Operation: Lover’s Retreat (You Think)

Borrowed Gifts, Steadfast Love

Summary: You accidentally trigger a moment of amnesia in Bucky after giving him precognition during training. In the aftermath, Bucky, gentle and vulnerable in his confusion, asks if you’re someone important to him. When his memory returns, the two of you gradually confess what you’ve both been holding back. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the ability to temporarily bestow powers to other people.

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: It has been a while since I’ve had something for this series. Though, I’ve mostly covered my favorites so far, so I’ll need to brainstorm ideas for other abilities lol. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You had a rare and unnerving gift. One that terrified some of the Avengers more than it reassured them. With a touch, you could grant powers to others. Temporarily. Specific abilities, curated like items on a menu but always with a cost. The more potent the power, the more unpredictable the side effects. Some people got migraines. Others felt emotionally drained. And a few… well, a few forgot their names for an hour or two.

That last one had landed Tony flat on his back once, insisting he was a ballet dancer named Cheryl.

You hadn’t been born with powers yourself. You were experimented on briefly, in your early teens by a defunct program obsessed with replicating the abilities of others. Their tests failed to give you any power of your own. Instead, your body became a kind of channel, like a living transmitter. You couldn’t fly, lift tanks, or shoot lasers but you could let someone else do it. For a while. Ten minutes, fifteen if you really focused. Maybe twenty, but that always came with a nosebleed or worse.

SHIELD picked you up after the facility fell, though you never quite belonged in the field the same way the others did. You weren’t a soldier. You were a tool they deployed when someone needed an extra edge.

Bucky Barnes was one of the few who treated you like more than that.

You met him a year after he rejoined the Avengers, still finding his footing in a world that changed too fast. At first, he was quiet and standoffish, not unlike you. People like Steve and Sam tried to loop you in with group dinners, training sessions, or "team bonding" game nights that only made you feel more like a guest in someone else’s home. But Bucky? He never pressured you. He saw your silences and matched them. Sat next to you on the sidelines without needing to fill the air. Slowly, like frost melting under careful sun, you two grew close.

You trained together sometimes. Your power fascinated him in a way you didn’t expect. He’d ask questions no one else thought to: Did it hurt you? Did the powers you gave others come from somewhere, or from you? Could you give him one and take it back before it fully formed?

He was the first one to ask if you liked using your powers.

Most people just expected you were fine with it, already having some idea of what you were supposed to like, do, or be. But you never felt that pressure nor those expectations with him.

Therefore, you spent more time together after that. Coffee in the kitchen before morning briefings. Patrolling side by side, because he said he liked your “measured pace.” Evenings where you’d sit outside on the Tower balcony and he’d talk about Brooklyn before the war, or ask you what it felt like to see someone else use what wasn’t truly theirs. Sometimes you didn’t answer. Sometimes you did. Regardless, he never pushed.

Even with these shared moments, you didn’t dare name whatever was forming between you. Not yet. There was comfort in the undefined, in the quiet understanding between two people still trying to trust themselves again. You weren’t healed, but neither was he. However, you were there and that mattered.

The only time he ever raised an eyebrow was the day he caught you sketching in the rec room. It was an old habit you formed from before the facility, something you rarely indulged in. You tried to hide the notepad, but he saw it before you could. You were fully prepared to defend yourself.

Until he saw the page. A portrait of him. Focused. Sharp lines. Gentle shading.

He didn’t tease you.

He just said, “You made me look like someone worth drawing.”

You had to look away.

“I draw things I don’t want to forget,” You whispered.

That moment hung between you like an unspoken truth. One neither of you were ready to face. Not yet. Not until later. Not until the day you gave Bucky the ability to see a few seconds into the future and he forgot the past. Including you.

It started with a sparring match.

You weren’t planning to use your powers. You rarely did in training, unless asked. But Bucky was frustrated and off his rhythm. He was distracted and getting increasingly impatient with himself. You’d watched from the edge of the mat as he shook out his shoulders, jaw tight, and muttering curses under his breath.

“Want to cheat?” You asked, casually tossing him a water bottle. “I’m offering a limited-time preview of danger-dodging.”

He arched a brow. “What, like Spider-sense?”

“Closer to precognition. A few seconds ahead.” You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Enough to give you an edge.”

He hesitated. You could see the thought wheels grinding behind his eyes, then he stepped forward and extended his hand. “Hit me with it.”

You reached up and pressed two fingers gently to the side of his neck, just under his jawline. A safer place than the wrist, less prone to backlash. A flicker of gold shimmered under your skin, then transferred into his.

“There. Ten minutes. You’ll feel it kick in.”

He blinked, eyes fluttering slightly, then his pupils dilated. His stance changed instantly into something more grounded. Lighter and alert. You backed up and watched as Sam moved in to spar with him, a little too eager to knock Bucky off his game.

But Bucky didn’t miss a beat.

He dodged Sam’s attacks before they landed, twisting just out of reach, predicting moves before they were even made. You saw Sam frown. Then grin. “Okay, okay, cheating is kind of cool.”

“Don’t get used to it,” You warned, arms crossed, already feeling the beginnings of a tension headache.

Everything was going fine until the timer ran out.

You didn’t notice right away. Bucky had stepped back, grabbing a towel and breathing a little hard. But then you saw him frown, glance around the gym like something was wrong. Like the lights were too bright. Or the air too thin.

“Bucky?” You asked cautiously.

He turned to you and blinked, staring at you like you were a stranger. Not the kind he feared, not someone threatening, just someone whose shape should’ve meant something. His brow furrowed like your presence itched at the back of his brain, like a song he almost remembered.

“Sorry,” He said again, voice quiet. “You look… familiar.”

You gave a tight smile, hiding the panic behind your eyes. “It’s okay. You’ve had a bit of a power hangover.”

“Power?” He looked down at his hands, then flexed his vibranium fingers. “Did I… hurt someone?”

“No. You were training. You asked me to give you a temporary ability.” You moved in front of him, trying to keep your voice steady. “Precognition. It lets you sense movements a few seconds ahead. You handled it like a pro.”

“Guess I didn’t handle it that well,” He said with a weak, lopsided smirk. Then his smile faded. “I really don’t remember.”

He sounded more concerned now. Not panicked yet, just… vulnerable. That was rare for him, especially in front of others. But now, it was like something raw had surfaced under his skin. The carefully constructed guard he wore every day had holes punched through it, and he didn’t know why.

You glanced to the training room door, where Sam was now standing uncertainly with a towel slung around his neck, unsure whether to intervene. You gave him a small shake of your head. This wasn’t something that needed a team.

“Come sit,” You murmured, gently taking Bucky’s arm and guiding him to a bench in the corner. He followed without resistance, like you were the only thing anchoring him.

Once seated, he studied your face for a long moment. His eyes were softer than usual, curious and searching. Like he wanted to remember you but didn’t know how.

“So we… know each other?” He asked carefully.

You nodded. “We work together. Trained together. Talked… a lot.”

He tilted his head. “Are we… close?”

Your throat tightened. “Yes.”

There was a long beat, and then, completely sincere, he asked, “Are we dating?”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I’m just asking,” He said, sheepish but oddly confident in a way the real Bucky never was. “You seem like someone I’d… want to be close to.”

Your heart jumped into your throat. He doesn’t remember you, You reminded yourself. He’s just reaching for familiarity. Don’t fall for the illusion.

Still, you answered, “No. We’re not.”

Bucky looked disappointed, genuinely. “Are you sure?”

You gave him a half-hearted glare. “Even amnesiac, you’re a flirt.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t feel like me. It’s like I’m dreaming with my eyes open.” He looked down at his hands again. “I hate this.”

“I know. And it’ll wear off. Soon.”

He turned back to you, brow knitting. “You said you gave me a power? You… can do that?”

“I can lend them out. For a short time. Sometimes there are… side effects.” You hesitated. “You usually remember everything just fine.”

“Usually,” He echoed. “Lucky me.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky.”

His eyes lifted back to yours again. “You said my name.”

You smiled softly. “Yeah.”

He blinked slowly, taking that in. “And yours is…?”

You gave him your name and he repeated it quietly. The way he said it nearly undid you. It was gentle in the way as if he wanted to commit it to memory now, before it slipped through his fingers again.

“I don’t want to forget you,” He whispered, without thinking.

Your breath caught. You reached out then, almost instinctively, placed your hand over his.

“I won’t let you. I’m going to fix it,” You promised quietly. “Just… give me a minute.”

It took concentration, channeling the right counterbalance of power, guiding a mild recall ability through touch. When your hand met his again, you saw flickers of your face, training sessions, shared coffee. The sketch. His smile when he saw it. His voice, gentle and real: “You made me look like someone worth drawing.”

And then, the power flickered back before either of you were ready.

