Wherever You Are, I’ll Stay

Laptop Warfare

Summary: In your cat form, you relentlessly sabotage Bucky’s attempts to work by sitting on his laptop, messing with his reports, and opening multiple tabs; forcing him to revert to handwriting like it’s the 1940s. (Bucky Barnes x shapeshifter!reader)

Word Count: 1k+

A/N: I want to create a mini-series similar to this but have reader shift into different kinds of animals. Anyways, enjoy more cat shenanigans. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist

Bucky Barnes was not what you'd call a tech-savvy man, but he’d gotten used to the basics.

He could handle mission logs, internal reports, and the occasional strongly-worded email to Stark with minimal suffering. That morning, he even made coffee without breaking anything. Things were going well.

Then you, in your most annoying form: soft, smug, and four-legged, jumped onto the table with a thud. See, you started this infuriating habit of annoying your metal-armed teammate. After all, his reactions were too priceless to resist.

He didn’t even have to look up to know you were planning something.

“Don’t.”

You let out a soft meow, too innocent to trust.

He kept typing while you sat beside the laptop. Tail curled neatly around your feet. Just watching.

He narrowed his eyes.

“I mean it.”

Another soft, purring mewl. You blinked up at him. All wide-eyed, pure, and completely harmless.

Then plop.

You landed directly on the keyboard, your entire floofy body sprawled across the keys like a warm, vibrating puddle.

The screen flickered as you mashed four separate function commands at once. The report on infiltration routes vanished.

“No- hey! I didn’t save that!”

Bucky leaned over, trying to gently lift you off.

You melted into the keyboard like wet spaghetti.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

He tried again. You stretched dramatically, rolling onto your back and extending your claws in every direction like a lazy sun god. The screen beeped and a random browser opened. Then another. And another. Somehow you had 17 tabs open and a YouTube video about “How To Boil Water” playing in the background.

Bucky stared at the screen then at you. You yawned innocently, completely unbothered.

“That’s it.”

He picked you up like a toddler with attitude under the armpits, your fuzzy arms outstretched. You could see the betrayal in his eyes. You dangled in the air, tail twitching for a moment before he set you on the floor. You stared up at him and waited three seconds.

Then leapt back up and planted yourself exactly in the same spot. This time with a little extra tail flick into his coffee.

The sip he was halfway to taking halted midair.

“Are you serious?”

You purred and licked your paw.

He exhaled slowly. You could almost see him counting to ten. “Okay. Fine. You win.” He reached behind the couch, pulled out a dusty old notebook, and a pen.

You blinked. Slowly. Smug.

“Happy now?” He muttered, beginning to handwrite his mission log like it was the 1940s.

You curled up, content, purring over the keyboard while the laptop screen faded.

He muttered something about “goddamn cats” and “Stark’s fault” but didn’t move you again.

Ten minutes later, Steve walked in, saw the whole scene, and paused.

“…You writing reports by hand now?”

“She won’t let me type.”

Steve squinted. “Can’t you just move her?”

“I’ve tried. She becomes heavier. It’s unnatural.”

You blinked up at Steve, completely motionless. Your mind already planning something else to get back at Bucky for calling you fat.

He started laughing. Loudly. “She’s your problem now, Buck.”

Bucky sighed and kept writing. You didn’t even bother looking up. You’d already won.

By the next morning, you were still a cat.

Still smug. Still fuzzy. Still very much in control, but you had graciously moved spots sometime within the night.

Bucky looked like he hadn’t slept. His hair was a little messy, his now untouched coffee was colder than it should be, and his posture screamed a man defeated by pounds of fur and spite.

You were currently draped across the back of a couch, tail flicking slowly. Watching. Waiting.

When he sat down at the table and opened his laptop again, now freshly charged with a report half-written, you stretched. You then jumped down with a soft thump, and padded over, silent as a whisper.

He saw the shadow of you moving in the reflection on the screen.

“Don’t even think about it.”

You meowed sweetly and hopped onto the table with your most innocent blink. Then, without breaking eye contact, you sat squarely on the keyboard again.

Bucky sighed and dropped his forehead onto the table.

You purred.

“I swear to God,” He muttered, “I’ve fought HYDRA agents less persistent than you.”

You just made yourself more comfortable, curling into a neat loaf. The screen dimmed again. The report? Gone. Replaced with articles about cat behavior, one open Amazon cart containing 30 cat toys, and somehow, a dating site page.

Bucky looked up, absolutely done. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

You chirped and flopped onto your side. A clear victory pose.

That’s when Tony walked in, sipping his drink and eyeing the scene.

“…Still refusing to shift back, huh?”

“She’s gone full gremlin mode,” Bucky muttered. “She won’t let me work. She sleeps on my face. She bit my sock yesterday.”

Tony smirked. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“I tried to out-stubborn her.”

Tony laughed. “You tried to out-stubborn a shapeshifter in cat mode. That’s on you, Barnes.”

Bucky glared as Tony took out a small device. “What is that?”

Tony tapped a button. A little laser dot appeared on the floor. You lifted your head immediately, ears perking.

“Oh no,” Bucky groaned.

Tony moved the dot slowly across the floor.

You stared. You stalked.

Tony flicked it once.

Pounce. You slid across the hardwood like a tiny panther.

“NO!” Bucky shouted. “Don’t reward her! That’s like giving Loki the Tesseract when he’s bored!”

But you were already chasing the dot like your life depended on it, slamming into a chair, knocking over a throw pillow, then skidding into a bookshelf as you pounced again with feral energy.

Tony was dying laughing. “Oh, this is so going on the security feed.”

Bucky just dropped his face into his hands. “I can’t live like this.”

You leapt up onto the table again and batted at the laser on the laptop screen.

It closed his report.

Again.

Bucky looked up slowly, jaw clenched.

You flopped over and licked your paw, grooming like none of this had anything to do with you.

He stared for a long, long second.

Then leaned back and muttered, “That’s it. Stark, make me a second laptop. A decoy one. Covered in catnip and self-destructs when sat on.”

You meowed.

Tony grinned. “I’m so glad I installed cameras in this room.”

Love Letters in the Smoke

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

Word Count: 1.6k+

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

Main Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The letters became a ritual.

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

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

Your response was always gentle, honest.

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

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

A week later, a new stranger joined the circus.

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

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

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

The letters continued.

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

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

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

And still, each night, the letters came.

Until the day it stopped.

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

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

And James was gone.

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

-

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

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

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

Your name was on the front.

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

Your hands trembled as you read the last part.

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

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

Finally, a name.

And maybe, just maybe, a beginning.

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

Bucky.

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

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

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

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

He was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad you did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Weight of the Truth

Summary: You form an unlikely bond with Bucky Barnes during your time with the Avengers. What begins as mutual trust and quiet companionship slowly deepens into something more. However, when Bucky begins pulling away without explanation, it leaves you hurt and confused. Tension builds until a raw, emotional confrontation forces the truth out of both of you. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to compel people to tell the truth against their will. Light angst. Hurt/Comfort.

