Devoted Possession

The Way He Notices

Summary: As the teammate with invisibility, your powers often result in you disappearing from the Compound when the day becomes too much. However, you’re always seen by one person who has started to sit in silence with you, offering occasional comments and comfort. (Bucky Barnes x invisible!reader)

Disclaimer: Angst (sort of). Hurt/Comfort. Reader has the power of invisibility.

Word Count: 1.3k+

A/N: I had fully intended to just make this a blurb. I like imagining the reader with different powers, but this went over the 500 words I had initially planned lol

The compound was too loud.

Even if no one was yelling, even if no one was fighting, your skin buzzed with the memory of raised voices, flashing lights, hands that weren’t kind. Your breathing had gone shallow the moment the door shut behind you. Your hands trembled. Your pulse raced. Your instincts screamed.

So you disappeared. Literally. One blink, one breath, and maybe the world would forget you were there. Invisibility was your gift. When activated, everything fades. Body, clothes, scent; not even heat sensors can detect you. It remains a power you hold to help people from the shadows. Both your shield and your curse.

And right now, you use it to curl up into the corner of your room, legs pulled tight to your chest. Your breathing was quiet now, nearly silent. You liked it that way. Invisible and silent, unnoticed to the world.

But Bucky noticed. He always did. You never told anyone about what it really meant, to vanish. Not in words. Not out loud. But Bucky figured it out anyway.

He paid attention in a way most people didn’t. Not the loud kind, not the prying kind. Just quiet observation, patterns, and pauses. He noticed the things others dismissed: the way your fingers twitched when a voice got too sharp. The way your leg bounces nervously when the room turns tense. The way your eyes never quite met anyone’s after a hard mission.

And most of all, he noticed when you were suddenly gone.

Not physically. Not entirely. Just… hushed. Faded. The kind of gone where your seat at the table was still warm, your plate barely touched. The kind of gone where you stopped making eye contact, stopped breathing deep, stopped existing in the room even if you were still in it. The kind where your powers were not needed at all to remove your presence from a space.

Then overtime, he learned the different ways you could vanish. And unlike others, he didn’t joke about it. Didn’t push or pull or guilt you back. He just waited. A silent and steady presence to turn to.

The first time it happened, he stood in your doorway for ten full minutes, speaking to the air. Not because he thought it would fix anything. But because he knew what it meant to be terrified, voiceless, and unseen, yet still wanting someone to come find you anyway.

After that, it became a kind of rhythm between you. A quiet understanding. Then, the similarities began to show themselves. You weren’t touchy, and neither was he. Your voice was soft, never one to stand out in a room full of people. He was quiet, selective who he spoke to as he watched more than he engaged. You didn't open up easily. But you know he also struggled to do so as well. And when the world pressed too close and you disappeared into silence, he was the only one who could sit with it without trying to fix you.

It wasn’t romantic, not in the beginning. But it was intimate.

In the moments you let yourself be visible, Bucky saw you in ways no one else did. The slight tilt of your lips when you made a dry joke. The way you tilted your head when you were curious, and the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, even if it wasn’t at you. He never made it a big deal. Never made you feel small, insecure, or unworthy. Not even when you couldn’t quite express how you felt and never for existing.

He just noticed. And remembered.

So when your door clicked shut, and you didn’t speak, didn’t eat, didn’t check in? He knew. Because this man had memorized both your presence and absence like a shadow. It was what led him behind your door now, knocking three times. Three simple, soft taps. The kind that asked for permission, not attention.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Doll?” His voice was soft, the edge of gravel worn down into silk. “I know you’re in here.”

Still, you stayed quiet. Hidden. Gone.

The door creaked open. He didn’t turn the lights on. He didn’t need them to know you were there. Sometimes you cursed his super soldier hearing.

“I saw you leave the training room without speaking to anyone. That’s not like you.”

There was no accusation in his voice. Just concern. Measured, careful concern. He stepped in further, and you saw the glint of metal catch the moonlight through your window.

“I know what it’s like,” He said after a long pause. “To want the whole world to stop seeing you. To disappear because it’s safer that way.”

You turned your head slightly, though you weren’t sure why. He still couldn’t see you. No one could.

“I used to hide,” He continued. “Behind orders. Behind missions. Behind… the Soldier.”

The reference hit the air with a dull ache. He sat down on the floor, not too close, but close enough.

“I’m not sure what happened. Maybe I never will. But I know you don’t have to be alone.”

You heard a quiet rustle before spotting his hand reaching out, palm up, resting between you both.

“I won’t touch you. I won’t even look, unless you want me to. Just know I’ll be here.”

Your breath hitched. Not because of the panic, but because of him. He stayed yet again. You still can’t get used to it, like somehow you’ve convinced yourself you’re not worth it.

But minutes passed, maybe an hour or more. Who knows. Bucky had learned the hard way how to sit with silence. How to let it breathe instead of trying to fill it. How sometimes just being there meant more than any words.

But slowly, carefully, you let the invisibility fade. Like dust in sunlight. Your fingers, trembling and pale, reached out and barely brushed his.

His hand didn’t move. Instead, you heard his voice, gentle and soft.

“There you are,” Bucky whispered, a ghost of a smile upon his face.

Something in his chest loosened. Not relief exactly, but… a sense of trust. Pride almost. You trusted him enough to come back, to be seen.

Because for the first time all day, you weren’t afraid. You weren’t alone nor unseen. He had stayed there, grounding you.

Your voice didn’t answer him, not out loud. You didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned just a little closer, the barest shift of weight, but he felt it. You were still trembling, but you weren’t hiding. Not from him.

He turned his palm so his fingers could wrap lightly around yours. Not tight. Just enough to remind you he was there.

“I know the world feels like too much sometimes,” He began quietly. “I don’t blame you for disappearing. I used to want to do it all the time. Hell, I did.”

He gave a short, hollow laugh; no humor, just memory.

“When I first came here, I kept thinking: If I can just vanish, if I can just keep still enough, no one will look at me like I’m broken. Like I’m dangerous. Like I’m one bad memory away from snapping.”

You shifted. Still silent, but listening. He could feel it.

“I saw that same look in your eyes today. Like you were made of glass and someone was swinging a hammer.”

The grip of your hand tightened slightly.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened. Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want. But if you need someone who gets it, you know I’m here.”

He tilted his head toward you, careful to keep his movements soft.

“No pressure,” He said quickly, a beat of hesitation filling the space before he added. “Just… if you ever wanna disappear, let me be the one who waits with you in the silence.”

A pause. Then, barely above a whisper:

“Okay.” You nodded. It was tiny, fragile; but Bucky felt it like a damn earthquake.

You didn’t let go of his hand, and he didn’t move an inch.

He doesn’t try to fix you. He just stays. Listens. Waits. And somehow, in a world that seems to forget you're there the moment you vanish, you're still seen. Completely, quietly, without question, because of the way he notices.

Oops, I Joined a Cult Again

Summary: You joined a cult. That’s it. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)

Word Count: 900+

A/N: Same as the unhinged/chaotic reader series, supposed to be shorter but then I added more group chat shenanigans. I wanted something quick while I work on other stuff. Sorry if it’s messy. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

Bucky Barnes had one job: watch your back on the infiltration mission.

He didn’t know that meant literally watching you disappear into a torchlit temple deep in the mountains and emerge forty-eight hours later in robes, glowing, smiling cheerfully, and being worshiped as the reincarnation of a snake god.

“They call me The Hissening,” You whispered, eyes far too wide, far too smug.

“I told you not to touch the statue,” Bucky muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as the robed people behind you chanted in perfect sync: “HISSSSSSS.”