One moment, Bucky was holding your gaze like he was memorizing every detail of your eyes, your name, and the warmth of your hand covering his. Then the next, his fingers twitched beneath yours and his breath caught.

You saw it in his expression immediately.

Like a floodgate creaking open too fast, memory rushed back into his mind. You watched him blink once, twice, his face flickering through confusion, realization, then… guilt.

“It’s you,” He said softly.

You nodded slowly, afraid to speak first.

He sat up straighter, pulled his hand from under yours. Not harshly, but more so like he was grounding himself. His brows furrowed as his eyes darted around the training room, checking every shadow, and every sound. You could see his instincts coming back online.

“I remember,” He said.

Your shoulders slumped slightly. Relief mixed with… something sharper. A part of you had cherished that fragile, disarmed version of him. It felt wrong to miss it, but you did.

“I’m sorry,” You said. “I should’ve stopped the transfer sooner or done something-“

“No,” He interrupted quickly, looking at you again. “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself. I asked for it. You warned me. And besides, I’ve had worse side effects from coffee.”

You huffed a breath of dry amusement, though you didn’t quite smile.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you. “What… did I say?”

Your eyes dropped to the mat. “Nothing terrible. Just…” You fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve. “You forgot me. Asked who I was and if we worked together.”

“And?”

“And then you asked if we were dating.”

He stiffened slightly. “Did I?”

“Mm-hm.” You tried to play it off lightly. “You also asked if you hurt anyone, so clearly your priorities were intact.”

He didn’t laugh. He was still watching you too carefully. “And what did you say?”

“That we weren’t.”

He tilted his head. “And was I disappointed?”

You hesitated, wondering why he would ask that. “You said… I seemed like someone you’d want to be close to.”

Bucky was silent for a moment. Then: “I wasn’t wrong.”

Your eyes lifted to his, startled. There was something cautious in his voice, yes, but it was also honest. Maybe that amnesiac version of him didn’t just say things out of confusion. Maybe it said things he usually didn’t let himself say.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” You murmured, voice quieter now, rawer. “But… I didn’t hate it. Sitting with you. Talking without all the walls.”

His jaw tensed, eyes flicking down for a beat. “I don’t always know how to be soft on purpose,” He admitted. “But I want to, with you.”

A long silence stretched between you. And then, slowly, he offered you his hand. Not out of confusion. Not because of borrowed power. Just his hand. Open, steady, and inviting.

You took it.

“I may not remember everything at times,” He said quietly. “But I won’t forget that part.”

You gave a small nod, sitting in silence with him for a moment. Reality slowly began to creep back in like a fog settling over warm ground. The gym lights felt too bright. The air too still. Sam had already quietly slipped out, leaving the two of you alone to untangle the strange, fragile thread left behind by the power’s fading echo.

So, you made the decision to stand slowly, brushing your palms on your pants as Bucky followed suit.

Neither of you quite knew what to say. The rawness of the moment still lingered between you like something unspoken, and neither of you dared break it yet.

“I should… probably check in with Bruce,” You muttered. “Make sure there aren’t any lingering neurological disruptions. It’s been a while since I gave someone that particular ability.”

Bucky nodded. “Right, yeah. I’ll shower. Try to not stare into space too long.”

You huffed softly. “Good plan.”

Then came that moment, the moment. The one where your eyes met just before you both turned away. You caught a flicker in his gaze, something he wanted to say but didn’t. Something you wanted to hear, but couldn’t ask for. So instead, you both retreated to your corners of the compound.

-

In your room, you sat cross-legged on your bed with a cold compress on your forehead, scrolling through your tablet with one hand and letting the other rest uselessly in your lap. You weren’t reading anything. Not really.

Your mind was stuck in the echo chamber of You seem like someone I’d want to be close to and Maybe you should’ve said not yet.

You told yourself not to read into it. It was just scrambled-brain honesty. He wasn’t thinking straight. People say things when they forget their walls.

Still… he remembered now. And he hadn’t pulled away.

You ran a hand through your hair and dropped your tablet on the bed, then stared out the window. The sky had shifted from orange to deep navy. The tower was quiet. Too quiet.

Meanwhile in Bucky’s quarters, he had showered and dried off. Now sitting on the edge of his bed in sweats and a black T-shirt, staring at the cup of water he hadn’t touched.

His mind replayed the way your hand had felt in his. The nervous quirk of your mouth. The devastation in your eyes when he didn’t remember your name. The tenderness when he did.

He knew what he wanted to say. He had known it for a while. But now it felt like the air was thinner around you. Charged. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the power or because it exposed something deeper between you. Something neither of you had dared voice before.

He stood, opened his door, and walked down the quiet hall. Looking to end up in the one place he hoped you’d be.

-

Later that night, you were sitting alone on one of your favorite balconies, legs pulled up to your chest, and the air cool against your skin.

A quiet shuffle of boots sounded behind you.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bucky settled down beside you, offering a second cup of tea. You took it without question.

“I keep thinking,” He said, “About how easily I forgot you. Like one wrong spark and poof.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He nodded slowly. “Still… I don’t like that. I’ve worked so hard to build this life. The idea that someone could take a piece of it and I wouldn’t even know what was missing?”

Your fingers curled around your cup.

“I’ve spent years being forgettable,” You said. “By choice or by design. It’s safer that way, less… risky.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you. “You’re not forgettable to me.”

You finally met his eyes.

“I don’t care what kind of power tries to take that away. You’re not something I’d lose easily.”

And just like that, you didn’t feel like a tool anymore. You felt like someone worth remembering.

The night was hushed between the two of you, save for the faint hum of the city far below and the way Bucky’s thumb lightly tapped against his tea cup. Nervous energy. Not from fear, just hesitation. Like he was weighing each word before he let it out.

“I don’t want to forget you again,” He added quietly.

You watched him, and something in your expression whether it be gentle, surprised, or open, made him go still.

“Not from power backlash, not from time, not from fear. And if I’m being honest…” He trailed off, then exhaled. “I don’t want to waste time pretending you’re just a teammate. Or just someone who gives me an advantage in combat. You’re not that to me.”

You set your cup down slowly, the heat of it fading from your hands, replaced by the thrum of something warmer beneath your skin. “Then what am I?”

He looked at you fully and deliberately.

“You’re the person I look for in every room,” He said, voice low and sure. “The one I feel calm with. The one I trust when everything else gets loud in my head. You matter to me more than I’ve let myself admit.”

The words hit softly, like the first snow, but carried weight. Real and steady. You blinked, unsure if your heart had always beat this fast or if he’d just jump-started it.

“I thought maybe…” Your voice came out smaller than you expected. “If I let myself believe you might feel the same way, I’d mess everything up. That you’d need someone steadier. Someone who wouldn’t make you forget your own name when they touch you.”

His lips twitched into a quiet smile at that, but he didn’t joke. He didn’t downplay it. Instead, he leaned in slightly. His shoulders brushing yours.

“I won’t do anything unless you want me to. You’ve always given everyone else power. Maybe it’s time someone gave you the choice.”

There was no pressure in his tone, no coaxing. Just offering.

And something in you, long hidden and cautious, stirred.

You turned toward him fully, the dim light casting soft shadows across his features. You could see the tired but hopeful gleam in his eyes. You lifted one hand slowly, tracing your fingers along the line of his jaw, anchoring yourself in this moment.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” You admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I’m all yours,” He replied, breath catching slightly as he leaned in.

You closed the gap.

The kiss was gentle at first. Something that could be described as cautious, exploratory, or like a question answered in a language both of you had forgotten how to speak. But then his hand came to rest at the side of your neck, warm and steady, and yours slid over his chest, feeling the weight of everything he wasn’t saying but always meant.

It wasn’t fireworks. It was better. It was safe, solid, and real.

When you both pulled back, neither of you spoke right away. But then Bucky’s voice broke the silence, low and steady:

“I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

Your lips quirked into the faintest smile. “Me too.”

His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, almost reverent. “I don’t know what happens next,” He admitted, eyes meeting yours, vulnerable and unguarded. “But I know I want it with you.”

You nodded, fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt like you weren’t ready to let go. “Then stay. That’s all I need right now.”

A breeze stirred your hair, and he leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to your temple this time. Gentler, more certain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” He whispered.

And under the quiet sky, for the first time in a long while, you believed it.

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.

Echoes of a Nobody

Summary: The Avengers discover you may now be working with a hostile organization, sparking confusion, guilt, and questions about whether you were taken or left by choice.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The Tower still functioned. The lights still came on at sunrise, the coffee still brewed automatically, and the world, predictably, still needed saving.

But it wasn’t the same. Not really. They didn’t talk about you anymore. Not in meetings. Not in the break room. Not even in the way people usually mention someone who left like “I wonder how they’re doing,” or “Remember how they used to do this?”