Word Count: 3k+

A/N: Based on the poll I ran, the majority voted Truth Compulsion and Telepathy. I chose the first for now and will do telepathy next, maybe something lighter or fun for the latter. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You weren’t born with the power to pull truth from people’s mouths. It came later in life one rainy afternoon, so suddenly, like a curse wrapped in silk. It didn’t matter how much someone wanted to lie; if you asked the question and truly wanted the answer, they had to speak it. Every word dragged from their chest like it weighed a hundred pounds. You didn’t need to raise your voice, threaten, or coax. No. Your voice simply made the truth impossible to hold in.

Some people thought it was a gift. However, you never saw it that way, knowing what people really felt, what they really meant, and what they were too afraid to say. You were too young back then when you failed to realize most people didn’t want honesty. And some truths, once spoken, couldn’t be unsaid.

Therefore, you weren’t used to people staying. Not when they learned what you could do.

Your presence alone made people uneasy, not because you were loud or threatening, but because you listened. People were afraid of what you might ask, afraid that even an innocent question like “Are you okay?” might unravel something carefully buried. Over time, you learned how to walk lightly, how to speak softly, and how to exist without pressing.

When the Avengers found you, you were a wild card to them. Useful indeed, but dangerous. You could end a fight with one question or tear a team apart with one sentence. As a result, most of them kept their distance. Not out of fear, exactly but more out of caution. As if being near you meant something deep inside them might be accidentally pulled to the surface.

Natasha was polite. Steve was kind but wary. Wanda, empathetic but unreadable. But Bucky? He didn’t avoid you. He didn’t tiptoe. That’s what made Bucky Barnes different.

He didn’t fill the space around you with noise. He didn’t dance around your power. He never stared, never fidgeted, never waited for you to break the silence with something intrusive or painful. He just… sat beside you. Quietly, like he had nothing more that could possibly be confessed considering the world knew most of his past by now.

You noticed him long before he noticed you. You picked up on how he scanned every room like someone would pop out and attack him. How he clenched his jaw every time someone brushed against him without warning. How he kept his left arm always at an angle, like he was guarding something, himself. It was like he didn’t know if he was allowed to be comfortable in his own skin.

Regardless, you never asked questions. Not even once. You gave him something rare: Space.

And in return, he gave you something rarer: Presence.

It started with him sitting near you in the common room during team meetings, even if it meant skipping an open seat to get there. Then came the training sessions, where you sparred silently, never needing to speak but always aware of each other’s limits. You matched each other’s pace like you’d done this for years. Then came the early mornings. You’d enter the kitchen with your favorite mug in hand and find him already there, black coffee in one hand, gaze out the window. The first time, he only nodded. By the third week, he was pouring you a cup before you even spoke.

You noticed the way he remembered things no one else did. That you hated synthetic fabrics, that the buzzing of certain lights gave you migraines, or that your favorite tea had to steep exactly three minutes. He didn’t say anything, he just did things. Adjusted the lighting, quietly requested your sheets be swapped for cotton, left your tea on the table with a timer set. It warmed your heart in some way. You never thanked him aloud, but you knew he felt your gratitude anyways.

In return for his kindness, you learned to read his silences.

There was a difference between when he was tired and when he was haunted. A difference between when he wanted company and when he couldn’t stand to be alone but didn’t know how to ask. On those nights, when the ghosts were louder than his thoughts, he’d find you. Sometimes just to sit beside you on the couch, sometimes to walk the perimeter of the compound in wordless patrol, and sometimes… to talk. Little things and often one sentence at a time. A memory or a sarcastic comment. Sometimes a moment of truth disguised as a joke.

You fell for him slowly. Hopelessly.

In the way his voice softened when he said your name. In the way he watched you like he was memorizing every move, not to predict it, but to understand it. In the way he spoke of nightmares but never had them when you’d fall asleep on his couch for movie nights. In the way you never had to use your power, but he always told you the truth anyway.

You told yourself it wasn’t love. Not yet. Just admiration or connection. It was just the beginning of something you’d never be brave enough to touch.

And still, you saw the way his eyes lingered a second too long when you laughed at one of Sam’s jokes. How he stiffened whenever someone else stood too close to you. How his voice dropped an octave when he asked “You okay?” like the answer would define the rest of his night.

There was always something unfinished between you. Something neither of you dared name. So when your moments of silence became distant and suffocating, it chipped away at your sanity and heart each time.

You had always thought that silence was something you could share. Something safe. But over the last few weeks, the quiet between you and Bucky had begun to feel like an unwelcome gap, a widening chasm neither of you wanted to cross.

It started slowly. You started to notice a coldness in his gaze when he used to look at you with an unreadable warmth. Distance in his movements that used to feel comfortable, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together, now felt like two pieces of glass, edges sharp and unyielding.

It was subtle too, little things you thought you could brush off. Like when you’d walk into the common room after a long day and find him sitting there, but when you sat next to him, his shoulders would stiffen. He’d give a tight smile, then turn his attention back to the mission reports without saying much. Or when you found yourself at the training mats together, and he’d deliberately avoid your eye contact when he used to be the first one to look at you after a move. You wondered if he was just tired, or if it was something else but it didn’t feel like tiredness.

Then came the mission.

It was a routine operation. It was a simple extraction clean and precise. You and Bucky worked seamlessly together, as always. He covered your back while you disabled the security system. You moved in tandem, a perfect machine. But when you completed the mission, something shifted in the air. It was like he was pulling away, retreating into himself again. He didn’t speak much during the debriefing, and when you caught him glancing at you, there was something unfamiliar in his expression. Something distant. Something… closed off.

That night, when you returned to the compound, you thought it was just the usual exhaustion from a mission. But Bucky didn’t act like himself. He didn’t come by the kitchen for the usual quiet company. He hadn’t sat next to you during team discussions. He didn’t even bother to make small talk as he passed you in the hall. You caught him avoiding your gaze, his face a mask of calm, but his posture rigid.

It confused you. And it hurt more than you cared to admit.

Had you said something wrong? Done something wrong?

You spent the next few days wondering if you were the cause of it. Maybe he’d gotten too comfortable around you, and now he needed space. Maybe he just didn’t want to deal with whatever had started between you. He was still Bucky, still the same guy who’d saved your life more times than you could count. But now, everything felt like an impenetrable wall.

You didn’t want to push him. You never wanted to be that person. You never wanted to be the one who pried, the one who pushed when someone needed time to process. After all, your powers had long pried out the secrets and words of too many people to count. But Bucky was never like this before. His silences were always comfortable. The absence of his presence now felt like it was hollow, like it was filled with unsaid words and unexplored tension.