-

48 HOURS EARLIER

The briefing was simple. Infiltrate and investigate a rising cult rumored to be a Hydra front. No weapons. No overt powers. In and out.

Naturally, Tony turned to you and said, “You’re on distraction duty. Just… go be yourself.”

You took it as a compliment. It was not.

You and Bucky parachuted into the outskirts of the mountains under cover of night, both in tactical gear. Silent and focused… until you turned to him mid-descent and yelled, “DO YOU THINK CULTS HAVE SNACKS?”

“…What?”

“LIKE HOLY GRAHAM CRACKERS OR- wait, no, Blessed Chex Mix!”

He didn’t respond. He just stared straight ahead, wondering for the millionth time what cosmic punishment he was paying for to be partnered with you on this particular mission.

The problem was never that you were bad at missions. In fact, in combat, you were terrifying. Strategic. Surgical.

But in deep cover? You were yourself, which is how exactly five minutes after entering the temple courtyard, you said:

“Nice snake statue. Can I boop it?”

And when the head priest responded, “Only the Chosen One may lay a finger upon the sacred Fang of Enlightenment,” You touched it immediately, whispered “boop,” and passed out.

When you woke up, glowing faintly with what may have been divine energy (or some type of poisoning), the cult declared you their prophesied leader.

You didn’t correct them.

-

BACK TO PRESENT

Bucky had finally gotten inside. Posing as a new recruit, hood up, mouth shut, inner turmoil vibrating at a ten. He spotted you instantly. You were standing on a golden platform, arms open, and being fanned with palm leaves.

“Hey,” He hissed when he reached you. “Mission. Hydra. Ringing any bells?”

You waved vaguely. “They have really good soup here.”

“This is not the time for soup.”

You nodded solemnly. “There is always time for soup.”

Someone handed you a ceremonial staff. You took it. It was sparkly.

You then whispered to Bucky, “So here’s the thing… I might’ve said we should cleanse our enemies in a fire of spiritual rebirth. Which they interpreted as actual fire. So, like… maybe be cool about that.”

He blinked at you.

“You started a holy war, didn’t you.”

You smiled brightly. “Only a small one.”

That night, under cover of darkness, the two of you escaped; you still in full ceremonial garb, Bucky dragging you by the elbow while you shouted goodbye to your “disciples.”

One of them threw a snake at you in farewell. You caught it. You named it Gary.

Steve, upon your return, asked what happened.

You saluted and said, “I was a god for three days and it changed me. Also I have this soup recipe now.” You handed him a scroll. When he opened it, it was blank.

Bucky looked at you, exhausted, covered in ash, a little bruised, holding a snake in one hand and your glitter-covered robes in the other.

“…You are the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me,” He said.

You winked. “But I’m your weirdo.”

“Yeah, you are.”

-

Bonus Debriefing.

Group Chat:

Tony: Okay, so. Roll call. Who let them start a religion??

Clint: AGAIN?!?

Sam: Are we seriously ignoring the snake?? Why does she still have the snake?

You: his name is Gary, he chose me

Bucky: The snake did not choose you. You caught him and said “I am your mother now.”

You: and he accepted me

Wanda: Did you eat something weird again? The last time you said a goat “chose you” we had to evacuate a whole town.

Steve: Back up. How did we go from “infiltrate Hydra cult” to “being crowned a divine prophet of the hiss age”?

Bucky: Because she touched the sacred artifact. While they were giving a warning not to.

You: i wanted to boop it 🐍✨

Bruce: [Image attached: Security cam still of you dramatically booping a snake statue and passing out like a Victorian child seeing ankles.]

Tony: Okay but why are you glowing in this?

You: i think I absorbed a minor god

Sam: Define “minor.”

You: likeee a demi-snake. A snack god

Bucky: You said, quote: “Let the hiss of salvation whisper in your soul or something.”

Tony: You started preaching???

You: they gave me a podium! what else was I supposed to do? NOT use it!?

Natasha: …Yes?

Clint: wait, so did we ever find out if the cult was a Hydra front or…

Steve: Nope. She gave a sermon and declared Bucky her “divine enforcer.”

Bucky: Yeah. Still mad about that.

You: srry Prophet Punchy

Tony: We are never letting you go on recon again.

Bruce: I still want to know how you pulled off a glowing aura with no tech or magic.

You: I ate three glowsticks on accident.

Wanda: …

Steve: …

Bucky: This is not a joke. I watched it happen.

You: I thought they were minty tubes.

Sam: Was anyone else weirdly inspired by her speech though?

Steve: Sam.

Sam: I’m just saying I felt something 🐍

Bucky: I felt betrayal and secondhand shame.

You: don’t worry guys, the cult disbanded peacefully. i left them a doctrine :)

Tony: A what.

You: [Image attached: Crayon drawing of a snake with sunglasses saying “BE NICE. EAT SOUP. HISS IF THREATENED.”]

Bruce: This is shockingly coherent.

Clint: I hate how effective it is.

Thor: I would like to join this religion. It seems wise. HISS.

[Thor has been muted again.]

Lazy Morning

Summary: Snuggled up between your loving boyfriends, you listen quietly as they argue over who is the better cook. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 300+

A/N: I am basically using this as an introductory to more Stucky content without the age regression. I’ve done many with just Bucky x reader, so I am honestly not sure why I haven’t thought of this sooner. Steve would accuse me of playing favorites… (ᵕ•_•)

Main Masterlist

You woke up slowly, the soft warmth of Steve and Bucky's bodies pressed on either side of you. Their steady breathing and the sound of their murmurs wrapped you in a cocoon of safety and comfort. The morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, casting a gentle glow on the room, but you were content just being there, between them. No missions. No battles to be fought. Just them.

Bucky shifted first, stretching lazily and groaning. "I’m tellin' ya, Stevie, I make way better pancakes than you."

Steve, already awake, chuckled softly. "You really want to start this again? You burn them every time."

"I do not!" Bucky shot back, his voice filled with playful offense. "They’re crispy, not burnt. There's a difference."

You suppressed a smile, keeping your eyes closed as you snuggled deeper into the blankets, enjoying the familiar rhythm of their playful banter. They had been doing this for months now, arguing over the most trivial things, and yet it always ended in laughter.

Steve let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly amused. "Sure, sure, Buck. Crispy like charcoal. You know, the kind you can’t even put syrup on without it crumbling."

“Better than your soggy mess,” Bucky retorted. “The secret is in the flip.”

You couldn’t help it anymore. A tiny giggle escaped from your lips, betraying the fact that you were awake. Steve turned his head slightly, smiling down at you.

“See? Told you they’re awake.” His voice was soft, warm, full of affection.

Bucky, ever the tease, leaned closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Oh, so you’re just gonna let me and him fight over breakfast, huh? Come on, you gotta choose. Who’s the better cook?”

You turned your head slightly to meet his mischievous gaze, then looked at Steve, who was giving you that calm, almost too innocent smile.

"I don’t know," You said playfully, your voice still thick with sleep. "But whoever makes breakfast better today gets the first kiss."

Both men froze. Bucky blinked, a grin slowly forming. "Oh, I see how it is. I can work with that."

Steve’s eyes sparkled with competitive fire. “Challenge accepted."

You laughed softly, content and grateful to have both of them by your side, even as they bickered over something as simple as breakfast. There was no place you’d rather be than sandwiched between them on a lazy morning.

In Every Form, You Still Saw Me

Summary: As a shapeshifter, you often shift into someone else for missions, laughs, or what others want. However, you start shifting to make one man who sees you for you, smile. You learn how he yearns for the true you no matter how scary it feels to be yourself. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to shapeshift. Sort of pining for each other.