Your name hadn’t been spoken in weeks and no one looked at the desk the same way. Even with the new intern, no one admitted they noticed the difference in the reports. The missing efficiency. The absence of quiet competence. You’d made things easy for them, too easy. Because you hadn’t needed praise. You hadn’t asked questions when the assignments piled too high. You never made a scene when someone else took credit.

You were just… reliable. Invisible.

And now, you were gone. Not fallen in battle. Not reassigned. You left on your own terms. And somehow, that made it worse. Because the truth was, they’d all gotten used to you being around without ever really seeing you.

Sam noticed first. He didn’t say anything out loud, but every time he found an old file tagged with your formatting or caught a smart line of code the intern didn’t recognize, his jaw would clench just a little.

Clint complained more. “Why is everything in the wrong place?” He muttered once, staring at a disorganized gear locker that used to run like clockwork under your watch.

Bruce rubbed his temples during mission debriefs now. Things were falling through. Small details, easily fixable mistakes, but they stacked up. Quietly. Subtly.

As for Bucky, he still didn’t say anything either. He still trained. Still showed up. Still leaned into quiet corners with that girl he was so drawn to, the one with the bright laugh and easy smile. They were exactly what they were meant to be: Happy. Whole. Seen.

Yet still, something in Bucky’s expression occasionally flickered. Like when he asked the intern for last quarter’s field logs, the kind you used to prepare without being asked. The intern blinked had. “Wait, were we supposed to keep those updated?”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t scold. Just nodded tightly and walked away.

He hadn’t really known you. Not the way he knew her. But maybe he knew enough now to feel the edges of your absence even if he didn’t understand it. Because no one really understood what you did until you weren’t there to do it anymore.

And now, the Tower moved on like it always does. Your desk still sat there, empty. No one had claimed it really. And when the lights dimmed and the late night silence crept in, the air around your space felt heavier. Like the room knew something had been lost.

Not loudly. Just quietly. Like everything you ever did.

Therefore, what came next was a surprise to them all. It was Bruce who discovered it first, he didn’t mean to find it.

It was late that day, late enough that the Tower was more shadows than light, more quiet hums of distant servers than footsteps in the halls. His coffee had gone cold an hour ago and he wasn’t even sure why he was still at his desk. The mission reports were dull, mostly cleanup work from intel they’d intercepted last week from an anti-shield faction operating out of the Balkans.

He was skimming out of obligation, not curiosity until he opened the fifth folder.

The file tree wasn’t remarkable at first. Standard formatting. But the subfolders were ordered a little too neatly. The names weren’t generic; they were contextual, smart. Predictive.

Then came the layouts. His eyes narrowed.

Line after line of data filtered across the screen, and his breath caught, not because of the content, but because of the structure.

The headers. The symbols. The little quirks in spacing that most people wouldn’t notice.

But Bruce did. Because he remembered seeing it for years. Quietly, reliably, every week formatted the exact same way. You used to send summaries with this layout. It wasn’t a style. It wasn’t even a system. It was… you. Distinct. Efficient. Invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it.

Bruce sat up straighter, heart tapping a little faster. He clicked deeper. Opened a timestamped diagnostic from a surveillance relay taken offline days before an attack. Whoever wrote the analysis had restructured the data logs to show energy signatures layered over civilian heat maps. It was clean. Elegant.

Too elegant.

“Wait,” He muttered, leaning closer.

There were redundancies in the formula. Little backups, hidden verification lines built into the metadata. He’d seen them before. He remembered once asking about them, years ago, why you'd included them when no one else did.

You had shrugged. “Because systems fail. People forget. I don’t.”

Bruce’s fingers paused over the keyboard. He sat back slowly, eyes still fixed on the screen. The quiet hum of the tower seemed suddenly louder, more isolating.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Didn’t want to assume something that wasn’t possible. Except… it was. And no matter how much he told himself it couldn’t be you, that this was probably just someone who used your old files, or mimicked your workflow, he felt the truth in his gut.

This wasn’t mimicry. This was your work. Your habits. Your voice, written in lines of code like a ghost.

He didn’t say anything to the others at first. Not yet. Because if he was right… It meant you weren’t just gone. You were working for them now. And there was a high chance, you weren’t coming back.

-

Bruce spent most of the night reviewing the files again, hoping he’d find something, anything that would disprove his gut.

He didn’t.

So when the team gathered for the morning briefing, he stood silently near the edge of the table, clutching his tablet like a lifeline. Steve was mid-sentence about a possible weapons facility when Bruce finally spoke.

“I think she’s working with them.”

The room shifted. It was subtle, but sharp. Natasha looked up. Clint stopped halfway through unwrapping a protein bar. Sam’s brows dipped in confusion. Steve frowned.

“What?” Steve asked.

Bruce tapped his tablet and cast the projection into the center of the room and said your name. The file structure lit up in pale blue: neat, layered, and efficient.

“She designed this,” Bruce said. “The data formatting, the way it parses real-time risk indicators, and the multi-tier flagging structure. This isn’t like hers. This is hers.”

Bucky, who’d been leaning against the wall near the back, arms folded, finally looked over.

“You’re saying she’s helping them now?” He asked, voice low. More like a statement than a question.

“I’m saying I don’t know,” Bruce admitted. “But this level of detail? It’s not someone copying her style. It’s her work. I’d bet everything on it.”

Sam squinted at the file, then crossed his arms. “So, what? She was a mole this whole time? Just embedded with us, waiting?”

“No.” Bruce’s tone sharpened. “No way. She didn’t have access to anything sensitive until the last year, and even then she didn’t take advantage of it. This is recent.”

“So she was taken?” Natasha asked. “Maybe they’re forcing her to work for them.”

“Could be,” Steve said quietly. “We’ve seen that happen before.”

Bruce hesitated, his thumb brushing over the edge of his tablet. “If that’s true, then why does this read like she cares? There’s attention to detail in this. Clean backups. This isn't bare minimum compliance. It’s-“

“Deliberate,” Bucky finished.

Everyone turned to him. He didn’t look at anyone. Just kept his arms folded, eyes fixed on the holoscreen, jaw tight.

“She used to keep my files color-coded,” He said after a pause. “Even though I never asked her to. Wouldn’t even have thought to.”

“She did that for you?” Clint muttered. “She never even looked me in the eye.”

“She barely talked,” Sam added.

“Because none of us ever really gave her a reason to,” Natasha said, voice quiet.

Steve’s mouth tightened. “She was reliable. Smart. I just thought she preferred to be behind the scenes.”

Bruce looked down. “Well, if they’re treating her better… if she’s found a place where she feels like she belongs…”

“…Then maybe she didn’t need to be forced,” Natasha finished.

There was a long silence that sank into the walls like fog.

Sam glanced at Steve. “So what do we do?”

No one answered. Because deep down, they were all wondering the same thing: If you chose to leave, if you found people who valued you in ways they never did…

Do they even have the right to go after you? And worse, would you even want to come back?

The holoscreen was still glowing when she walked in, heels soft against the floor, a cup of something warm in her hand.

She smiled easily, the kind of smile that made people look up even when they didn’t mean to. Bucky did. His posture eased just slightly, eyes flicking toward her like muscle memory. The one he loved brushed his arm with the back of her hand as she passed him and made her way to the table.

“Hey,” She said with a curious tilt of her head. “What’s all this?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. Neither did Bruce. The tension still hung from earlier like humidity in the air.

“We think one of our old administrators might be working with the group we’re tracking,” Steve finally said, tone careful.

She blinked. “Oh?” Her eyes flicked to the display, then back. “Who?”

Bruce hesitated. “She left a few months ago. Used to run most of our comm scrubs and data threads.”

A small pause before her mouth curved. “Ohhh. You mean the quiet one? I think I remember her.”

She said it gently, like trying to recall the name of someone she might’ve sat next to in a lecture hall years ago.

“She didn’t talk much, did she?” She continued, sipping her drink. “I always thought she seemed sweet, but kind of… you know. Overwhelmed?”

Bucky didn’t respond. Natasha’s expression sharpened subtly, but the woman either didn’t notice or didn’t mind.

“She left,” Bruce said, steady but not unkind, “Because we made her feel invisible.”

Her brow rose slightly, as if surprised by the weight of the statement. “Oh. I didn’t realize she felt that way.”

“She might’ve been taken,” Steve said. “Or maybe she joined them willingly. We’re still piecing it together.”

The woman tilted her head. “And you think she’s helping those guys now?”

“We have signs of her system work embedded in their infrastructure,” Bruce confirmed. “The designs match her exactly.”

A thoughtful hum. She leaned lightly against the table. “That’s kind of impressive, actually. I mean… good for her?”

There was a pause.

She blinked. “I just mean, it sounds like she found a place where she fits, you know? I always thought she looked like she didn’t want to be here most of the time.”