You tried to get his attention, at first, with small gestures. A shared look during a team briefing. A subtle joke meant to make him laugh. A fleeting touch of your hand on his arm when you walked by. But each time, he stiffened or pulled away. It wasn’t like him.

The hardest part was not knowing what you’d done. Maybe you had said something wrong, maybe you’d done something that made him close off. It wasn’t like you had any experience in relationships, not any real honest connections. You weren’t even sure what you and Bucky had, but you had thought it was something good and worth holding onto.

Days turned into weeks, and the distance between you both only seemed to grow. There were moments when he was still around, when he still spoke to you in clipped sentences, still walked beside you when the missions called for it. But there was no warmth behind it. No understanding or connection like before. And every time you tried to talk to him to try and ask what was wrong, he’d pull back. His responses were short, almost guarded. Every time you tried to bridge the gap, he’d distance himself further.

-

Finally, one night, after yet another cold interaction, you couldn’t take it anymore. You cornered him in the hallway. His steps faltered when he saw you, but you weren’t going to let him walk away this time.

"Bucky," You called out, your voice a mix of frustration and hurt. "What’s going on? You’re avoiding me."

He stiffened, eyes darting to the floor. His lips pressed into a thin line, like he was fighting a battle inside himself. “I’m not avoiding you," He muttered, but you could hear the lie in his voice. It wasn’t convincing and you knew it wasn’t the truth.

"Then why is it like this? What did I do?" You couldn’t keep the edge of desperation out of your voice. “You’ve been pulling away from me for weeks now and I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re driving me crazy, Bucky.”

His jaw clenched as he stood there for a moment in silence before he finally looked at you. His eyes were wide, vulnerable in a way that scared you. This wasn’t Bucky Barnes, the man who always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and kept his emotions under lock and key. This man, standing in front of you, was someone broken, someone you couldn’t fix with a touch or a kind word.

"Is it because of the mission?" You pushed gently, your voice softer. "Did I mess up somehow? If I did, just tell me. I’ll fix it."

Bucky shook his head slowly, his hand running through his hair in frustration. "No. It’s not the mission. It’s…" He looked away, and for the first time in a long while, you saw the weight of everything he’d been hiding in his eyes. "It’s me."

You were silent for a moment, the realization creeping up slowly. Your heart beat in your chest as you tried to keep your voice steady. "Bucky, you’re scaring me. You’re shutting me out, and I don’t know why."

“Just… nevermind. Forget it. Goodnight.” He said tightly, moving to depart with his gaze incapable of facing you directly.

It was then that something inside you snapped. The years of silence and loneliness, of holding back, and of not letting your power show when it was the only thing that might break through. You had to know the truth. You had to hear him say it. You had no other choice. You couldn’t just keep waiting for him to open up not after you’ve tried relentlessly and hopelessly the past couple of weeks.

You focused. You’d never used your ability on him before, not because you were afraid of the power, but because you never wanted him to experience another situation where he had no control. You were afraid of what you might find if you pushed him too hard; but tonight, you weren’t going to let him walk away.

You took a deep breath, your voice steadier than you felt, mentally asking for his forgiveness as you spoke firmly. “Bucky, I need you to answer me. Why are you really pushing me away?”

His body stiffened. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought against your words, as if he could physically resist them. But it was futile. The pull of your power was subtle, like an invisible tether pulling at him, a force beyond his control.

His mouth opened, and for a moment, it was as if he tried to choke back the words. It was like he tried to shove them down into the depths of his mind where he thought they’d stay buried forever. But they spilled out anyway, raw and jagged, his voice betraying him in a way you hadn’t expected.

”Because if I let myself love you,” Bucky whispered, his eyes flickering with the weight of the confession, ”I don’t know if I could survive losing you too.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the cracks in the armor that he’d built around himself. The fear, the raw terror, that if he let himself love again, he wouldn’t be able to bear the inevitable heartbreak. Because Lord knows how much he’s lost and had to grieve in his life.

You didn’t know what to say. For a moment, everything felt like it was frozen in time. You’d never seen him so exposed, so raw and it made your heart ache for him.

His breath hitched, like he was waiting for you to run, waiting for you to take his confession as an excuse to push him away, just as he had done to you.

"What do you mean?" You were barely breathing, every word feeling too heavy to bear.

"I’m not good for you," He spoke softly. "You deserve someone who doesn’t drag you down with their demons." He took a step back, shaking his head. "I can’t give you what you want. What you need."

And there it was. The wall he’d been building between you had a name: fear. Fear of opening up or of what you might see. Fear of the man he used to be and the damage he’d done.

But you weren’t afraid. You never were, not of him.

"I don’t need you to be perfect,” You stepped closer, heart hammering, and placed your hand on his chest. "I just need you to be here."

His breath hitched at your words. For a moment, you thought he might step back again. That he might raise those walls so high you’d never reach him. But he didn’t move. Instead, he just stood there, chest rising beneath your hand, heart pounding steadily under your touch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You repeated softly, like a promise. “Even if you try to push me away.”

He closed his eyes, and something in him cracked, right there in front of you. Not loudly or with any dramatics. But it was like watching winter thaw, slow and quiet and inevitable.

“I tried to stay away,” Bucky admitted, his voice low, rough, like it hurt to speak. “I thought if I could put some space between us, it’d fade. That maybe I could stop wanting you.”

The confession landed like a lightning bolt. Your lips parted, a thousand emotions flooding you at once: relief, confusion, heartbreak, hope.

“You tried to stop wanting me?” Your voice echoed, barely above a whisper.

His eyes opened then, meeting yours, and you saw it, everything he’d been holding back. All the pain, fear, and longing. “I’ve wanted you for months,” He said. “Maybe longer. But I thought if I kept my distance, you’d find someone better. Someone who doesn’t wake up screaming. Someone who hasn’t done what I’ve done.”

Your fingers twitched against his chest. “But I don’t want someone better,” You said quietly. “I want you.”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t quite believe it. “Even after everything?”

You nodded slowly, fiercely. “Especially after everything. Because I’ve seen you, Bucky. Not just the soldier. Not an assassin. You. The man who watches bad movies with me in silence. The one who always notices when I’m tired or hurting and doesn’t say a word, just sits a little closer. The one who remembers how I take my coffee. Who makes me feel safe, even when everything else falls apart.”

He looked away for a heartbeat, jaw tight, like he was trying to keep himself together.

You moved forward, stepping a little closer. Your heart racing as you added in a firmer voice. “And you don’t get to decide that you’re unworthy of being wanted. Not for me. Not when I’ve been falling for you this whole damn time.”

And that, broke something in him. He exhaled sharply, like the weight he’d been carrying finally tipped over. His hand came up hesitantly before it settled over yours on his chest, warm and shaking.

“I don’t know how to do this,” He admitted. “I’m not good at… feeling.”

“That’s okay,” You whispered. “You don’t have to be. I’m not asking you to be perfect. Just to let me in.”

He looked at you like you were sunlight cracking through a storm cloud, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand. “You already are.”