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: It’s so fun writing for Readers with different abilities. I wonder which power I could try next. Also, I think this is the longest work I’ve done yet. If you liked “The Way He Notices”, you might like this!

You weren’t born with your powers. You woke up with them after a freak accident during your childhood. It had left you comatose for three days and with no control over your own face when you came to.

You could shapeshift, but it wasn’t pretty at first. Reflexive transformations, triggered by emotion or proximity. Someone made you laugh? You morphed into them. Someone yelled at you? You wore their angry face. It was chaos until you finally got a hold of them.

When you first joined the team, Tony Stark dubbed you "Copycat" until you threatened to turn into Pepper and start signing contracts in her name. The nickname didn’t stick after that.

But Bucky? He always called you by your name. Even when you shifted. Even when your skin wasn’t yours and your voice belonged to someone else. He never flinched, never made a joke, never looked away in discomfort like the others sometimes did.

Maybe that’s what started it.

That quiet, steady way he treated you like you were solid. Real. Like you weren’t just some flickering mirage of other people’s identities.

Over time, you and Bucky fell into a rhythm. He was blunt; you were sarcastic. He grunted; you rolled your eyes. He brooded in corners; you shapeshifted into Steve just to annoy him. At some point, it stopped being just teasing. Or maybe it didn’t, but the way he started looking at you changed.

Or maybe you changed. Maybe you stopped shifting just to play around. You were careful though, of course. Always careful. He didn’t like surprises, didn’t like people messing with his head, and you knew how close your powers came to crossing that line. But you started shifting because you wanted to know what might make him smile.

There was something different about Bucky’s smile. It wasn’t the wide, toothy grin you saw from Sam or the sarcastic half-smirk you got from Tony. No, Bucky’s smile was the kind that crept up on you. A slight tug of his lips, something quiet, almost like a secret. It was the smile of a man who didn’t trust easily, who didn’t share his joy unless he was sure it was real. But when it came, when you made him laugh, genuinely, there was something almost intoxicating about it.

You didn’t understand why at first. Maybe it was the way he’d become so guarded, so emotionally distant after all that had happened to him. You saw him in ways the others didn’t: the small furrows in his brow when his mind wandered to the past, the way his eyes would harden when people mentioned Hydra, or how his posture would stiffen when someone still called him "The Winter Soldier" behind his back. Because, he’d become more than just a soldier, more than the guy with the metal arm. He was a man who was constantly carrying the weight of the past on his shoulders.

But when you made him smile… it was like the weight lifted, even just for a second. It was a flicker of hope, an acknowledgment that underneath it all, Bucky Barnes still had the ability to feel something real.

And you didn’t mind being the one who brought that out.

It started as harmless fun. A playful game. You’d shift into Sam, mock his attempts at being a "serious" soldier, exaggerating his speech, his hand gestures. You’d throw in the occasional “You good, Buck?” just to hear Bucky’s exasperated sigh. The first time it worked, Bucky had grunted, shaking his head in mock annoyance, but then that little smile crept across his face.

“Alright, alright, I get it. You think you’re funny,” He had muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, but the tension in his shoulders had loosened.

It was enough. It was always enough for you to want to do it again, to see that smile once more, to know that maybe, just maybe, you were the one who could make him feel light, even if it was for just a moment.

Then there was another day you shifted into Natasha, just to show off a little during sparring. You were better than you gave yourself credit for, and Bucky never failed to push you to improve. But this time, you took it up a notch. You copied her form, her speed, the way she moved with deadly precision, and you could see it in Bucky’s eyes as he watched. It was a sense of admiration mixed with surprise. And if you were being honest with yourself, a hint of something deeper.

"You're really trying to piss her off, huh?" He had joked as you took a jab at him, mirroring Natasha’s infamous fighting style.

You paused, lowering your stance, your eyes shifting back to yourself for a just second. The rush of power you felt from the change, the way you could tap into anyone’s skill, anyone’s identity, it was like you were borrowing their strengths. But when Bucky’s eyes softened, when he gave that little chuckle, you felt something else, something that wasn’t about power at all.

Quite frankly, you never really thought about your powers in the same way the others did. To most of the team, shapeshifting was just another tool in the arsenal. It was useful for infiltration, misdirection, and the occasional prank. But to you, it was something far more personal. More fragile. Every time you morphed into someone, deep down, you felt a part of yourself slip away. A mask over your real face, a shield to hide behind, a way to slip through the cracks unnoticed. You'd never been sure of who you were without the transformation, until you realized how real it felt to see Bucky’s reactions when you did.

You realized over time there was something in his eyes when you morphed back to your own face briefly, something that you couldn’t quite place. You were used to being invisible or someone else, used to people ignoring you or pretending you weren’t there when you didn’t fit their expectations. But Bucky didn’t do that. He just… watched. Like he was studying you, trying to figure out the hidden parts of you that you kept locked away.

It felt almost safe in a strange way. Some would say creepy, but you knew him better than that. It was an odd realization. With Bucky, you didn’t feel like you were performing. Because truly, when you shapeshifted into someone else, it was no longer about escaping yourself or following orders. It was about finding a way to connect with him.

You didn’t mind looking silly in front of him. Actually, you kind of liked it. There was something about making him laugh that made your chest flutter, like you were finally being seen for something more than your powers, more than a stranger in someone else’s skin. You weren’t playing a role, you were just… you. And Bucky smiled.

But there were times when it hit you hard. When you realized you were holding on to those smiles like they were the only thing that kept you grounded. And it terrified you. Because making Bucky smile felt like your own fragile version of normal. But what if you lost that? What if one day, he saw through you? Would you be able to stand, knowing you weren’t just the shapeshifter who made him laugh, but the person behind the masks?

You tried to focus on the feelings, the lightness you got when you saw Bucky react. You used your powers to make him smile, forget about his troubles, because in those moments, you could forget about hiding. And maybe that was enough for now.

The trouble was, you knew it couldn’t stay like this. Sooner or later, you'd have to show him the real you, all of you, without a mask, without someone else’s form to hide behind. And when that day came, you weren’t sure whether he’d still smile.

But for now, you'd keep shifting. Keep playing the game. Because as long as Bucky looked at you with those eyes so curious, attentive, and just a little bit warmer than usual; it felt like you were finally getting a glimpse of the real you too.

Until then, he’ll continue to think this is just a game. And you will continue to pretend that it didn’t hurt to hide behind other people’s faces.

—

The lounge was quiet, the way it always became after midnight. Most of the team had long gone to their quarters, the lights dimmed to a soft amber. Outside the tower windows, New York glittered in silence. Alive, but far away.

Bucky sat on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other cradling a glass of water. He looked tired, in that way he always did after missions where too many things exploded and too many people screamed. He wasn’t injured, at least not on the outside, but he hadn’t said much since coming back.

You had a habit of finding him during moments like these. You padded in barefoot, wearing the appearance of someone else. You’d slipped into it earlier out of habit, mostly to annoy Sam in the elevator. But when Bucky’s tired eyes met yours across the room, the faint lift of his brow said he wasn’t in the mood.

“You gonna sit, or keep pretending to be someone else?” He asked, voice low and dry.

You sighed, letting whoever’s frame, it didn’t matter, melt away. Muscles shifted, bones cracked softly beneath your skin as you returned to your natural form. One you rarely wore when anyone else was around. You always thought of it as your “in-between” face. Not as striking as Wanda, not as symmetrical as Steve. Just… you.

Bucky’s eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than usual.