“She probably wanted to be useful,” Natasha added.

“Sure, but maybe she is now,” The woman replied, light and certain. “I mean, I don’t want to sound harsh or anything, but if she didn’t have much clearance, how dangerous can it really be?”

Bruce stiffened. “She knew more than anyone realized. She was just never loud about it.”

“Right.” A gentle nod, like she understood. “Still… maybe it’s not worth making this a whole mission. I mean, do we really want to drag her back into this if she’s finally found her place?”

No one answered, not right away.

“She might be compromised,” Steve said firmly. “Or being manipulated.”

“Of course. But if she’s doing it by choice?” She gave a soft, almost sympathetic smile. “It just doesn’t seem worth disrupting everything over someone who didn’t even seem to like being here.”

“Maybe she didn’t like how she was treated,” Bucky muttered.

She blinked again, this time with a little laugh. “Oh… well, we were all busy. I’m sure nobody meant anything by it.”

Sam and Natasha exchanged a look.

She gave Bucky’s arm a soft squeeze. “I just think you all have bigger things to worry about than chasing down someone who’s probably better off without us. But… I know you’ll do what you think is right.”

She offered them all one last sweet smile and drifted out the way she came, calm and weightless as a breeze. Only when she was gone did anyone breathe again.

Bucky’s gaze turned back to holoscreen.

He didn’t know what unsettled him more: her gentle way of brushing it all aside, or the fact that he’d once agreed with her without even thinking twice.

He wasn’t sure what was right anymore.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal

Mischief Meets Alpine

Summary: Bucky introduces Alpine to you and Mischief one afternoon. An intense, one-sided, stare off ensues with an interesting truce that practically leaves you speechless when they start influencing each other for better or worse. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.

Word Count: 2.3k+

A/N: To be honest, I wrote this one based on the idea given by @kissingkillercriminals in their reblog of the prequel. Hope it turns out to be a fun read for you and everyone else. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel

It was a slow afternoon in the Tower. Clouds had gathered thickly in the sky, casting a grayish hue through the windows. Rain pattered gently against the glass, the soft drumming filling the silence in the common room.

You were curled up on the armchair with a book in your lap and Mischief lounging across your legs like the possessive feline empress she was. Her tail twitched lazily every few seconds, ears flicking to the rhythm of the raindrops. Her eyes were half-lidded, content.

That is, until the elevator dinged. Her ears perked immediately. You looked up as footsteps echoed down the hallway. Familiar ones.

“Hey,” Bucky greeted from the doorway, a little damp from the drizzle. But he wasn’t alone.

Nestled comfortably in his arms, perched like a queen surveying her domain, was a stunning white cat. Blue-eyed, snowy-soft, and eerily calm, almost regal in the way she looked around the room.

Mischief went still.

Your eyes widened. “Is that… Alpine?” You had heard of Bucky’s cat before, but never seemed to have the chance to meet her until now.

Bucky nodded, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he stepped in. “She was pacing by the window when I left the room this morning. Figured she might want a change of scenery.”

Mischief lifted her head. Her pupils narrowed sharply as she fixed her gaze on the uninvited guest. A low growl began to bubble in her throat, barely audible to anyone but you.

You gently placed your hand on her back. ‘Easy’, You thought, not even needing to speak it aloud. She didn’t seem to pick up on your message because her entire body was locked, tense, and offended.

Bucky moved slowly, like he knew he was treading on sacred ground. “Didn’t mean to start a turf war. Just figured maybe it was time.”

You stood slowly, Mischief reluctantly hopping off your lap. Her tail whipped once in warning.

Alpine was unfazed. Her blue eyes landed on Mischief with mild interest. She gave a soft, courteous mrrrow, as if greeting a fellow royal.

Mischief’s eyes narrowed. She sat, but her body language screamed intruder.

“She’s beautiful,” You said gently, watching Alpine with cautious awe. “I didn’t know she was so calm around new places.”

“She’s used to traveling,” Bucky replied, setting Alpine down slowly onto the floor. “Doesn’t like being cooped up. Kinda like me.”

You watched with a held breath as Alpine took a few exploratory steps forward. Mischief didn’t move, but her eyes tracked every inch like a sniper zeroing in. When Alpine got within a few feet, she paused. Then, with the unbothered grace of someone who feared nothing, she laid down.

Mischief hissed. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even aggressive. But it was unmistakably territorial.

“Mischief,” You warned softly, crouching next to her. “She’s not a threat.”

Bucky crouched too, beside Alpine, who had begun grooming her paw without a care in the world.

“Look at them,” He said, his voice hushed like it was a secret. “It’s like they’re trying to decide who owns the building.”

You laughed under your breath. “Mischief thinks she owns it.”

“Alpine knows she doesn’t need to prove it.”

As the two cats stared each other down, you caught it, soft and calm, threaded right beneath the silence.

She’s dramatic.

You blinked. Wait… That voice, sleek, composed, feminine, was Alpine’s. Not a meow, not a growl. Words.

You glanced at Bucky, but he was oblivious. Still watching the feline standoff like it was a chess game. Mischief’s growl rose slightly. Alpine remained still.

She likes you. That’s why she hasn’t lunged yet.

Alpine added, her voice as silky as her fur.

But I don’t back down either. So this should be interesting.

You noticed Mischief didn’t seem to hear your telepathic conversation with the newcomer. So you didn’t respond aloud, instead responding in your mind. ’You’re really not bothered, are you?’

He smells like snow and blood, but his hands are gentle. She’s possessive, not of the tower. Of you.

You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. ‘I can see why.’

Mischief hissed quietly, and you caught a flicker of Alpine’s tail.

She wants me to leave.

’Will you?’ You thought, unsure if you were asking out of hope or curiosity.

No. But I’ll wait. I’m patient. She’s not the only one who’s bonded.

The two cats remained still, locked in a silent standoff. Well, more like a one-sided standoff. A slow, deliberate blink passed from Alpine to Mischief.

To your utter shock, Mischief paused for a moment before blinking back. A beat passed before she turned her head and sat down with a huff. Not surrender. But perhaps a reluctant acknowledgment.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Was that…?”

You blinked. “I think that was the feline equivalent of a handshake.”

He grinned, proud. “Progress.”

You looked down at both of them, one lounging and one sulking. You rose to your feet now, and as you did, Mischief brushed your leg with her tail, circling your feet like she was claiming you. Alpine simply hopped onto the rug and began inspecting a string toy left forgotten from Tony’s latest failed bribery attempt.

“So,” Bucky said after a moment, straightening. “What are the chances our girls end up tolerating each other?”

You glanced down at Mischief, who gave you a look that seemed to say, I allow this only because you do.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” You murmured. “But… It’s a start.”

Bucky stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “They’re like us,” He said quietly. “Cautious. But… maybe not beyond letting someone in.”

You turned your head toward him slowly, heart skipping.

“Maybe,” You said. “If they’re lucky enough to find the right person.”

And beneath the steady sound of rain, the two of you watched the loved cats learning the quiet language of trust across the room.

-

Though, you didn’t know what that trust would actually entail. The first incident began with silence, which, in your experience with Mischief, was never a good sign.

The Tower was unusually quiet that morning. You were sipping tea in the kitchen, reading reports while waiting for the coffee machine to finish sputtering its way through Bucky’s drink order. Mischief had been suspiciously absent since breakfast. Alpine had vanished not long after.

You glanced toward the hallway only to find nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, a crash, coming from the direction of Tony’s lab.

Not a small bump or a gentle thud. No, this was a metallic, shattering, the Tony-will-not-be-pleased sort of crash.

You bolted upright, nearly spilling your tea, and sprinted toward the noise. Bucky was already there, jogging in from the elevator, sweatpants loose, hair damp from his time at the gym.

“You heard that too?” He asked, eyes narrowing.

Another sound followed. A high-pitched zip-zip-zip noise, like drones activating. Followed by… pawsteps?

You and Bucky skidded to a stop at the entrance to Tony’s lab. It looked like a bomb had gone off.

Three of Tony’s prototype micro-drones were hovering erratically midair, one of them twirling in panicked circles. The rest lay in pieces scattered across the floor, wires tangled like a crime scene. And in the middle of the chaos sat Alpine, tail curled delicately around her paws, completely unbothered.

On the counter nearby, Mischief crouched with a gleam in her eye that could only be described as unrepentant. She looked directly at you, then at Bucky, and gave a soft meow as if to assert her innocence.

“I think we just missed the heist,” You said breathlessly.

Bucky muttered, “Alpine was supposed to be the calm one.”

“I never said Mischief was a good influence.”

You both stepped forward carefully, surveying the disaster. Mischief had clearly pried open one of the drawers, Tony’s "Do Not Touch" ones. Wires were dragged out like spaghetti noodles. A spilled jar of who knows what rolled lazily across the floor.

