest, safe.

He pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin, wrapping both arms around you like a fortress. “You are not a burden,” He murmured. “You are my home.”

And in the stillness, something inside you began to loosen. Not the pain, no, that stayed. But the guilt, the weight of it all began to lift just a little as you let yourself be held.

For once, it felt okay to just exist. To be loved, even when you didn’t feel lovable.

And Bucky held you like he’d never let you forget it again.

Because he didn’t try to fix you.

He just loved you.

Exactly as you are.

I’m glad to hear so! Thank you for following along!!! ♡

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.

A Shot of Something More

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

Word Count: 3.7k+

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

Main Masterlist

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

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

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

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

He was back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, the energy shifted.

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

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

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

“I was,” Steve muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Generous,” He said with a wink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes narrowed. “You stalked me?”

“You told me.”

“I did?”

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

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

“Allegedly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It took twenty.

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

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

“So… do you always do closing shifts?”

You tilted your head. “Most nights.”

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

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

He smiled. “Touché.”

Bucky smirked. “We like the vibe.”

“Oh? The coffee?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for staying.”

There was a pause.

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

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked.

You nodded. “Same time?”

Steve smiled. “We’ll be there.”

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

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

-

Sleep didn’t come easily.

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

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

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

You didn’t know what to do with that.

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

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

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

But then you heard the bell above the door chimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tried to play it cool.

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

Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky looked at you.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly. It’s a masterpiece.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a word was said.

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

Not here. Not with them.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

Because it was safe. It was warm too.

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

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

“Hi,” You whispered.

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

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

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

“It’s not,” He said. “Not to me.”

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

He didn’t look away. “Me too.”

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

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

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

And the way you’d wanted more anyway.

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

Steve smiled. “We figure it out together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

He leaned in a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

Same! They’re so whimsical and outrageous, it’s so entertaining. Thank you for reading!!! ♡

Heart First, Sanity Later

Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.

Word Count: 3.4k+

A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.

You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”

He stared at you. Everyone did.

You slurped. “What?”

Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.

A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”

And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.

When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.

But outside of that? Absolute chaos.

One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.

"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

“Sounds fake but okay.”

He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)

Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”

Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

You beamed. “I know, right?”

And that was just the beginning.

-

Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:

“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”

He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.

You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.

“What?” He hissed.

You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”

Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.

Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”

You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.

Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?

You were something else. A walking contradiction.

You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”

And tonight was no different.

By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.

That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.

Affection.

It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.

“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”

He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.

You had two blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.

“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.

“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.

You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”

He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.

“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”

You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”

The jet went quiet.

And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.

You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.

You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.

And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:

He was fucked.

In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.

You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”

“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”

“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.

“…Terrifying.”

You winked. “Same difference.”

And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.

-

The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.

A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” you said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.

Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”

“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”

You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”

He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”

“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.

“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.

“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”

He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”

“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”

Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”

Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.

You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”

He stared at you, speechless.

"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.

Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"

“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”

Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.

You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.

But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”

His chest tightened.

“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”

He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”

“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”

Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”

Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.

Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.

But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”

Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.

But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.

-

The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. I You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.

“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.

Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”

“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”

Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.

Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”

Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”

It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.

“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”

As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”

Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.

Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.

You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”

“No.”

“Then I’m doing taxes.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”

You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.

Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.

Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.

“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.

Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I do not look like-“

“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”

“I am not emotionally unavailable.”

“You have a go bag, Bucky.”

“…That’s standard protocol.”

“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.

“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”

Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.

-

When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.

And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.

“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”

Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.

“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”

You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”

He ran a hand down his face.

“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”

You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”

He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”

But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.

You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.

And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.

“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”

You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”

“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”

“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”

“That’s not a thing!”

You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”

He froze.

“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”

You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”

”I love you, you absolute menace!”

Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.

“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.

Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”

“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”

“Yes!”

“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”

“Also yes!”

“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”

“I almost killed you.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”

He stared. “You do?”

“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”

He laughed, just once, short and stunned.

You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”

Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet. You’re in love with me.”

“I’m regretting it deeply.”

“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.

And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.

When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”