You walked over, dropping onto the cushion beside him and pulling your legs up beneath you.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed you an extra water bottle from the coffee table. You took it, your fingers brushing his metal ones briefly.

“Rough mission?” You asked, softly.

He gave a faint nod. “Yeah. But I’m used to it.”

You looked at him sidelong. “Still. I get it. I had to shift into some sleazy arms dealer in front of a bunch of actual criminals. I swear one of them winked at me.”

He huffed a short laugh, the sound sharp and unexpected. “Bet he regretted that.”

“I may have broken his nose with a champagne bottle. In heels.”

He gave you a look. “You’re way too comfortable wearing other people’s faces.”

“Comes with the job.” You gave a weak smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Besides… nobody wants to see mine anyway.”

The words slipped out too fast, too quiet. You hadn’t meant to say them.

Bucky went still.

You immediately tried to cover it up. To deflect, twist, joke, anything at all. So, you shifted again.

But this time… it wasn’t Natasha, Steve, Sam, or anyone else on the team.

It was you. The true you.

The version of yourself that was curled up in bed at 2 a.m. The version that existed without expectation. The one who watched Bucky when he wasn’t looking and imagined what it would feel like to hold his hand, just once.

And with that form came your voice, your real voice.

“You know…I care for you, Bucky,” It said, trembling, unsure. “More than I should. I like you.”

There was a pause. Too long. Too exposed. You started to shift again, panic rising, ready to bury the moment beneath another borrowed face, another safe joke.

But his hand caught yours.

“You always do that,” He said quietly.

Your breath caught. “Do what?”

“Hide when it’s really you.”

The world slowed. Your skin flickered, unstable for a second, but he squeezed your hand gently, grounding you.

“I don’t want Natasha. Or Steve. Or anybody else,” He said. “I want you. The real you. Even if you’re scared, because I like you too.”

Your breath hitched, you couldn’t look at him at first. Could barely breathe. But when you did, really looked, you didn’t see pity. Or regret. Or fear.

You saw recognition. Love. Unexpected and unconditional warmth as he smiled.

“Besides,” Bucky added, softer now, “If I have to keep watching you flirt with me using Sam’s face, I might actually throw myself off the roof.”

You laughed, startled, and leaned into him without thinking.

This time, you didn’t shift. The room was quieter now, save for the soft hum of the city below. You sat close to Bucky on the couch, the space between you barely noticeable. His warmth radiated against your side, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a grounding presence in the stillness of the night. You hadn’t noticed how tense you’d been until the tension was gone.

His hand was still wrapped around yours, loosely, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he held on too tightly. You couldn’t blame him; you’d spent so long hiding behind someone else, never fully revealing all of yourself to anyone.

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for a while you know,” Bucky said, his voice low and casual, as if he was talking about the weather. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and the simple gesture made your heart stutter in your chest.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool despite the warmth flooding your face. “Waiting for me to… what?”

“To stop pretending. To stop hiding behind someone else’s face.”

A small, uncomfortable laugh slipped from you, but you didn’t pull away. “Guess I’m not good at being me.”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he turned to face you more fully. There was no teasing in his gaze now, no sharp edge to his words. “You’re not the only one, you know,” He said quietly, as if sharing a secret. “I’ve spent more than half my life pretending to be something I’m not. Something I hate. But I’m not that guy anymore.” His voice dropped an octave, almost a whisper. “And you don’t have to be anyone else around me, either.”

You blinked at him, your breath catching in your throat. There was something so raw, so real in his voice. The same kind of vulnerability you had been hiding for so long. You found yourself leaning a little closer, drawn in by the strength of his words, the sincerity of his presence.

“Then… why’d you wait for me?” You had to ask, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I—" You hesitated, unsure how to express what had been swirling in your chest for so long. "I’ve never exactly made it easy for you to see the real me.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though his eyes remained serious. “Maybe I’m stubborn, maybe I looked forward to your jokes,” He said, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path over your hand. “Or maybe I saw the real you long before you did.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest. “I…” You stop yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat. You didn’t know how to say the words you’d been bottling up for so long. How do you tell someone that, for the first time in your life, you were willing to be seen? That you weren’t afraid of him looking too closely?

Bucky squeezed your hand gently, as if he understood the inner turmoil you were going through. He could probably see it on your expression, your face. “You don’t have to explain. Not to me.”

He leaned forward just slightly, his face a little too close for comfort, but you didn’t pull back. Instead, you held your breath, waiting for the next moment. Wondering if you were about to fall into some quiet oblivion or if you’d be able to navigate this fragile space between you and him.

His gaze dropped to your lips for a split second, then back to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” He asked with a sense of nervousness that could be seen as cute; his voice barely more than a murmur.

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

And then, for the first time in your life, you accepted the idea of letting yourself be seen. Not as anyone else nor what others want of you, but as you. Just you.

Bucky’s lips brushed against yours softly, hesitantly, as if testing the waters. But the kiss deepened almost immediately, the tension between you melting away. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you in closer, and you didn’t fight it. You didn’t want to fight it.

It was just the two of you now. The past, the masks, the fears—all of it felt so far away. It was just Bucky, and it was just you.

When the kiss finally broke, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathless, sharing the same space in a way that felt simple and true.

“I’ve been waiting for you too,” You admitted, your voice shaky with the emotions flooding you.

Bucky’s chuckle was low and soft. “I figured as much.” He gave your hand another gentle squeeze before pulling you into his side, his arm wrapped around you like he’d been doing it for years.

“You know,” He said after a beat, voice muffled as his chin rested on your head, “I think you’ll get used to being yourself more often. It just takes time.”

You nodded, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart against yours. For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the need to hide.

And in that quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that maybe being seen wasn’t so scary after all.

Bonus:

It was a typical debriefing in the common area, probably weeks later. You and Bucky were sitting side by side on one of the couches, trying to maintain the illusion of a professional team meeting. The problem? You couldn’t stop smiling.

You were sitting closer than usual, your legs brushing under the table. A soft, knowing look passed between you and Bucky whenever your eyes met. Neither of you were saying anything out loud, but there was a certain… tension in the air.

Steve, who was in the middle of explaining the next mission’s details, glanced over at you and Bucky. Something was off, and Steve had a knack for noticing subtle changes.

“You two okay?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re acting… weird.”

Bucky looked up, his usual serious expression never faltering. “What do you mean ‘weird’?” He replied, though his tone was a little too defensive.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Steve’s eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint appearing. “You two seem… a little too comfortable.” He leaned forward. “You’re not…” he motioned vaguely with his hands, “…you know, getting close or anything?”

You felt a flush creeping up your neck and quickly busied yourself with your water bottle. But Bucky, ever the stoic, didn’t flinch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cap,” Bucky said, shrugging nonchalantly. “We’re just here for the mission.”

You, however, were a little less composed. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, we’re just… listening.” You floundered for words.

Steve raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, and then his eyes flicked to Clint, who had been watching the exchange with far too much interest.

Clint, ever the instigator, grinned widely. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say.” He turned to Sam, who was pretending to be absorbed in his phone but was clearly eavesdropping. “Hey, Sam, did you notice how Bucky's been looking at her lately?” He clearly gestured to you.

Sam smirked, lowering his phone just enough to catch your eye. “Oh, I’ve noticed. Definitely noticed.”

"Whoa, whoa," You said quickly, leaning back in your seat, but Clint wasn’t letting up.

“Nope, nope. I definitely saw that look. The one where he actually smiles when no one else is looking. Bucky smiling. We’re all witnesses to this. He’s gone soft,” Clint teased, turning to Steve with an exaggerated gasp. “This wasn't what I expected from the brooding sergeant. A romantic at heart? Who knew?”