“Is that my cloaking device?” Came a voice from the hallway.

You winced as Tony rounded the corner before stopping dead at the sight.

Alpine jumped gracefully down and walked over to Bucky’s feet, brushing against him as if she hadn’t just helped dismantle a small fortune in tech.

Tony's eye twitched. “Why are your cats smarter than my interns?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Bucky said, scooping up Alpine. “You didn’t leave any exploding gadgets out, right?”

“Not this week,” Tony snapped, waving a tablet like a club. “Do you even understand what they’ve broken? That drone was programmed to help defuse bombs.”

“I’m sure they had a good reason,” You offered, not that it helped, gently lifting Mischief off the counter. She purred, content and absolutely smug.

“Ask her what the hell kind of reason that would be,” Tony snapped at you.

You looked at Mischief, questioning in a flat tone. “Why?”

Mischief stretched lazily, flicked her tail, and in a nonchalant, mental whisper, said:

It blinked first.

You groaned at the excuse, hesitating before giving the answer. “She says it blinked at her.”

Tony blinked. “It blinked? That’s your defense?”

“She’s a cat, Tony.”

“Whatever.” He pointed at Bucky. “And your cat?”

Bucky looked down at Alpine, who yawned wide and graceful. She murmured to you with eerie composure,

I wanted to know if it could fly backward. It couldn’t.

You snorted before you could stop yourself.

“What?” Tony demanded, head snapping towards you.

You waved him off. “You… don’t want to know.”

Later that evening, after Tony had barricaded the lab and implemented new retinal scans to keep out the feline menaces (his words, not yours). You found Bucky in the living room with Alpine lying beside him with a toy and Mischief perched on the back of the couch.

“They’re lucky they’re cute,” You muttered, flopping down beside him.

Bucky glanced sideways. “I think they’re bonding.”

“They broke a drone.”

“Exactly.”

You looked at the two cats now comfortably sharing the space, Alpine nibbling at the feather toy, Mischief eyeing the object like it had wronged her.

You shook your head. “It’s like watching spies team up.”

“They are spies,” Bucky corrected, definitely not taking this seriously, evident by the grin he wore. “Tiny, furry, manipulative spies.”

Mischief flicked her tail in agreement as Alpine blinked slowly. And for a brief moment, peace, albeit temporary, settled over the Tower.

-

However, while the first incident was annoying for Tony, the second was catered more toward you and Bucky.

It started small to the point where you didn’t notice it at first. Mischief, your eternally territorial shadow, began to behave… differently. She still took up her usual place on your lap, still growled at anyone who got too close, and still owned the Tower like she paid the bills. But she started following you and Bucky when you left rooms. Lingering in the halls, appearing on counters and ledges when the two of you happened to be in the same space.

Alpine, meanwhile, watched everything from a perch of regal detachment, or so it seemed. But you knew better since you heard her.

Don’t hiss this time. Just watch. Let him sit next to her first.

You had paused when you heard it the first time, over breakfast. Mischief was on the table (illegally), staring daggers at Bucky as he walked in. Alpine, curled on the windowsill, barely flicked her tail, but her voice unintentionally slipped into your thoughts again as she directed the ‘secret’ information to Mischief:

She likes it when he brings her things and when he calls her 'trouble.' You should let her admit that.

You almost choked on your toast, but didn’t say anything when Bucky looked over at you with a questioning, concerned gaze.

That was the first clue.

The second clue came two days later, when Bucky was helping you patch up a cut you'd gotten during training. It was nothing, barely a nick, but he'd insisted. Kneeling in front of you, his gloved hand cradled your wrist while the other applied antiseptic.

Mischief watched from the armrest, her ears twitching. It was clear she was tense, jealous… until Alpine hopped up beside her and gently nudged her with her head.

Now. Purr. So she relaxes.

Mischief blinked slowly, tail twitching. Then, shockingly, she purred. Loudly and deeply. You actually laughed, easing into the moment, and Bucky glanced up at you with that rare, boyish half-smile that made your chest ache.

You knew that had been Alpine's doing. And Mischief, traitor that she was, seemed fine with it.

The third clue? Bucky confessed it.

You were sitting together in the lounge late one night, watching the rain tap softly at the windows, each of you nursing mugs of tea. Mischief dozed between you on the couch. Alpine had curled beside her, touching, no less. A miracle in itself.

Bucky tilted his head toward the sleeping cats. “You know, Alpine's been… weird.”

“Weird how?”

He hesitated. “She… keeps pushing me toward you.”

Your heart did a very stupid, very hopeful thing. “She told you that?”

He gave you a sheepish look. “She doesn’t talk to me like she talks to you, of course. But she’ll nudge me when I move away too soon. Block seats unless I sit beside you. Once she knocked my phone out of my hand when I was trying to leave the room.”

You could feel your heart beat faster, but tried to cover up your nervousness with a laugh, joking a little. “She’s matchmaking.”

“I think Mischief’s in on it, too. Last night, she dragged your hoodie into my room.”

Your eyebrows shot up. So that’s where your hoodie went, of all places.

“And then Alpine slept on it like it was a peace offering.”

You looked down at the two curled balls of fur, now subtly pressed together. Mischief’s tail lay loosely draped over Alpine’s back.

“Is this what a truce looks like?” You whispered.

Bucky’s fingers brushed yours, and you didn’t pull away.

“Looks like,” He murmured.

You didn’t answer this time, but your fingers curled around Bucky’s gently as Alpine purred softly and Mischief, even in sleep, didn’t object.

That was enough of an answer until either of you could act on the same thing both of your hearts wanted.

Hey :)

I love your writing!!! It comforts me and I often find myself re reading your stories, they're so frickin good <3 (Clementine made me almost cry; if you could write more for that au that would be so awesome of you because I really wanna hear more about Bucky and the reader as well as their daughter and Clementine. I haven't been able to find any other bull rider au!)

I have a fanfic request for a Bucky Barnes x reader fic for a reader with SA! PTSD who either has a flashback and helps comfort the reader through it

or who sees her/his/their (your choice of pronouns) attacker in public and protects them when their attacker tries to talk to them???

Thank you, you're beautiful and one of the best writers ever, and better than most authors of books you see on the shelves at ya local barnes n noble.

Hello there, dear. I’m afraid you’ve sent the ask to the wrong author as I’ve never written anything described in your side note there. However, do be sure to send your love to the person you intended this for!

I did like the request though and ended up fulfilling it. Have a lovely day and Happy reading!

Quiet in the Storm

Summary: After experiencing a sudden flashback, you spiral into panic. However, Bucky stays calm and gently grounds you, reminding you that you're safe. He offers comfort without pressure, reassuring you that you're not broken and never have to face things alone. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Alludes to SA and PTSD, Panic Attack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do take care of yourselves.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Main Masterlist

You didn’t talk about it, not directly, not often. It hung in the air sometimes, between the clatter of dishes or the silence of late-night TV. It showed itself in the way your shoulders tensed when a man’s voice rose too loud or how your eyes darted around a crowded street. But mostly, you kept it tucked away like something broken on a high shelf. If you didn’t touch it, maybe it wouldn’t fall.

Bucky never asked for more than you were ready to give. He never pried. He never pushed. But he saw the little things. How you sat with your back to the wall in restaurants, how you flinched when someone walked too close behind you. The first time you told him, it wasn’t with words. It was in a look. A quiet panic behind your eyes one night when he reached for your wrist too quickly. He’d stopped immediately, palms up, and soft as rain.

“I’m here. I won’t ever hurt you.”

And you believed him. Most of the time. But trauma doesn’t follow a schedule. It doesn’t wait for safe spaces or daylight. And tonight, it came when you least expected it.

The movie was some harmless rom-com. You weren’t even paying attention to it. You were curled up on the couch beside Bucky, his arm around your shoulder, the other hand gently stroking your thigh through the blanket. You trusted that touch. You knew it. But something shifted when a scene came on. Some stupid, throwaway moment with a drunk character and a joke that hit too close to the bone.

You didn’t realize you were slipping until Bucky said your name.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart.”

You blinked, breath caught in your chest. The blanket suddenly felt too tight. His hand, warm and grounding, was on your thigh, but now it felt like a chain. You were underwater. Sinking. The room had changed, morphed, turned into something else. Somewhere else.

His voice called your name, his tone calm and steady. “Look at me. You’re safe.”

But your body didn’t believe him.

You flinched hard, pushing yourself away from him and curling into the corner of the couch, heart pounding like it would break through your ribs. The panic was everywhere, sinking underneath your skin. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop shaking.

Bucky didn’t come closer. He stayed exactly where he was. That was a first mercy.

“I’m not touching you,” He said softly, his voice barely more than a breath. “You’re okay. You’re here, with me. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The flashback had you caught like a snare around your throat. Your hands were clenched into fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms.