And then, slowly, carefully, he leaned in. It wasn’t rushed nor desperate. Just real. When his lips met yours, it was tentative, like a question. But when you kissed him back, it became an answer. One you’d both been waiting for.

Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron

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

Word Count: 1.2k+

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

Main Masterlist | Original Fic

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

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

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

But nothing broke the team more than the group chat.

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

-

GROUP CHAT: “Earth’s Mightiest Dumbasses”

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

You: what’s 9 AM in frog time

Natasha: What does that mean?

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

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

You: normal is a strong word

-

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

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

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

-

GROUP CHAT:

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

You: idk man maybe someone wants you to be cultured

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

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

-

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

And a lot of times, that haunts him.

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

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

And then walked away.

He’s been thinking about it for months.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky blinked.

“…I brought you pizza.”

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

-

GROUP CHAT:

Steve: Can someone explain what this is?

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

You: surveillance

Steve: Why…

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

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

-

Despite it all, you were deadly in the field.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone went dead silent.

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

Nobody could figure you out.

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

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

-

GROUP CHAT:

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

You: what if I am a security risk

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

You: then I win

Natasha: What did you win?

You: You’ll see 😈

Tony: I have forgotten what peace feels like anymore.

-

You called yourself “The Distractinator” in combat.

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

Yes. To all of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t work.

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

Beach Day

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

Summary: You and your caregivers go on a trip to the beach where you have an action-packed day of building sand castles, splashing in the water, and spending time with your daddies.

Word Count: 3.1k+

A/N: I tried to make reader actually speak more this time, more excited in little space. I’m also going to the beach this week, so maybe I’ll find some inspiration to write more beach-related scenarios. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

Sunlight peeks through your curtains, warm and golden. Before you’re even fully awake, you feel it, that fluttery kind of excitement deep in your belly. Today is the day you take a trip with your daddies to the beach.

You practically tumble out of bed, your stuffie clutched in one hand and your blanket trailing behind you like a cape. Your feet patter down the hall to the kitchen where Steve is already pouring coffee and Bucky’s at the table packing snacks and food into a cooler bag.

As soon as they see you, both of their faces light up.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Steve says with a grin, crouching down as you barrel into him for a hug.

“‘S beach day!” You declare, bouncing on your toes and giggling. “Gon’ swim, an’ eat sammiches, anddd… maybe find a crab!”

Steve chuckles and ruffles your bedhead. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

Bucky comes over and lifts you into his arms with a dramatic motion. “You sound ready to explode with excitement, doll.”

“Boom!” You shout happily, flopping into his shoulder with a squeal.

“Alright, tiny firecracker,” Bucky says with a smirk, kissing your temple, “Let’s pick out that swimsuit, huh? I laid out a few.”

He carries you back to your room, setting you down in front of the bed where three different swimsuits are folded: one with little sharks, one with rainbows and glitter, and one with ducks wearing sunglasses.

You gasp. “Ducks!! ‘M wearin’ the ducky one!”

“Excellent choice,” Steve says from the doorway, holding up a tiny bottle of sunscreen like it’s a secret weapon. “Operation Sunshield begins after we’re dressed.”

You squeal again and squirm excitedly while Bucky helps you into the ducky swimsuit, gently tugging the fabric into place and letting you spin in front of the mirror.

“Look at you,” He teases. “The duck commander herself.”

You pose with your hands on your hips. “Quack,” You say seriously before breaking into giggles.

Steve brings over your favorite sunhat, the one with little cat ears sewn on top. He crouches down to tie the strings carefully under your chin. “There. Our beach baby is ready.”

You nod with a wide smile, pointing to yourself. “Beach baby. Dat’s me.”

Bucky hands you your beach bag, shaped like a strawberry, already packed with your floatie, water bottle, a towel, and your favorite shell-collecting bucket. You peek inside and spot your teddy tucked in there too, wearing his own little sunglasses.

“Brownie comin’ tooooo!” You squeal, hugging the bag tight.

Steve chuckles and kisses your forehead. “Of course. He’s our co-pilot.”

You skip toward the door, flip-flops smacking the floor, bag bouncing against your side, already humming a made-up beach song.

And behind you, Steve and Bucky exchange a soft look, all warm smiles and quiet love, before following you out the door.

It doesn’t take long until you’re all buckled into your seat in the back of Steve’s big SUV, your strawberry beach bag beside you and Brownie resting in your lap. Your feet are swinging back and forth and you’ve got a sippy cup of cold apple juice in one hand.

Bucky’s driving, sunglasses on and arm relaxed out the window, while Steve twists in the front seat to check on you again.

“Got everything, sweetheart?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Mhm! Brownie, got snacks, got juice… oh! Forgot da crayons- wait, no I didn’t! They in the bag!” You unzip it and proudly show off your zip-up pouch full of stubby, broken crayons and coloring pages.

Steve gives you a dramatic sigh of relief. “Phew. Beach emergency averted.”

Bucky grins at the road. “Can’t survive a beach trip without crayons. Everyone knows that.”

You lean back and hum a little song to yourself while kicking your feet. Then, suddenly, “Papa?”

Steve turns again, his expression soft. “Yeah, bug?”

“How many waves do ya fink there gonna be? A gazillion?”

He hums in thought before answering, “Maybe a gazillion and one.”

You giggle and wiggle in your seat. “I’mma jump in alla them! Gonna splash ev’rywhere!”

Bucky snorts, joking. “Better not splash me, unless you wanna get launched into orbit.”

You gasp, wide-eyed. “Like a rocket?!”

“Yup. Straight to the moon, kiddo.”

Steve leans over and smacks Bucky’s arm playfully. “No launching beach babies today, sergeant.”

“Awwww,” You whine with a little pout, “But I wanna go moon swimmin’…”

They both laugh, and Bucky says, “Okay, okay. We’ll settle for ocean splashing. But you are gonna need to hold our hands in the water if you don’t have your floatie with you.”

You cross your arms with a dramatic sigh. “Cuz waves big?”

Steve nods. “And ‘cause we love you. Wanna keep you close.”

That makes you go quiet for a second before you agree with a nod, “Okay. I hold your hands forever!”

The car is quiet after that for a few minutes, filled only with the sound of tires on pavement and the music playing softly through the speakers, one of your favorite silly beach songs.

Eventually, your eyes start to feel a little heavy from the sun and excitement, and your voice gets small. “Tell me when we’re there?”

Steve turns slightly in his seat, watching you snuggle up with your teddy bear. “Of course, baby. You rest. We’ll get you there safe.”

And with Bucky humming along to the song and Steve’s assurance warm and steady, you drift off to sleep, dreaming of ducks in sunglasses and waves that reach the stars.

-

The car slows down into a parking lot full of stray sand, and you awaken instinctively.

“We here?” You mumble, still a little sleepy, rubbing your eyes.