You buried your face in your hands, trying not to laugh despite the embarrassment spreading across your face.

“Clint, shut up,” Bucky muttered, but he couldn’t help the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Does that mean we should start calling you ‘Casanova’ from now on?” Sam quipped, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

“Guys, stop,” You blurted, though your voice cracked, betraying the calm act. “We’re not-“

“Well, it sounds like you two are,” Clint interrupted. “You’re over there being all cute and whispering to each other like you’re plotting to steal all of Tony’s suits.” He turned to Bucky with a grin. “Bucky, are you sure she’s not just in it for the tech? You know, she could get into the suits and—”

“Clint,” Bucky growled, his face flushed. You could see the gears turning in his head, trying to keep his cool. You knew this was far from over, and you weren’t sure whether to laugh or hide in a closet.

“Well, this is awkward,” Tony’s voice rang out suddenly, cutting through the banter. He had appeared in the doorway, completely unaware of what had been happening. “What did I miss?”

“We were just talking about Bucky’s secret love life,” Clint said with a gleam in his eye. “I have all the details, Tony. Want the rundown?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to you and Bucky, then back to Clint. “Oh, so this is happening now, huh?”

You groaned and stood up quickly, holding your hands out in surrender. “Okay, okay. You got us. We’re together. Happy?”

Bucky just leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, trying to look unfazed but failing miserably as the team erupted in teasing applause.

“Finally,” Steve said with a relieved sigh. “I was starting to think I’d have to play matchmaker.”

Sam slapped Bucky on the back. “About time you stopped brooding and did something about it.”

You shot Bucky a look, and he smirked, shrugging helplessly. “I guess I couldn’t keep it a secret forever.”

Tony clapped his hands together, a playful glint in his eye. “Alright, now that we’ve got the romantic drama out of the way, anyone want to help me with this new project? I need someone who doesn't spend their time making out in the common room.”

You felt your face heat up, but Bucky just chuckled, leaning back against the couch, looking much more at ease than he had in weeks.

And you? You might have been embarrassed, but you couldn’t help but smile. There was something oddly comforting or satisfying about the team finding out. Maybe it was because you knew you didn’t have to hide anymore. You didn’t have to hide your love for the man who loves you more than anything or anyone you could become. And that, in itself, was worth all the teasing.

Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron

Summary: Exploring more of your relationship and dynamics with the rest of the Avengers, they are well-acquainted with how much whiplash and how many headaches you give them on a daily. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: The other going on dates fic didn’t have enough unhinged questionable reader for me. And to be honest….I didn’t like it as much as the prequel. So! I wrote this to cheer me up and feed my need for dumb & genius reader. Purely self-indulgent but hopefully you like it too. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | Original Fic

Being an Avenger came with certain expectations. Tactical prowess. Cool one-liners. Teamwork. A mild-to-moderate understanding of physics.

You had exactly none of that. And yet, you were thriving.

You had taken on aliens, mercenaries, HYDRA agents, and that one time, an actual raccoon with a vendetta. You once guessed the password to a SHIELD vault on the first try by inputting “boob69.” It worked. Nobody ever explained why. You were untouchable.

But nothing broke the team more than the group chat.

It had been a standard team communication channel at first: briefings, updates, emergency alerts. Then you joined and everything fell apart.

-

GROUP CHAT: “Earth’s Mightiest Dumbasses”

Tony: Meeting in the conference room at 9 A.M. sharp.

You: what’s 9 AM in frog time

Natasha: What does that mean?

You: like if a frog wears a watch is the time upside down

Tony: Please, I’m begging you to just answer the question like a normal person.

You: normal is a strong word

-

You once sent a photo of a pigeon wearing a hat with the caption “me when I infiltrate enemy lines.” No one questioned it. Mostly because they couldn’t.

After all, you’re the same person who confidently gave a TED Talk about the strategic history of medieval siege warfare mid-mission while wearing Crocs. The same person who once said, “Vibranium tastes like disappointment,” and then refused to elaborate. You somehow manage to both ace every debrief but also once asked if Wi-Fi is just helpful air soup.

Thor called you “small thunder” after you electrocuted yourself trying to microwave aluminum “as a science experiment.” You did not have lightning powers. It was just dumb luck. And you’d do it again.

-

GROUP CHAT:

Clint: who the hell labeled all the fridge items in latin?

You: idk man maybe someone wants you to be cultured

Bucky: You labeled the eggs, “Future ankle peckers, do not anger them”

You: ...and have you been attacked? no? you’re welcome.

-

Bucky still doesn't understand you. Not even a little.

And a lot of times, that haunts him.

He watches you eat hot sauce straight from the bottle like it's a health tonic, quote Shakespeare when you’re tired, and wear mismatched crocs into certain battles because "they're my war shoes." One has a tiny sword glued to it.

You once looked him dead in the eye and said, “I wasn’t born. I was assembled in a Target parking lot during a thunderstorm.”

And then walked away.

He’s been thinking about it for months.

Another time you brought him a bag of gummy worms, patted his head, and said, “For when the depression demons attack.”

Despite all your nonsense, he can’t stop looking at you like you hung the moon with glitter glue and then ate half of it because that brand “smelled like frosting.”

He had tried to pretend you’re a nuisance at first, shaking his head and sighing at some of your antics. But it’s all morphed to reluctant acceptance of the fact that he’ll have to live with so many unanswered questions. That doesn’t stop him from taking care of you though.

He brings you hot chocolate after missions. He makes sure you’re behind him when it gets dangerous. He drags you out of fountains you jump into because you wanted to know what the regals birds like about it. He even downloaded TikTok just to understand your references.

One time you disappeared in the Tower. For five hours.

He found you in the broom closet, sitting cross-legged with three Roombas, wearing a crown made of forks.

“They know secrets,” You whispered. “I’m learning their ways.”

Bucky blinked.

“…I brought you pizza.”

You gasped. “I knew the prophecy would come true.”

-

GROUP CHAT:

Steve: Can someone explain what this is?

Image attached: You in a vent near the ceiling wearing a bad ghost outfit like a cursed Halloween decoration, eating Cheez-Its.

You: surveillance

Steve: Why…

You: i wanted to know what Bucky does when I’m not looking

Bucky: They’ve been up there for 6 hours. I offered help. They hissed at me.

-

Despite it all, you were deadly in the field.

You’d spout off the periodic table in the middle of a fistfight, pull off gravity-defying stunts “because I saw it in a cartoon once,” and solve encrypted Hydra codes in 30 seconds, all while questioning if Mickey Mouse and his friends ever had to pay rent to live in the Mickey Mouse clubhouse.

Bucky, your begrudgingly loving boyfriend, no longer reacts when you do things like wear medieval armor to a stealth op for morale reasons or quote Shrek during hostage negotiations. He just quietly takes your hand and steers you away before you lick anything radioactive.

Steve once asked why you were on a mission wearing roller skates. You said, “Speed and style, Cap,” then crashed directly into a vending machine and pulled out a single uncrushed Twix with solemn reverence.

Tony called you “the human embodiment of a broken Google search.” Wanda called you “a mystery I’ve chosen not to solve.” Natasha just called you “terrifying.”

Because for every baffling thing you did, like calling her “Mom” during a sniper stakeout because “you give off stern PTA energy”, you turned around and cracked encrypted intel before Bruce finished making coffee.

Once, in a mission briefing, Rhodey asked, “Wait, wasn’t the Hindenburg caused by a gas explosion?” and you, dead serious, replied, “Who’s the Hindenburg? That sounds like a guy who collects teeth.”