“Can you hear my voice?” He asked. “Can you nod for me?”

It took effort, like dragging yourself through quicksand, but you nodded once.

“That’s good. That’s so good, doll. You’re doing great.”

Tears ran hot down your cheeks, and you weren’t even sure when they’d started. Your throat hurt from how tightly you were holding everything in. But still, he didn’t come closer. He waited.

“You’re not there anymore,” Bucky said gently. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

He slowly shifted onto the floor closer to you, sitting cross-legged near the couch but not touching it. Not crowding you. Just… there.

“Can I tell you where you are?” He asked. “Just so you can hold onto it?”

You nodded again.

“You’re in our apartment. Brooklyn. Your favorite blanket’s on the couch. The one with the little blue stars. There’s a candle burning, lavender scented. You made me light it earlier ‘cause I forgot to do laundry.” He smiled softly. “You’re with me. Just me. I’ve got you.”

His voice was steady. Not too soft, not too firm. Just right like a tether in the dark.

You started breathing again. Taking shaky, shallow breaths at first, then a little deeper. Your fists unclenched as the room slowly came back into focus, one detail at a time. The glow of the TV. The warmth of the blanket. The safe weight of Bucky’s presence just a few feet away.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean-“

“No.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

You looked at him then. His blue eyes were steady, kind. Yet fierce in the way someone could be when they cared too much and didn’t know how to fix what hurt.

“It’s not your fault,” He said. “None of it.”

You nodded again, even though your throat ached.

“Can I come closer?” He asked gently. “Only if you want me to.”

It took a long moment before you whispered, “Please.”

He moved slowly, carefully. Not reaching out until you did first. And when you did, your fingers brushing against his, he wrapped your hand in both of his like it was the most precious thing in the world. He kissed your knuckles, one by one, and rested his forehead lightly against yours.

“I’m proud of you,” He murmured. “For staying. For letting me in.”

The flashback was over, but the ache lingered. It always did. But with Bucky there, his arms wrapped gently around you, his heartbeat steady against your back, it felt a little easier to bear.

And for now, that was enough.

Later that night, he stayed up with you. The TV was on but muted, casting a soft flicker over both of you. Your head rested against his chest, and his hand ran through your hair in slow, rhythmic motions, grounding you with every pass. Every time you closed your eyes, some phantom image tried to drag you back but his voice was there, low and constant, murmuring things like, “You’re here with me. You’re safe.”

At some point, you fell asleep against him, your fingers twisted in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish if you let go.

-

The morning came slow and strange.

You felt heavy. Not physically, but inwardly. In the way that made you feel like you were made of soaked cloth. But the room was filled with sunlight creating a warm atmosphere. Bucky was already in the kitchen, moving with that careful quiet of someone who knew what it meant to be haunted.

He didn’t look at you with pity. He looked at you like you were brave.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” He said gently, when you padded barefoot into the room. “Didn’t want to wake you, so I made you tea. It’s that kind you like, the fancy one with the rose petals you keep calling ‘expensive leaf water.’”

You almost smiled. He placed the mug on the counter without handing it to you. You’d told him, once, that sometimes you didn’t like being handed things first thing in the morning. And he remembered, like always.

You took the mug in both hands and stared at the steam.

“I had a flashback yesterday,” You murmured. Your voice was soft, but not shaking this time. “You probably figured that out.”

Bucky nodded once. “Yeah.”

You looked up. “Did I scare you?”

His eyes softened, brows pulling together like the question pained him. “No. You didn’t scare me. I was scared for you, but not of you. Never of you.”

You took a breath. “I hate that it still happens. It’s been… years.”

He came to lean beside you on the counter, keeping just a little distance between you in case you needed space. “I know. But it doesn’t mean you’re weak. Having flashblacks doesn’t mean you’re broken. They mean you survived something you weren’t supposed to. It’s just… your brain’s still learning how to feel safe again.”

His words hit something raw in you.

You looked down at the tea, at your fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic, and whispered, “Sometimes I think I’m too much. Too damaged. Like… I’m always going to be that scared girl again, no matter how much time passes.”

Bucky didn’t interrupt. He waited until the silence had run its course before saying, “You’re not too much. And you’re not that girl anymore. You’re someone who went through hell and still wakes up every day and tries to live. That’s not damage, that’s strength.”

He paused, watching your fingers twitch against the mug. Then added, softer, “You don’t have to carry it alone, not anymore.”

Your eyes burned again but this time, the tears weren’t panic. They weren’t terror clawing at the walls of your mind. They were grief, yes. But also relief. And maybe even hope. You set the mug down and stepped toward him, slow and steady, until you were close enough to bury your face in his chest. He didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around you instantly, secure and careful all at once.

“I’m right here,” He whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed. “Thank you… for being so patient.”

He leaned in, forehead pressed gently to yours. “There’s no clock on healing, doll. I’m in this with you. However long it takes.”

And you knew, right then, that maybe healing wasn’t about forgetting. Maybe it was about having someone who stayed when it was hard. Someone who didn’t try to fix you, but just loved you no matter what.

Even when the storm came. Especially when the storm came.

⛧⋆༺Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist༻⋆⛧

Pairing: Avengers x reader. (Mostly Bucky x reader unless requested otherwise.)

Summary: A collection of different one-shots with reader having different powers or abilities, each in their own universe.

Main Masterlist

Keys| Fluff ✿ | Angst ⛆ | Dark 𓉸 | Agere ʚɞ | Hurt/Comfort ❦

✿⛆❦ The Way He Notices - Reader with the ability to turn invisible. (Bucky Barnes x invisible!reader)

✿ In Every Form, You Still Saw Me - Reader with the ability to shapeshift. (Bucky Barnes x shapeshifter!reader)

❦ What You Can’t Heal - Reader with the power to heal. (Bucky Barnes x healer!reader)

⛆❦ The Price of Saving Until You Care - Reader has the power to transfer people’s injuries onto herself. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

✿ Mischief Managed - Reader with the ability to talk to animals. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

✿ Mischief Meets Alpine - Sequel to Mischief Managed. Reader with the ability to talk to animals. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Tiny Wings, Gentle Things

Summary: Steve gently teaches you human things like books, buttons, and manners, while Bucky encourages mischief, showing you how to pull harmless pranks around the tower. The others react with a mix of confusion, amusement, and affection. (Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 700+

A/N: Little day in the life as I work on something else for them. Thank you to @lexi-anastasia-astra-luna for some of the ideas here. Enjoy! Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Original Fic

No one really knew what to do with you.

You were small, winged, usually perched somewhere high, and spoke only when you really had something to say. And even then, it was usually short answers or a half-muttered grumble. But Steve and Bucky understood your silences, the way you blinked slowly to show you were listening, or how you folded your wings just slightly when you were shy.

Tony tried, for about five minutes. He offered you a nanobot containment suit that looked like a miniature Iron Man armor. You stared at it, picked it up, and immediately used it as a bowl to hold berries.

Clint once tried to feed you a gummy worm. You were offended he gellied a worm, threw it back at his face, and disappeared in a sparkle.

Natasha never tried. She just nodded at you once, quietly, like she saw you in the way only someone used to silence really could. You nodded back. A silent truce.

But it was Steve and Bucky who brought you into their strange human world piece by piece.

Steve started with books.

Children’s stories at first, Grimm’s fairy tales (which you found rude), then picture books, then little poems he read aloud to you in the warm morning sun. You’d perch on the windowsill, legs swinging, wings drowsy and half-spread out, as he explained what a “library” was. You didn’t say much, just blinked slowly, then nodded once.

Then came buttons.

You were obsessed with them, often hoarding them after being given some as rewards for your lessons with Steve. The man would sit you on the table and give you different things one at a time. Sometimes it was light switches, other times old radio dials or clicky pens, and he would explain each time what they did.

“Elevator,” Steve said once, pointing to the big silver doors. “You press that button, and it takes you to another floor.”

You looked at him then at the button before pressing it. When the doors opened, you flew inside and hovered in the corner like a suspicious bee.

He didn’t laugh. Just waited.

You ended up going up four floors by yourself and refused to speak for two hours afterward.

Bucky, on the other hand, was… different.

He saw your silences as permission. Permission to teach you everything you weren’t supposed to know.

“Okay,” He whispered one evening, crouched beside the kitchen island like he was about to spill government secrets. “This is a prank. It’s not bad. It’s mischief. And Sam deserves it.”

You blinked slowly, sitting on his shoulder.

He held up a spoon and nodded toward the sugar bowl.

“Swapped with salt. Classic.”

You didn’t say anything, but when he looked away, you fluttered over and swapped every single label in the spice rack.

Bucky stared, then smirked. “Okay. Overachiever.”

From then on, it became a game.