“We’re here, baby,” Steve says, twisting to smile at you. “And there’s the shore.”

You sit up fast, blinking at the blue sky, the seagulls flying overhead, and the endless stretch of sparkling ocean beyond the dunes. Your mouth opens in a soft gasp. “Iss sooooo biiiiig!”

Bucky chuckles as he parks the car. “Told ya the ocean was a giant bathtub.”

“Bath tub don’t got birds,” You correct him seriously.

Steve laughs and gets out, opening the back door and unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you out. “You’re right, smarty-pants. No seagulls allowed in bathtubs.”

Bucky lifts the beach bag and tosses a towel over his shoulder. Your floatie, shaped like a giant donut with pink frosting, is tucked under his arm. “Alright, sunshine, grab a hand.”

You immediately reach for both of them, one hand in each of theirs, swinging between them as the three of you walk toward the beach. You can feel the sand seep onto the surface of your flip-flops and the ocean breeze tugs playfully at your hat, but you don’t mind one bit. You’re too busy bouncing in excitement.

“Papa! Daddy! Look, look, a doggie!” You shout, pointing to a golden retriever with a stick in its mouth.

“I see him,” Bucky says. “Reckon he’s here for the waves too.”

“Bet he surfs,” You whisper, awed.

The beach opens up in front of you, wide and bright, with the tide glittering under the sun. Steve lays down a big blanket while Bucky sets up the umbrella and cooler. You spin in place, arms out, squealing, “So big!! So blue!! So sandyyyy!!”

“You’re gonna be so sticky by the end of the day,” Steve teases, “Sticky and sandy and tired.”

You beam. “Dat’s the best kinda day.”

He chuckles, holding out the donut floatie. “Want it on now or wait till we go in?”

You tap your chin like you’re thinking real hard, then answer, “Gon’ wait. ‘Mma build da castle first.”

Bucky sets the floatie down, securing it to make sure it doesn’t blow away in the wind. “Then let’s build the biggest castle in the whole world. Fit for a beach princess.”

“I’m a queen,” You say matter-of-factly, plopping down and grabbing your bucket.

“Apologies, your majesty,” Bucky replies with a bow, handing you your shovel.

You take it gratefully. Now sitting criss-cross in the sand, shovel in hand, and your tongue poking out the side of your mouth in deep, serious concentration. “Dis side gonna be da dungeon,” You declare, patting down a lopsided tower with a wet slap.

“Uh-oh,” Steve says, leaning over with a raised brow. “Who’s getting sent to the dungeon?”

You look up at him dramatically. “Any bad guys. Like… da people who steal snacks. Or take my floatie wifout askin’.”

Bucky smirks. “That first one’s harsh, kiddo. Even I snuck a bite of your granola bar last week.”

You gasp, eyes wide. “DADDY!”

He holds up both hands. “I surrender to the queen.”

You scramble up and point your shovel at him. “To the dungeon!!”

Steve is already half-laughing as he scoops up a little wet sand with his palm and begins forming a jail cell beside your crooked tower. “There. You can lock him up right next to the crab moat.”

“Crab moat?” You squeak, spinning to look and sure enough, Steve has drawn a little wavy trench in the sand around your castle.

“Yup. To keep the villains out. Filled with tiny crab soldiers.”

You light up. “Can I name ‘em?!”

Bucky grins from where he’s now digging a tunnel. “They need names if they’re gonna work for you.”

You begin listing in a sing-song voice as you place little seashells at intervals around the moat. “Dis one’s Sir Pincie. Dat one’s Lady Clawdia. Ooooh! And King Crunch!”

“You’re a natural monarch,” Steve says, brushing sand off your nose gently.

The three of you work for a long while like that. Steve shapes towers and walls with his big, careful hands, while Bucky digs tunnels and hides treasure shells underneath the sand (“For adventurers later,” He says with a wink). Meanwhile, you are darting between them, giving orders, adding stick flags, and occasionally squashing the sand with your knees when things get too exciting.

At one point, you tug Steve’s hand and whisper, “Papa, look! I made a tiny throne!” and point to a lumpy mound near your castle.

He crouches beside you, looking at your creation with a warm smile. “That’s perfect, baby. Just your size.”

You plop onto it,sticking your legs out and puffing up proudly. “Now I’m da queen of da whole beach.”

Bucky bows low. “Queen of Shelltown.”

“Queen of Snacksville,” Steve adds with a smile.

You nod seriously. “I rule wif kindness… and naps.”

Sand coats your legs and arms, your cheeks are flushed pink from the sun and all the giggles, and there’s a little grain of sand stuck to your bottom lip, but you’re glowing from all the fun.

And when the tide starts creeping closer, Steve leans over and murmurs, “Wanna defend the castle, or let the waves have it?”

You consider that deeply, then whisper, “They can have it. I’ll build a new one. Wif you an’ Daddy.”

Steve kisses your temple. “Always, sweetheart.”

-

The castle’s been claimed by the tide, you had waved goodbye to Sir Pincie and Lady Clawdia, and now it’s ocean time.

Bucky crouches down beside you, holding your floatie. “Alright, sunshine. Arms up.”

You giggle and shoot both arms skyward. “Up, up, up!!”

He gently slides the floatie down over your head and around your tummy, adjusting the back. “There ya go. You’re officially donut-fied.”

Steve steps up beside you, brushing hair out of your face and slipping your goggles down over your eyes. “Ready to swim, baby?”

You nod furiously, bouncing in place. “Ready!! Wanna splash! Wanna gooooo!”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky chuckles, scooping you up into his arms. “Let’s get those little feet wet.”

As he carries you toward the water, your legs kick excitedly in the air. The waves rush up to greet you and Bucky sets you down in the shallows, keeping a hand on your floatie. “Whoa there, jellybean. Don’t go zoomin’ off just yet.”

The water laps at your knees and you squeal. When Bucky helps you a bit further to where you can float in the water, you exclaim with glee. “I’m floatin’! I’m a boat!! Papa, look!! I’m a boat!!”

Steve walks in beside you, letting the waves wash over his ankles as he chuckles. “Best boat I’ve ever seen. Might need to name you ‘Captain Giggles.’”

You dramatically turn the wheel of your imaginary ship. “Aye-aye, Captain Papa!”

Bucky lets you drift out a little more, still holding on. The floatie bobs up and down with the swell, and you squeal every time the water splashes up. “The ocean’s ticklin’ me!!”

“You’re lucky it likes you,” Bucky teases.

Another wave comes, bigger this time, and it lifts you gently, your floatie catching it just right. “WHOOOOA!!” You twist in the floatie and throw your arms up. “DO IT ‘GAIN!”

Steve laughs and nudges the float gently from behind so you rock back into Bucky’s waiting hands. “You’re fearless today, huh?”

You beam up at them through your goggles. “M’brave. ‘Cause I gots you two.”

Something about the way you say it makes both men soften instantly.