Everyone went dead silent.

Sam just nodded slowly and said, “Right, okay. Yeah, cool. This is the part where I stop paying attention.”

Nobody could figure you out.

Bruce once ran 14 psychological profiles on you. None of them matched. One came back as possibly a goat in human form.

Clint swears you once explained string theory using sock puppets and a waffle. And it made sense.

-

GROUP CHAT:

Tony: I’m updating the security protocol. Everyone needs to re-register their biosignatures.

You: what if I am a security risk

Tony: You are. Absolutely. Every day. In every way.

You: then I win

Natasha: What did you win?

You: You’ll see 😈

Tony: I have forgotten what peace feels like anymore.

-

You called yourself “The Distractinator” in combat.

Enemies didn’t know what to do with you. Were you a genius? Crazy? Feral? Was that a printer you just threw at their face while quoting Pride and Prejudice?

Yes. To all of it.

And somehow, impossibly, you were everyone’s favorite. Because while you were a chaos gremlin of untold magnitude, you cared.

You noticed when Clint seemed tired and unorthodoxically left snacks in his quiver.

You taught Steve how to use TikTok but made sure to curate only dog videos and motivational frog memes.

You convinced Bucky he could wear purple and look amazing. He does now. Regularly.

You helped Tony fix a faulty AI loop by accident while trying to build “a blender that screams.”

You’re not just a part of the team. You’re the emotional support cryptid.

And no matter how many explosions you cause with your “experiments,” or how many philosophical debates you start about whether lasagna is a cake, the Avengers wouldn’t trade you for the world.

…Though Tony did try to sell you to the X-Men once.

It didn’t work.

They sent you back with a fruit basket and a strongly worded letter.

A Place They Call Home

Summary: You, a regular person with no powers, become a quiet, comforting presence in Steve’s and Bucky’s lives. They slowly form a deep, romantic bond with you built on quiet moments, mutual care, and unspoken understanding. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 700+

Main Masterlist

You weren’t part of their world, not really. Not in the way most people defined it. No powers, no enhanced serum in your blood, no combat training etched into your muscles. You didn’t fly, or punch through walls, or wear a suit of armor. But somehow, you’d become just as necessary as any shield or weapon.

You met Steve first years ago, back when everything still felt a little raw after one of his missions. You were a barista then, tucked into a cozy corner café just off one of the quieter streets of the city. He came in looking like the ghost of a time long gone, polite to a fault, his smile more habit than warmth. You served him chamomile the first time he walked in and a honeyed espresso the second. By the third visit, he remembered your name. By the fifth, he asked if he could sit near the back, away from the windows. He said it was for the quiet. You didn’t press.

Then came Bucky.

Rough edges and distant eyes. The first time he walked into the café, Steve stood up instinctively like a soldier ready to meet a comrade in arms. You noticed the way Bucky’s eyes flicked over every exit, every reflective surface. The way his hands, always gloved, never truly relaxed. You didn’t say much that day, just placed his coffee on the table with a gentle, “No charge. First one’s always free.” You caught the twitch of his lips. Almost a smile. Almost.

They started coming together after that. Sometimes they’d stay until closing, long after the last customer left, helping you clean tables or fix the flickering light in the storeroom. You never asked them for anything. Maybe that was why they kept coming back.

You didn’t mean to become their safe place.

It started in little moments. Steve would bring you books he thought you’d like. Bucky would fix your broken sink without asking. You’d find yourself cooking too much food and pretending you hadn’t expected them to show up. When the nights grew long and cold, they stayed longer. When the world felt too loud, too harsh, too damn fast, they found themselves in your apartment above the café, Bucky curled into the corner of your couch like he was hiding from the world, Steve softly reading aloud from whatever book he could find on your shelves. You never minded.

You became a routine. A quiet rhythm. The world outside buzzed with chaos, but here, in your apartment lit by mismatched lamps and warmed by the scent of cinnamon and dust, everything stilled. There were nights when neither of them said a word, and yet none of you wanted to leave. Just the soft click of a record player, your hand brushing against Steve’s when you passed him a cup of tea, the way Bucky’s posture would finally relax when he fell asleep on the couch.

You didn’t know when it changed.

Maybe it was the night you found Bucky asleep in your bed, not because he’d planned to be there, but because you’d offered, gently, when he couldn’t stop shaking. Maybe it was the way Steve held your hand after you fell asleep watching an old film, fingers laced like he’d been waiting a lifetime to touch you. Or maybe it was the morning you woke up wedged between both of them on your too-small couch, their heartbeats steady, anchoring you to something real and lasting.

One night, you found yourself dancing in the kitchen. No music, no occasion. Just soft light, leftover pasta cooling on the stove, and Steve’s hand in yours. Bucky leaned against the counter, watching with a fondness he didn’t bother to hide. When he stepped in to join, Steve only smiled, and you felt something shift in the air, like all three of you had silently agreed on something unspoken. Something fragile and deeply needed.

“I never thought peace would look like this,” Steve whispered, forehead resting against yours.

“I didn’t think I deserved it,” Bucky added, his voice quiet from behind you as his arm slid around your waist.

But he did. All three of you did.

And in that tiny kitchen, warm with heart and memory, you realized something simple but powerful: they didn’t come to you because they needed saving.

They came to you because, with you, they were already home.

The Side That Noticed

Summary: After being kidnapped, you resist at first by giving them the silent treatment, wary of your captor’s friendliness. However, their subtle kindness, attention, and respect slowly chip away at your defenses; leaving you questioning where you truly belong.

Disclaimer: ANGST, Mentions/Alludes of Kidnapping aftermath.

Word Count: 2k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

They didn’t come in with threats. No electric shocks. No screaming demands. Just a door that opened with a soft click and a chair across from yours.

The man who sat across from you wasn’t in tactical gear. He wore dark slacks, a black sweater. Not unlike someone who might’ve passed you in the Tower lobby. He smiled like he already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

“You were with the Avengers for how long?”

You didn’t answer. You moved your gaze back down, not even looking at him.

“Certainly long enough to know where the mission reports were stored. Long enough to predict patterns in deployment rotations. Long enough to keep the Tower from burning down with its own disorganization.”

He leaned forward slightly. Not threatening. Not close. Just… present.

“But not long enough,” He added, “for any of them to remember your birthday.”

That made you flinch, just slightly. And he noticed. You hated that he noticed. He didn’t press the moment though. He didn’t need to.

“They talk about being a team,” He continued after a pause. “A family. But families don’t let people like you walk out the door unnoticed.”

You clenched your jaw. The silence between you curled tight.

“You kept them alive more times than you probably realize,” He added, tapping the table once. “And they never even learned your name.”

Still, you didn’t speak. And still, he didn’t stop.

“That report you corrected on Sokovia’s evac timeline?” He said. “Saved twenty-seven lives. And that comms system update you suggested but didn’t get credit for? We used it. Works better for us, too.”

You looked up at him then, and he smiled like he’d won something.

“You were never invisible,” He said. “Just standing in the wrong light.”

Even though you didn’t grace him with a response, he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he presented you with a terminal. No shackles. No threats. Just a system full of flaws you could fix with one hand tied behind your back.

You didn’t touch it the first time it was offered. You stared at it with your fingers curled tight in your lap and your spine straight, refusing to lean forward. The screen glowed a soft blue. It was familiar, not unlike the ones you'd sat in front of back at the Tower. But here, it felt wrong. Even if no one had tied you down, it still felt like a trap.

So you said nothing, did nothing. And they didn’t push.