You’d turn invisible and move Sam’s phone two inches to the left every day until he questioned reality.

You filled Peter’s web-shooter with glitter. You unzipped Tony’s backpack halfway so it spilled post-its everywhere. No one ever suspected you except maybe Nat, who watched you a little too knowingly.

You never laughed out loud. But sometimes, when no one was looking, your wings would pulse in little ripples like soft, silent giggles.

And sometimes Bucky caught you smirking behind your hand.

You didn’t talk much. But you listened.

You remembered that Steve said “please” and “thank you” even to vending machines. That Bucky never let anyone touch his dog tags but didn’t mind when you rested on them. That Sam talked too loudly but always smelled like clean laundry and summer air. That Wanda could feel emotions like a river and once gifted you a leaf shaped like a heart.

You never spoke of it, but sometimes you left little gifts.

A petal in Natasha’s drawer.

A marble in Peter’s hoodie.

A single, silver button beside Steve’s bed.

You were quiet, mysterious, and easily mistaken for decoration sometimes. But the tower shifted around you, softened. They grew used to the way coffee mugs were suddenly left out around the place or how the microwave would beep and no one was there.

And every morning, without fail, Steve would say, “Good morning, sweetheart,” to the windowsill just in case you were there, curled in a sock, pretending not to care.

Mischief Managed

Summary: With the power to talk to animals, your feline companion, Mischief, hates everyone at the tower except you. Therefore, when you start getting closer to Bucky, you watch as she slowly starts to trust the super soldier. However, with all things, it doesn’t go well at first. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.

Word Count: 3k+

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You never expected your strange bond with animals to shape your life so completely. From the time you were little, the voices of birds, dogs, squirrels, even ants, were a constant hum in your mind. You couldn’t explain how or why, but you understood them, and they understood you. You didn’t just hear noises or read body language. You heard words. Emotions. Stories. And most importantly, you could talk back.

At first, it was a secret. A party trick for only the most trusted friends, who usually assumed you were joking. But now, it’s just part of you. You’ve learned to filter out the constant chatter.

You’ve learned to help animals when they’re in trouble and, occasionally, when SHIELD needs it, use them for information. Sometimes, rats knew more about hidden Hydra facilities than satellites ever could.

But for all your strange gifts, you lived a relatively quiet life in the Avengers Tower. Most of the others accepted your ability with curiosity or amusement. Tony had tried to run tests on your brain, and Clint still jokingly called you “Dr. Dolittle.” You didn’t mind. Your companions whether they be feathered, furred, or scaled had always had your back. And one in particular? She guarded you like a dragon guards treasure.

Her name was Mischief. A sleek, coal-black cat with amber eyes and a resting glare that could curdle milk. You’d found her three years ago, injured and starving in an alley, snarling at rats and pigeons for scraps. She hadn’t trusted you at first, but the moment you spoke to her, really spoke, her entire posture changed. It took a few trips bringing food to her, taking things slow. And slowly, you began to realize you hadn’t just earned her trust, you’d earned her devotion.

Since then, she rarely left your side. Mischief judged everyone you interacted with, and she never hid her opinions. She Tolerated Steve. Hated Tony’s cologne. And she absolutely loathed anyone who flirted with you.

That became a problem the day Bucky Barnes moved into the Tower.

He was quiet, scarred, and carried the weight of too many ghosts behind stormy blue eyes. He barely spoke to anyone, kept to himself, and moved like someone always waiting to be attacked. You saw it the first day in how he looked at everyone sideways, how he didn’t sit with his back to a door, how he flinched when someone approached too fast.

And Mischief? She was watching him like he’d brought a knife to your front door.

She sat on the windowsill in your room, tail twitching, eyes narrowed like tiny slits of fire. He’s hiding something, Her voice was flat, echoing in your mind like dry leaves scraping across pavement. He smells like ghosts. Like regret mixed with metal and blood. I don’t like him.

You sighed, brushing a hand over her silky back. “He’s been through a lot. Be nice.”

Nice? You want nice? Find a golden retriever. I’m watching him.

You didn’t know it then, but Mischief’s “watching” would escalate. She wasn’t just wary of Bucky Barnes. She was preparing for war. And you? You were caught in the middle of a cold war between an ex-assassin with a tragic past… and your jealous cat.

It started small at first.

Bucky would pass you in the hallway, nod a quiet hello, and Mischief would hiss from your shoulder like a kettle set to boil.

You tried to explain it away as best as you could. "She’s just like that at first," You said once when Bucky raised a brow at the low growl coming from your tote bag. Mischief liked to crawl inside and travel with you unnoticed. “She doesn’t warm up easily.”

He gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Neither do I.”

You weren’t sure what drew you toward him. Maybe it was the way he always seemed almost comfortable in silence, the way he sat on the common room couch like it didn’t quite belong to him, or how he listened to conversations without ever trying to steer them. Maybe it was how he never asked you questions unless he thought the answer would matter. He was calm. Still. A rare kind of quiet you’d only ever felt around animals.

But Mischief noticed.

One night, you caught her sitting in the kitchen sink like a gargoyle, glaring at the hallway. When you asked what she was doing, she said, Waiting for the metal-armed brooder. If he comes in here again, I’ll gut the loaf of bread he likes.

Sure enough, Bucky wandered in a minute later, offered you a soft smile, and went for the exact loaf.

The next morning, it was shredded. You sighed at the sight as you went out to get a replacement.

Still, you didn’t stop spending time with him.

You started joining him in the gym after hours. The excuse given was wanting to stretch, but really, you just liked the way he relaxed when no one else was around. Sometimes you brought a dog or two in from the compound’s training fields, let them rest while you and Bucky talked. Or didn’t talk. You didn’t need to.

“I think animals like you,” You told him one evening, watching a scruffy mutt rest his head on Bucky’s knee.

He blinked down at the dog like it had just spoken fluent Russian. “That’s a first.”

He’s got soft hands, The dog murmured. I like him.

You smiled to yourself. “I think they know.”

“Know what?”

“That you’ve got a good heart.”

He looked away quickly, jaw tight. You didn’t say anything more, letting it go.

Later that night, Mischief perched on your chest like a stone weight and narrowed her eyes. You’re getting attached.

“I’m not.”

You are.

“You scratched a loaf of bread.”

It deserved it.

You sighed, having not expected that response, but then again, it was typical of her. Mischief wasn’t one to be easily appeased, and her possessiveness was notorious. But this time, she didn’t go on about it. Instead, she flicked her tail, an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. Her voice softened, almost like a reluctant admission. You’re… different with him.

“Different?” You tilted your head, trying to understand her point.

You relax around him. You listen more. I don’t like it.

It struck a chord in you. You weren’t blind to the shift in your own behavior. With Bucky, things felt easier. Calmer. He had this way of being present and patient in a way that drew you in, as if there was a shared understanding of pain that made silences less heavy. Sure, there were times where the past still haunted him. But his company was always one you found yourself subconsciously seeking.

He didn’t demand things from you. He didn’t ask for anything you weren’t ready to give. And when you were with him, the world felt… simpler.

But Mischief’s words stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m not going to stop seeing him just because you don’t like it,” You murmured, feeling the weight of her gaze.

I know you won’t, She responded in a quieter tone now. But if he hurts you, I’ll bite his face off.

You chuckled softly at the absurdity of the threat. “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would hurt anyone… but thanks for the warning.”

Mischief gave a long, almost disappointed sigh, as if she realized there was nothing she could do to change your mind. You’ve always been good at ignoring my advice. I’ll be here, though. Watching.

And just like that, she padded off your chest and curled up on the windowsill, turning her back to you in a huff.

You didn’t feel the usual pang of guilt for not heeding her advice. Instead, you lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Bucky’s quiet demeanor, his unspoken trust, and how, somehow, he made you feel less like an outsider.

But the cat was right about one thing: you were getting attached. And that was something even Mischief couldn’t stop.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky Barnes became a quiet fixture in your life. He wasn’t the kind to join in on group outings or large training sessions. He mostly kept to himself, which, in a way, you could relate to. The weight of his past was something you recognized in yourself. A type of emotional burden carried alone, pushing people away without ever intending to.

Mischief, however, now had different ideas about Bucky. She followed him around like a shadow, watching his every move, her eyes always narrowing suspiciously whenever he so much as looked in your direction.

And then came the first moment that Bucky spoke to her directly.

You were sitting in the common room, legs tucked underneath you, reading a book when Bucky entered, his usual silent demeanor drifting through the door like a storm cloud. You barely looked up, but Mischief did. She jumped down from the windowsill with a graceful thud, making her way slowly toward Bucky. He froze, eyes narrowing as she circled his feet.

"You've got a problem with me, huh?" He asked, voice low, as if speaking to a wild animal.