“That’s right, baby,” Steve murmurs. “You always got us.”

Forever, even when the tide rolls in.

-

After some more fun in the ocean, your floatie squeaks faintly as Bucky lifts you out of the water, droplets running down your legs and arms. “Okay, okay, little sea monster,” He says with a soft smile. “Time for snacks before you turn into a prune.”

You giggle, leaning your wet cheek against his shoulder. “I’m not a monster… I’m a…. mermaid now!”

“Even mermaids need snacks,” Steve calls from where he’s already crouched by the umbrella, unfolding a soft towel with cartoon sea creatures on it, the one you picked out at the store yourself and insisted “smells like sunshine.”

Bucky lowers you onto it, and Steve helps remove your floatie then immediately starts rubbing you down gently with another dry towel, working from your toes up with patient, warm hands. “You did a lot of splashing out there,” He says as he dries your hair with a little tousle. “You hungry, sweetheart?”

You nod dramatically. “M’really hungwy. Like…” You pause to think, then spread your arms wide, “…like this much hungry.”

Bucky chuckles as he pops open the cooler. “Well lucky for you, I packed the royal picnic. Your Majesty’s favorites.”

You scoot onto your knees and peek eagerly as he starts unpacking it all. Slices of juicy watermelon cut into stars, a crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into triangles just the way you like, a little container of goldfish crackers, and a juice box with a tiny superhero on it. Your mouth already waters just looking at the watermelon.

Steve sits cross-legged beside you, passing you the juice box with the straw already poked in. “Start with some sips, okay? You got lots of sun.”

You sip happily, legs folded under you. “Dis tastes like blue.”

“That’s ‘cause it is blue,” Bucky teases, handing you one of the watermelon stars on a tiny plastic fork. “Eat that before your sandwich. Hydration first.”

You crunch into it and immediately let out a content hum. “Mmmmmm. Cold!”

Both men smile as they eat alongside you, not rushing, not talking much. It’s just quiet, sun-warmed company. Seagulls squawk in the distance. Waves roll in soft and lazy now, like the ocean’s getting sleepy too. There’s sand on your knees, salt on your cheeks, and watermelon juice running down your chin.

Steve reaches over with a napkin and dabs your face gently. “You’re makin’ a mess, aren’t you?”

You look up at him, grinning. “I’m da mess queen.”

Bucky leans over and plants a kiss to your temple. “Then we must be the mess kings.”

You end up snuggled between them, leaning back against Bucky’s chest with your legs draped across Steve’s lap, half a sandwich in hand. The sun peeks out from behind a cloud, warming your face. You let out a little yawn around a bite.

Steve notices and brushes your damp hair back. “Sleepy?”

You shake your head slowly, though your body sags against Bucky. “Noooo. Jus’… comfy.”

Bucky pulls a second towel over your legs, letting you burrow in like a little cocoon. “That’s okay, sweetheart. You just rest. We’ve got you.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed. “You always do.”

And they always will.

-

The sun is dipping low now, casting long golden streaks across the parking lot as Steve loads up the trunk. The beach towels are a little sandy, the cooler is mostly empty, and your floatie sits squished between the seats like a deflated donut. Everything smells like salt and sunscreen.

Bucky lifts you gently from where you were half-dozing under the umbrella, your cheeks warm and your limbs floppy with that worn-out, sun-drenched tiredness that only little ones know.

“C’mon, peanut,” He murmurs, cradling you close against his chest. “Time to go home.”

You mumble something into his shirt, mostly vowels and half-syllables, nothing real, but your arms curl around his neck automatically. He smiles, brushing a kiss into your damp hair.

The backseat’s already set up, your soft blanket with the stars and moons, Brownie resting nearby, and a small travel pillow that smells like home. Bucky settles you in carefully, buckling you up while keeping the blanket snug around your legs before shutting the door carefully and moving into the passenger’s seat.

Steve climbs into the driver’s seat and glances back at you in the rearview mirror. “All set, sweetheart?”

You blink slowly, eyes heavy. “Goin’ home?”

“That’s right,” He says, starting the engine. “You did so good today. Brave in the water, kind to the sand crabs, full of giggles. I’m proud of you.”

You smile sleepily, turning your head toward the window as the car pulls away from the beach. The world passes by in a blur of fading light, palm trees, street signs, the occasional swoop of a bird overhead. Your eyelids flutter, heavier with every mile.

Bucky twists in his seat, watching you for a moment. His voice is softer now. “Get some rest, babydoll. We’ll be home soon.”

You hum softly, barely awake, your fingers curling in the corner of your blanket. “You stay wif me?”

“Always,” He whispers. “Not going anywhere.”

The car hums along the road, the sound of tires and the occasional song from the radio blending into the perfect lullaby. Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting quietly on Bucky’s thigh, and the two of them share a look, the kind that says everything without words.

And in the back seat, warm and all out of energy from the big day… you drift off to sleepy, safe and loved as ever.

Hii! I absolutely love your fics, and I wanted to send in a request, could be thunderbolts or og avengers, i don't mind, but where reader is like, insecure about her body and she's the only one of the women who isn't wearing fitting clothes, and Bucky showing her how pretty she is - no smut, just him like, kissing the places she's insecure about.

<3

Greetings, dear! Thank you for the kind words and the request. What a lovely idea, it was a joy fulfilling it! Just the type of comfort I love writing actually.

I chose OG Avengers since I have yet to watch Thunderbolts to get a good grasp on those characters. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this! Happy reading!!!

Soft Kisses, Loud Truths

Summary: You, always hiding beneath oversized clothes, finds quiet, affirming comfort in Bucky Barnes. A man who shows you love not just through words but through gentle presence and reverent kisses to every place you hide. Without pressure or expectation, he stays by your side, reminding you that you don’t need to change or be perfect to be worthy of love.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Main Masterlist

You weren’t one for tight clothes. Not because they didn’t fit, though you always insisted they didn’t, but because they fit too well. Too much. They hugged in the wrong places, outlined dips and curves you’d rather keep secret.

And in a room full of confident women, all in sleek dresses or jeans that clung like they were made just for them, you stuck out in your oversized sweater like a kid playing dress-up in her older sister’s closet.

The compound was lively tonight. Some low-stakes celebration Tony had insisted on throwing, complete with music, snacks, and beer someone had spiked with something “better.” Everyone was relaxed, loose, and glowing under the low warm light. Meanwhile, you felt like a smudge on the painting.

You hovered near the edge of it all, picking at your sleeve and tugging it over your hands. The fabric was safe. Baggy. It kept attention off your chest, your arms, your stomach. It helped you feel invisible or, at least it used to.

Because Bucky Barnes had a habit of looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

Your relationship with him was slow. Not fragile, but… careful. Bucky never pushed. He always waited for you to lead, even when he clearly wanted more. Even when your fingers brushed, and he didn’t let go. Even when his eyes flicked to your lips mid-conversation. Even when he held you too long after nightmares you didn’t mean to share.