The man, he hadn’t given his name, only offered you a shrug and stood. “Suit yourself,” He spoke, easy. Like this was your choice.

When he left, the door clicked closed again. No lock that you could tell, but you knew better.

The next day, they brought coffee. The kind you always got back at the Tower, from that place three blocks over no one else ever remembered. It was stupid that they got it right. It was also… unnerving.

“I figured you were probably tired of the protein bars,” He had said casually, placing the cup down like it was nothing. “Not everyone likes being caged with nutrition paste.”

You stared at the cup in silence then looked away.

“You’re not a prisoner,” He said simply, like it was obvious. “We’re not interested in forcing anyone to work with us. But we do value skill.”

He gestured at the untouched terminal. “And you? You’ve got more than most of them ever realized.”

You’ve yet to give him a proper response, not even blinking at him. Yet, he took the silence in stride.

Before he left, he glanced back and said, “You’d be surprised how many people here were overlooked first.”

That night, you stared at the terminal for three straight hours. Not because you were curious. Not because you wanted to help them. But because… what if it was true? What if all the things they said were things the Avengers just refused to see?

However, you still didn’t open it.

The next day, they brought a chair with better back support. It was stupid. It was small. It was intentional.

“You always sat weird at your desk, looked uncomfortable,” The man said, not unkindly. “Thought you might want something a little better.”

That was the first time something in you cracked, not all the way, but enough to where you looked at him. Really looked at him. And you hated that he was right. You hated that someone had paid attention.

That night, you hesitantly approached the computer and opened the terminal. You didn’t touch anything at first, more so just reading, scrolling, looking. You found various files, patterns, and outlines you could’ve made better in your sleep. And a part of you itched to fix them. You told yourself it was curiosity. Just that and nothing more.

The next day, he didn’t ask you anything. Didn’t comment or show any indication that you finally did something. Imstead, he just handed you a pastry with your coffee. The one you always got on Tuesdays.

“Did you know we used to intercept intel before it even reached your department?” He asked casually. “We'd look at the files and laugh sometimes, because they were such a mess until you rewrote them.”

You didn’t laugh, you just stared. But something in your chest twisted, low and tight. Because you remembered working late and alone. Always alone doing something whether it was reformatting, correcting, or smoothing over data others had fumbled only to watch someone else get all the credit or your work to go unnoticed.

And now, someone finally acknowledged it. They weren’t cruel. They weren’t threatening. They were kind. Kind in the way people are when they want you to stay, not when they want to break you.

And maybe that was worse. Because part of you started wondering, if being good meant being invisible, forgotten, alone…

Then maybe being bad meant finally being valued.

Even if the warmth they offered was manufactured, it was still warmer than the silence the Avengers left behind.

And so, you told yourself the terminal was just a distraction. That fixing their data was no different than solving a crossword in a waiting room. You weren’t joining them. You were… coping. Keeping your mind sharp and staying sane.

But soon enough, someone left a stylus beside the terminal, one of those nice ones that were weighted and smooth and happened to be the kind you always preferred but never let yourself buy. You didn’t even ask for it, but they left it anyway without expecting anything in return.

A few days later, another face showed up. A woman this time, younger than you expected, with dark curls pulled back and a quiet, dry wit.

She brought you a small stack of files.

“You don’t have to look at these,” She said, grinning as she laid them out beside your coffee. “But if you do, we might actually stop getting our drones blown up every time they try to cross Stark-issue fences.”

You raised a brow. “You’re assuming I want your drones to survive.”

She smirked, leaned against the wall. “Honestly? That’s fair. But I figure you might be tired of pretending you’re not three times more efficient than half the people who used to ignore you.”

You blinked. Slowly. But didn’t reply.

She didn’t push. Just winked and walked away. You came to realize her name was Maren. She started dropping by daily. Sometimes with questions. Sometimes with snacks. Sometimes just to talk.

She never asked about the Avengers, never brought up your past either. Instead, she talked about books. About music. About her annoying roommate before she joined the organization.

You hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone just talked to you without needing something.

Soon enough, others followed. People started greeting you in the hallway. Saying your name. Remembering it.

One day, a nervous, red-haired technician peeked into your space and handed you a soldering tool.

“You mentioned the other one was misaligned last week,” He said. “This one should be better. Also- uh, your breakfast order’s on the counter. Hope I got it right.”

You blinked at him. You hadn’t even realized he’d been listening.

It wasn’t much. None of them fawned over you, but they saw you. You’d spent years in the Tower as a ghost in plain sight. Yet now, for the first time, people paused when you spoke. They remembered what you liked. They asked how you were.

You hated how easily you started to relax. How good it felt to be called a peer. How you caught yourself looking forward to the next day, the next problem to fix. Not because you agreed with their side, but because they asked you like you mattered.

One evening, you stood by a long window looking out into the dark. Rain blurred the horizon, city lights distant and soft.

The man from the first day stepped up beside you, hands in his pockets.

“I don’t expect loyalty,” He said. “Not from someone like you.”

You didn’t respond.

“But you don’t owe them anything either.” His voice was calm and level. “Not after how they treated you.”

You swallowed.

He didn’t press. Just patted your shoulder gently and walked away. And yet, the silence that followed wasn’t empty anymore. It was quiet. Comforting. Like something inside you had finally stopped being so tense.

Maybe you hadn’t chosen this side. But this side had chosen you.

And in all honesty, you could still leave. That was the truth. They hadn’t locked the doors. Hadn’t chipped you. Hadn’t twisted your arm behind your back and made you sign anything in blood. You weren’t a prisoner here, not exactly, and that unsettled you more than any chains would have.

On some nights when the hallways were still, you would sit on the edge of your cot with your shoes on, fully dressed, and staring at the door. You’d check your pockets. There was always a keycard. Yours. Allowing unrestricted access to almost every level.

They hadn’t taken anything. Not your autonomy. Not your mind. And that was the part that made everything worse. Because the question echoed over and over:

If you’re free to go… then why haven’t you?

You told yourself you were gathering intel. You told yourself you were playing the long game. You told yourself you were buying time, waiting for the Avengers to reach out, to realize something was wrong and to bring you back.

But they didn’t.

There wasn’t a ping nor a whisper. You bet there wasn’t even a raised eyebrow. And that little crack inside your chest… widened.

Maren still showed up most mornings. She started leaving jokes on sticky notes under your coffee mug. Sometimes crude. Sometimes clever. Always personal. She knew your humor now and you knew hers. She also knew when to talk, and when to stay quiet.

Meanwhile, the others greeted you by name. They made space for you at the long table during planning sessions. They asked for your thoughts and they listened. Sometimes, they even debated you, and you didn’t have to raise your voice to be heard. You felt like you actually mattered for once, like you were someone worth paying attention to as well.

And that made you start wondering: Was it really so wrong to want to stay where you were respected?

But then you’d go back to your cot and remember everything they’d done. The files you’d glimpsed. The agents they’d taken down. The systems they were dismantling. You hadn’t helped with anything directly. At least, not yet. But… you were here. And that meant something.

Didn’t it?

You still told yourself you hadn’t chosen a side. You were just… drifting. Floating in a quiet current no one else seemed to notice.

But some nights, you would stare at the ceiling and feel it. The undeniable weight of the truth:

You could have left on Day 1. Day 3. Even today. But you didn’t. You haven’t.

And that, more than anything, frightened you. Because maybe it wasn’t that you couldn’t escape. Maybe it was that, deep down, you weren’t sure you wanted to.

Because this place made you feel more real and alive than anywhere else ever had.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox

You Didn’t See That Coming, Did You?