Mischief didn’t answer. Instead, she sat down and stared at him, her eyes unblinking, before giving a loud, unmistakable hiss.

Bucky took a slow, measured step back, unsure whether to laugh or be alarmed. “Right… definitely got a problem with me.”

You looked up from your book, feigning innocence. “She’s just… protective.” You tried not to laugh, but the cat’s blatant territorial behavior was almost too much.

“Protective?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Of you?”

You nodded, setting your book aside. “She doesn’t like anyone getting too close to me. Especially not new people.” You gave him a playful smile, though there was an undercurrent of caution. You had no idea what he might say next. Yeah, he’s graciously ignored her behavior the past couple of encounters. But you know that not everyone reacted well to Mischief’s… directness.

Bucky looked at Mischief, who was now sitting on the arm of the couch, staring at him with intense focus but a bit more relaxed. Like she was really assessing him now. He couldn’t seem to hide the slight tension in his shoulders, though his eyes softened just a fraction. “I’ll take her behavior as simply me being new then?” He asked with a wry grin.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Like I said before, she warms up to people eventually.”

“Eventually?” He turned to you, crossing his arms. “How long does that usually take?”

“A few months,” You answered, fully serious, but Mischief’s sudden purring interrupted the tension in the air. You blinked in surprise. Mischief didn’t purr for just anyone, certainly not for someone she didn’t trust who she had threatened previously.

You try not to make it a big deal, knowing maybe something changed her mind and she’s likely trying to give Bucky a chance for you. Or she’s trying to spite you. Either works.

Bucky let out a short, amused huff. “I guess I’m getting there.”

As time passed with your relationship with Bucky slowly becoming more comfortable, he started showing up more too. Helping you with groceries, joining you on the Tower’s rooftop garden, even sitting beside you when you fed a flock of sparrows that landed whenever you called. The birds adored you. One bold little sparrow even landed on Bucky’s knee once, chirped at him twice, and fluttered away.

“She says you look sad but safe,” You told him.

He stared at the spot where the bird had been. “…I’ll take it.”

You didn’t realize it back then, but Mischief had stopped watching Bucky like a threat. She still narrowed her eyes when he got too close, but the claws stayed retracted. And one morning, after Bucky fell asleep on your couch with a book resting on his chest, you walked into the room and found Mischief curled on the back of the couch above his head, keeping watch.

Don’t make this a habit, She warned, but you saw the way she rested her tail across Bucky’s shoulder like a soft little truce flag.

He didn’t wake up. But when he did, and she didn’t move, you didn’t miss the quiet surprise and the ghost of a smile on his face.

Bonus:

The Avengers had long accepted that Mischief was… a little difficult. And by “difficult,” they meant that she was impossible.

Steve tried to be friendly and charming, his warm smile and gentle hands never working when it came to earning her trust. He once tried to bribe her with tuna, only for her to leap onto the counter, knock the can on the floor, and give him a look that suggested he was the most pitiful creature to ever walk the Earth.

Tony, of course, had tried his usual route. Gifts. Expensive toys, cat condos, custom-made collars with diamond studs. Mischief had only hissed at him, her tail twitching with disdain, and turned her back on him every time he walked past. Tony had even tried to sneak in some extra treats with a drone, but Mischief had launched herself at it like a panther on a hunt, sending the drone crashing to the ground in a flurry of sparks and broken components.

Clint and Wanda were no better. Clint had tried talking to her like they were two old friends. He’d even imitated her meows, thinking he could “speak her language.” His reward was a sharp swipe to the face that left him sporting a red scratch for a week. Wanda had tried charm, offering the cat quiet moments and gentle pats. But Mischief simply stared, unblinking, until Wanda gave up, shaking her head and muttering, “She’s something else.”

A couple of the others had tried too, but failed just like the rest. They had all made their peace with it. Mischief was your cat, your problem. None of them expected to get closer to her.

So, when they found out Bucky managed to break some of her walls, it certainly drew some attention.

It wasn’t even anything spectacular at first. At first, it was just him sitting in the common room with his coffee, his book, his quiet presence that always seemed to put you at ease. You, in your usual spot, with Mischief curled at your feet.

But slowly, Bucky had started talking to her. Not in any particular way, just gentle words, a little teasing, soft hums that she might respond to. At first, they were just passing exchanges.

“You’re looking smug today,” Bucky had said, watching Mischief stretch out on the windowsill, her tail swishing slowly.

To his surprise, she’d looked at him, unimpressed, and flicked her tail toward the floor like she was dismissing him entirely. Bucky chuckled softly.

“That’s fine. I’m used to being ignored,” He’d muttered, before turning back to his book.

No one had thought much of it. Until it happened again. And again.

One afternoon, you came into the living room to find Bucky sitting cross-legged on the floor, Mischief lying across his lap. She’d never done that with anyone else. She was curled up, purring softly, and Bucky’s hand was resting just behind her ears, stroking her fur gently.

The other Avengers were lounging around, preparing for the evening’s mission debrief. Steve and Clint had been discussing logistics while Tony fiddled with a gadget, but all of them froze when they saw the scene unfolding in front of them.

Mischief, the aloof, temperamental queen of the Tower, was utterly content in Bucky’s lap.

Tony’s jaw dropped first. “Wait a minute,” He pointed at the scene. “Is that… Mischief?”

“Yeah…” Clint said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe. “Is she… purring?”

“I’ve never seen her so… calm,” Bruce added quietly, watching the scene. “She always runs away from us. We can’t even get close without her hissing or hiding.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve said, furrowing his brow. “What is he doing differently?”

Bucky glanced up, catching their stares. He shrugged with an easy grin. “I don’t know, she just… likes me, I guess.”

Everyone stared at him. Even Tony, who never really lacked for confidence, looked a little thrown off.

“How?” Wanda asked, her tone hesitant. “She’s never… let anyone get that close. Not even me, and I’ve tried for weeks.”

Bucky just chuckled, his hand continuing to stroke Mischief’s back. “I don’t know. Maybe she sees something in me. Or maybe I just smell like someone who doesn’t mind the silence.”

The others exchanged baffled glances. It was true. Bucky was quiet, reserved. He never pushed, never pried. Perhaps that had something to do with it. But no one could quite figure out how he’d managed to break through the barrier that had kept them all at arm’s length.

“I don’t think it’s just that,” Clint said thoughtfully, his eyes still on the cat, his fingers twitching like he was about to reach for her. “I’ve been here longer than you, man. And she’s never let anyone get that close.”

Bucky’s smile faltered for a moment, as if he was considering something deeper. “Maybe she just needed someone who didn’t expect anything from her.”

The team was silent, still watching Mischief as she stretched lazily on Bucky’s lap, a low purr vibrating the air around them. It was the first time anyone had seen her so relaxed in front of someone who wasn’t you.

Steve shook his head in disbelief. “I think we’ve just witnessed a miracle.”

Tony was already pulling out his phone. “I’m gonna start a betting pool. Bucky Barnes: Cat Whisperer. Who knew?”

Wanda chuckled softly, still a little stunned. “What did you do, Bucky? Did you offer her a deal?”

“I think she’s just decided I’m not worth the trouble,” He said, finally giving Mischief’s ears a gentle scratch that made her eyes flutter shut in contentment. “Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”

And just like that, the Avengers knew. There was something about Bucky Barnes, something quiet, something patient, that had finally cracked through the walls of the grumpy black cat that no one else had been able to breach.

Mischief had chosen him. And the rest of them? They were just going to have to deal with it.

Heart First, Sanity Later

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

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

Word Count: 3.4k+

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

Main Masterlist

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

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

He stared at you. Everyone did.

You slurped. “What?”

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

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

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

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

But outside of that? Absolute chaos.

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

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

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

“Sounds fake but okay.”

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

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

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

You beamed. “I know, right?”

And that was just the beginning.

-

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

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

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

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

“What?” He hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

You were something else. A walking contradiction.

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

And tonight was no different.

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

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

Affection.

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

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

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

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

“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

The jet went quiet.

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

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

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

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

He was fucked.

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

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

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

“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.

“…Terrifying.”

You winked. “Same difference.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stared at you, speechless.

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

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

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

Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.

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

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

His chest tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Then I’m doing taxes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”

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

“I do not look like-“

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

“I am not emotionally unavailable.”

“You have a go bag, Bucky.”

“…That’s standard protocol.”

“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”

He ran a hand down his face.

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

You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”

“That’s not a thing!”

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

He froze.

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

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

”I love you, you absolute menace!”

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

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

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

“Say it like what?”

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

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

“Yes!”

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

“Also yes!”

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

“I almost killed you.”

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

He blinked. “Okay?”

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

He stared. “You do?”

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

He laughed, just once, short and stunned.

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

Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet. You’re in love with me.”

“I’m regretting it deeply.”

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

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

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

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

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

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