You weren’t together-together, not officially. But it was obvious there was something between you two. There were many things that didn’t need labels to be real.

Like how he always gravitated toward you, no matter who was talking to him. Or how he’d lean down and murmur some sarcastic comment into your ear that made your lips twitch into a smile, even when you were trying not to be seen.

Tonight was no different.

You felt him before you saw him. His presence, a low hum in the back of your head, like the way you can feel the pressure shift before a storm. Then there he was, easing beside you without a word, his drink in one hand while his other rested lazily at his side like it was waiting for yours.

You glanced up. He wore black, like always, but fitted in a way that made you stare. He looked relaxed and breathtaking. Everything you weren’t.

“Why are you hiding over here?” He asked, voice low and soft.

You shrugged, eyes flicking back to the crowd. “Not really a fan of parties.”

He studied you. “You wore that sweater again.”

“I like it.”

“I know you do.” He paused before carefully adding. “But it’s hot in here.”

You tensed slightly. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t argue. Bucky never argued about your boundaries. But his eyes drifted over your hunched shoulders, the way your arms were crossed protectively, and how you kept adjusting your hemline like it might magically shift your shape.

He leaned closer, a hint of cologne catching in your breath. “You always hide when you don’t think you belong.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how.

Bucky’s fingers brushed your elbow, light and careful. “You do belong,” He murmured, not as words of reassurance but as truth.

You didn’t know how to believe it. Not when you’d seen the others like Natasha, Wanda, or Sharon who were all stunning, confident, and comfortable in the bodies they moved in like second skin. You saw the way people admired them or stared at them for a beat too long, effortlessly magnetic.

But Bucky, he wasn’t looking at them.

He was looking at you. And he wasn’t looking away.

-

Later, after the party had thinned and laughter faded into distant murmurs, Bucky found you again. However, this time you were in the quiet space of your own room, curled on your side with that same sweater still swallowing you whole. You hadn’t meant to leave without saying goodbye, but you also hadn’t known how much longer you could stand to pretend.

The knock was soft. Two simple, familiar beats.

You opened the door halfway.

He didn’t smile like earlier, just looked at you with those gentle, storm-colored eyes. His hair was pulled back and his voice nearly a whisper.

“Can I come in?”

You gave a small nod and stepped aside. The door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t ask questions right away as he looked around your room like he’d never seen it, then back at you. His eyes landed on your sleeves, the way you clutched them.

“You disappeared.”

“I just got tired.”

“You always get tired when you start comparing yourself to everyone else.”

That made your throat tighten.

Bucky stepped closer. “You looked beautiful tonight. I wish you saw what I did.”

You shook your head before you meant to, bitter at how fast the insecurity rose.

“No one looks at me like that,” You said quietly. “Not like they look at them.”

“They don’t,” He agreed. “Because they don’t see what I see.”

You looked away. He didn’t try to force you to meet his gaze. Instead, his metal hand reached out slowly, silently asking.

So, you let him touch the end of your sleeve.

“Can I?” He asked, voice gentler than before.

You nodded, barely. He pushed the sleeve up, past your wrist, and up your arm.

Then he leaned in and kissed it. Right where your arm softened in ways you hated, where you’d always tried to hide the way it curved and dipped.

Your breath caught.

He continued, lips brushing the skin like it deserved tenderness. Reverence. As if this wasn’t a place to be ashamed of, but one to be adored.

“Here,” He murmured between kisses, “is soft and warm. You try to shrink it, but I want to hold it.”

He kissed your shoulder next, after gently tugging the collar of your sweater to the side. The metal fingers of his left hand ghosted over your back, not pushing, just feeling.

You said nothing, but you didn’t stop him either.

“And here,” He said, pressing a slow kiss just below your collarbone, “is where you carry all your tension. I feel it every time you pull away.”

He moved next to your stomach, after you hesitated, then slowly let him lift the hem of your sweater. You almost stopped him, almost apologized for the stretch marks, for the softness, for not being the version of beautiful the world seemed to want.

But Bucky went to his knees in front of you, on his knees for you, and kissed every line.

Every dip. Every place you’d avoided mirrors for.

“Don’t hide from me,” He whispered into your skin. “Not this. Not you.”

Your eyes stung. You couldn’t look down at him without your throat closing.

His hands were steady, one flesh, one metal. His palms warm and patient as they held your hips like they weren’t something to be ashamed of.

“I don’t need you to be thin, small, or perfect,” He said. “I just need you to be here, with me.”

And when he stood, and you finally looked into his eyes again, you saw no pity. No discomfort nor disgust. Just awe. Like you were something rare, worth worshiping, worth loving.

You trembled, and for the first time, not from shame.

“…You really think I’m beautiful?” You whispered.

His thumb brushed your cheek.

“No,” He said, voice low, steady. “I know you are.”

And then he kissed you. Slow and deep, like he was answering every unasked question you’d ever buried in the mirror.

The kiss itself was like a held breath finally released, full of the tenderness you never knew how to ask for. Bucky didn’t kiss like a man chasing lust. He kissed like someone memorizing or like he was making up for every time you’d stared at your reflection and flinched.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. You could feel his breath on your lips, the slight tremble in his chest like your closeness was almost too much and not enough all at once.

“We don’t have to do anything more,” He murmured, his hands still resting gently on your waist, not pushing or pulling, just holding. “You set the pace. Always.”

You swallowed hard. Your sweater hung halfway off your shoulder, the bottom still pushed up slightly. However, you didn’t feel fully exposed. Not in the way you feared at least. Because somehow with Bucky, it felt more like being seen than being looked at.

You nodded, just a little. “Stay?”

That one word, barely above a whisper, broke something in him. Not in a painful way but in the way something softens when it’s finally allowed to feel. He kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then both your cheeks like he was stitching something invisible back together.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” He said.

And true to his word, he did. Later that night, you ended up curled in your bed, sweater discarded, and wrapped in an old soft T-shirt of his he’d left in your room weeks ago. He said it looked better on you, and this time, you almost believed him.

The lights were off, save for the low glow of your lamp. Bucky was laying beside you on his side, propped up slightly and tracing the back of your hand with his thumb. Your legs tangled loosely beneath the blanket. Nothing rushed. Nothing heavy. Just the comfort of bare skin and deep breathing.

His voice was low, like he didn’t want to startle the peace.

“You know what I noticed about you?”

You looked at him, curious.

“You always say ‘sorry’ when you mean ‘I’m afraid I’m too much.’ Or ‘not enough.’”

Your throat tightened.

“I never want you to be sorry for existing exactly how you are,” He said, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “You don’t have to earn space or softness. Or love.”

A tear slipped down before you could stop it. He kissed it away like it was sacred.

Then, slowly, his hand settled on your stomach again, warm and grounding. “This is yours,” He said softly. “You don’t have to suck it in or apologize for it. It’s beautiful.”