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes turn your precognition into a playful, flirtatious game. What starts as harmless teasing evolves into a deeper connection as Bucky challenges your abilities in creative ways, from sparring matches to leaving cryptic notes and pulling mischievous stunts. Eventually, the game becomes your shared language and you have the quiet realization that even when you see things coming, some moments are worth letting surprise you. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power of precognition.

Word Count: 1.4k+

A/N: Honestly, I was worried how I’d create a good story with this power. However, it turned out so fun. I definitely have a second part in the works if y’all like it too. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You weren’t exactly a spy. Or a soldier. Not even an Avenger. You were just… useful. That’s what Natasha had called you the first time she brought you in. “This one sees things. Makes life easier.”

Your gift, if you could call it that, was simple in concept and chaotic in execution: you could see short flashes of the future. Usually just a few seconds ahead. Sometimes minutes. Rarely, a day. It wasn’t flashy like Wanda’s magic or Steve’s shield throws. It was quiet, subtle, and often annoying. Like déjà vu that never stopped happening.

That’s how Bucky Barnes became your daily torment.

The man had the audacity to be interesting. A mystery wrapped in a grumpy, tactical jacket with eyes that were always watching. He didn’t trust easily. Neither did you. But trust was a little easier to fake when you already knew what someone was about to say.

At first, he hated it. You’d finish his sentences before he even opened his mouth:

“You're going to say we should sweep left instead of right.” “What the hell-“ “I know. You hate that.”

He scowled at you for a solid two weeks straight. But then came the mission in Prague, when a bullet meant for his temple missed by a fraction because you shoved him sideways exactly one second before it hit. After that, his scowl softened into something else. Something wary. Something curious.

"How did you know?" He’d asked that night in the safehouse, a whisper between the click of his metal fingers unbuckling his gear.

You looked him straight in the eye. “I always know.”

You didn’t mean to flirt. That was the problem with precognition. Sometimes you said things you hadn’t decided to say yet.

Bucky started testing you after that. He’d toss questions at you when your back was turned. “What am I thinking right now?” “What number am I holding up?” “What color shirt is Steve going to wear tomorrow?” You were right every single time.

Eventually, he stopped testing and started playing.

He’d make dramatic predictions just to throw you off. "I bet I’m going to trip over that table."

“Nope, you’re going to stub your toe on the leg and then swear under your breath like a cartoon villain.”

Which he did. Twice. You caught him smiling after the second time.

Somewhere between missions and late-night kitchen raids, you began orbiting each other like clockwork. He’d brew two mugs of coffee without asking if you wanted one. You’d hand him his forgotten gloves before he remembered them. He’d mutter, “You already knew I’d forget, didn’t you?” and you’d just shrug, sipping your drink like you weren’t smug about it.

The Avengers noticed. Steve raised an eyebrow at your synchronized movements. Sam teased Bucky mercilessly. Natasha didn’t say anything, just gave you a knowing smirk that said she’d been right all along.

The thing about seeing the future is, you never get surprised. Not really.

But Bucky managed it.

It happened on a Tuesday. You were both holed up in a quiet corner of the compound, a storm pelting the windows. You were curled up with a book pretending to read, and Bucky was tinkering with his knife. You saw the future as easily as breathing. The next page. His next move. The way he’d stretch, then ask if you were cold. You prepared to tell him you were fine before he said anything.

But he didn’t follow the script.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out. A crumpled slip of paper. It was a fortune cookie message, the cheap kind from the takeout place a few blocks away.

“Surprises are the universe’s way of making sure you’re paying attention.”

You blinked.

“You didn’t see that coming, did you?” He asked, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. For once, your foresight had gone quiet. No flashes. No hints.

Bucky chuckled. “Finally caught you off guard.”

And you realized, he’d been trying to surprise you this whole time. To prove he could. Not to annoy you. But to know you, in a way you couldn’t predict.

You looked at him then, really looked. The way his hair fell into his eyes. The tension in his shoulders as he waited for your reaction. The hope he was trying not to show.

You smiled, slow and genuine.

“I didn’t see that coming,” You admitted.

He grinned back. “Good. Maybe I’ll keep you guessing.”

And for the first time in a long, long while, you hoped he would.

After that night, Bucky made it a thing. A challenge. A game neither of you officially acknowledged but one you both played with increasing intensity.

“I bet you think I’m going to grab the left mug,” He’d say the next morning, hand hovering indecisively between two identical coffee cups.

“You already decided on the right one three seconds ago,” You’d reply, not even looking up.

“Damn.”

The rules were simple: he tried to surprise you. You tried to stay unshaken. It was fun and harmless. At first. But then came the curveballs. You walked into the training room one afternoon and found the lights dimmed, the floor cleared, and Bucky standing dead center with a smug expression.

“What’s this?” You asked.

He tossed something underhand at you. A soft, rolled-up T-shirt. Your T-shirt. “Figured you’d want to change before I beat your ass in hand-to-hand.”

You caught the shirt easily. “You really think I didn’t see this ambush coming?”

He grinned. “Oh, I knew you saw it. Doesn’t mean I won’t win.”

You sparred for half an hour, laughter echoing off the walls. You dodged every feint, every fake-out but there were moments when he moved unpredictably. Sloppy on purpose. Lazy where he should’ve been sharp. You were reading him, but he was adapting.

By the end of it, you were both breathless, flushed, your back against the mat with his weight braced above you, metal arm warm against your ribs. He was close enough to kiss. Close enough that the future went blurry.

You expected him to pull away but he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and whispered, “Didn’t see that one, did you?”

Your heart stuttered. “No, not this time.”

But he didn’t kiss you, not yet. That bastard just smirked, rolled off, and offered a hand to pull you up.

The game? Still on. And it only escalated from there.

Sticky notes started appearing around your room: “Bet you can’t guess what I’ll cook tonight.” “Wrong sock color. Check again.” “Don’t look in the third drawer unless you want to scream.” (You did. It was a glitter bomb. He laughed for ten minutes.)

He started carrying around coins, flipping them when you least expected it. “Heads or tails?” He’d ask, already knowing you’d call it right. But then he’d switch coins on you mid-flip. Or not flip at all. Or throw it across the room and say, “Plot twist.”

He lived to frustrate you and he loved when you slipped.

The game became your language. Your dance.

You pretended not to know when he would brush your hand in the hallway. You pretended not to see the moment he’d glance at your lips and look away. And eventually, you started bending the truth. Saying you “weren’t sure” even when you were. Letting him win.

Because sometimes, it was nice not knowing.

One night, you found a note slipped under your door: “Meet me on the roof. No peeking ahead.”

The stars were out when you arrived, cold air kissing your skin. Bucky was already there, leaning against the railing, arms crossed, watching the city lights twinkle below.

You stood beside him in silence.

“I had a vision,” You said softly after a moment. “About tonight.”

He looked sideways at you, wary but amused. “Oh yeah? How’s it end?”

You smiled. “That depends.”

He leaned a little closer. “On what?”

“On whether you finally kiss me, or if you chicken out again.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “I thought I was supposed to surprise you.”

You shrugged. “You still can.”

He hesitated but not for long. The kiss was unhurried. Intentional. Less about passion, more about proving something. That even if you saw every move, every possible path, this choice was still his. And he was choosing you.

When he pulled back, he searched your eyes.

“Did I get you?” He whispered.

You nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. You got me.”

“Good,” He smiled. “Because I’ve got at least ten more moves planned and I bet you won’t see half of them coming.”

You laughed, head against his chest, and let the future fade for once just enough to stay in this moment.

Game on.

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.

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.”