His hand moved to the side of your thigh where the stretch marks you hated resided. “This too.”

Then his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist. “And this. So strong.”

His hand shifted once more and now hovered over your chest, over your heart. “And this,” He said, voice slightly rough, “is what I want to protect.”

By the time he finally settled back beside you, your hands had found his. Your body had stopped resisting his touch. For the first time in a long time, your skin didn’t feel like something that needed to be hidden.

You leaned closer into him, voice small but steady. “You make me feel… safe.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss into your hair. “That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

You didn’t mean to cry, but the tears came anyway. Quiet and slow, as if your body had finally decided it was allowed to feel. Bucky didn’t flinch. He just reached up, cupped your face, and brushed each tear away with the back of his hand like he had all the time in the world.

He didn’t try to hush you. He didn’t ask you to smile. He just let you be.

You both lied there together, not tangled in passion, but wrapped in stillness. He didn’t undress you. He didn’t ask for more. He simply rested beside you, his hand cradling yours between them like something precious.

He looked at you like he saw you. Not a version of you. Not a comparison. Just… you.

And maybe that was enough.

He shifted closer, his voice just a whisper against the dark.

“You don’t have to fight your reflection anymore.”

You didn’t respond with words, just the smallest squeeze of his hand.

Bucky pulled your joined hands to his chest, let you feel the slow, steady beat beneath your palm. “This is yours. With every beat, I’ve always got you.”

His thumb brushed your knuckles until your breathing slowed, until the last tear had dried, until your eyes finally slipped closed.

And long after you fell asleep, he stayed awake, watching the quiet way your chest rose and fell, holding your hand like a vow whispered into the night.

He didn’t need you to love yourself all at once.

He just needed you to know: You were already loved.

And even if you couldn’t see it yet, he would keep showing you until the day you finally did.

What You Can’t Heal

Summary: You would think being a healer made you careful, more cautious of getting hurt. However, it made you the opposite, more willing to throw yourself head first into danger. And your mission partner does not like that one bit. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to heal. You and Bucky get hurt in this.

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: To be honest, I want to write another version of Healer!reader where her powers can transfer injuries onto herself. But I thought it’d be fun to explore the recklessness that having healing powers can bring.

The compound gym was almost empty when you slipped in, quiet as breath. Just the sound of gloves striking a punching bag. Slow, rhythmic, and methodical. The kind of pace that didn’t burn energy but burned thoughts. You stopped just inside the doorway, watching the man in front of it all.

Bucky Barnes.

His black t-shirt clung to his back, soaked with sweat, muscles rippling beneath ink and scars. His metal arm glinted in the low light, the sound of knuckles against canvas falling into a pattern like a heartbeat. You hadn’t known he’d be here. Or maybe you had. Subconsciously.

He didn't look at you. Not right away.

“You gonna stand there all day or join in?” He asked, voice low, still facing the bag.

You blinked, then stepped in. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked like you were winning the argument.”

“Wasn’t an argument,” He muttered, grabbing a towel and rubbing the sweat from the back of his neck. “Just… quiet.”

He finally turned, eyes landing on you. Not unkind, but guarded, always guarded. Like he expected you to flinch at something he hadn’t said yet.

“You’re not on the rotation today,” He pointed out.

You shrugged, tapping the inside of your wrist where a faint mark from yesterday’s spar still lingered. “Figured I could use the practice.”

He scoffed softly. “You mean more bruises to fix.”

You smirked. “Lucky for me, I’m the easiest medic to find.”

He didn’t smile, not really , but something in his jaw relaxed.

“…You’re too comfortable with pain,” He said after a moment, picking up a pair of training pads.

“You’re too afraid of it,” You countered, stepping onto the mat.

He paused. That sharp glance again, not angry and not insulted. Just watching. Assessing. Like you’d said something truer than he wanted to admit.

“Alright, healer,” He said, tossing you a pair of gloves. “Let’s see if you’re as tough as you act.”

You caught them easily, grinning.

You didn’t notice the faint flicker in his expression, the one that wasn’t annoyance or frustration. It was worry. Care, maybe. Hidden so deep, not even he knew where it lived anymore.

The training room echoed with the dull thud of fists against pads and the occasional grunt of effort. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting a sterile glow over the gym's scarred walls. Bucky Barnes stood in the center of the mat, arms crossed, the faintest trace of a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"You’re not supposed to let them hit you just to prove you can heal," He said, voice sharp but quiet, like thunder muffled by snow.

You shrugged, rolling your bruised shoulder. The bone was already snapping back into place beneath your skin, just a faint crunch and a soft hiss of pain. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to take every hit. Healing doesn’t make you invincible.”

You hated how his gaze pinned you. The ex-soldier still wore that half-haunted, half-suspicious expression like a second skin. But you knew he meant it. Not just the words. The worry behind them.

“You’re treating this like a game,” Bucky continued. “Out there, if you rely on your powers like a crutch, someone’s going to find a way to break you faster than you can fix yourself.”

“I don’t use it as a crutch,” You tried to keep your tone even. “It’s a tool. Just like your arm. Or your training.”

He stepped closer, close enough that the steel of his vibranium arm caught the overhead light. “Difference is, my arm doesn’t stop me from bleeding out if I get cocky.”

You looked away, jaw tight.

That was always the line, wasn’t it? The part they didn’t say out loud, the assumption that your powers made you reckless. Untouchable. Like pain didn’t matter to you.

But it did. You just didn’t show it.

“I’m not afraid of getting hurt,” You said finally, sighing in the process.

Bucky’s voice softened, but the weight in it didn’t lift. “Then maybe you should be.”

You met his eyes again. Blue-gray, storm-worn, and so damn tired. He looked at you the way someone looks at a puzzle they’ve tried to solve too many times. His frustration wasn’t just with you. It was with himself too, but you didn’t know that.

“…We’ll start again tomorrow,” He turned away now. “Don’t show up unless you’re ready to stop playing superhero.”

Then he left you standing on the mat. Your shoulder was fully healed, but your chest aching in a way no power could fix.

Two days later, the mission came.

A Hydra splinter cell operating out of an abandoned medical research facility on the outskirts of Munich. Stark had muttered something about leftover tech, too unstable to be ignored. You and Bucky were assigned to go in quiet, extract the data, and disable any weapons they were cooking up.

Bucky didn’t speak to you much on the quinjet. Just the usual mission prep. Tactical. Tense. You sat across from him, checking your gear in silence, biting down the bitter aftertaste of his last words.

”Don’t show up unless you’re ready to stop throwing yourself into danger.”

You showed up anyway.

The facility was dark, corridors lit only by flickering emergency lights. It smelled of antiseptic and rust, of blood dried long ago. Bucky moved ahead of you, every step measured, gun raised, breathing steady. You were right behind him, senses stretched taut. It wasn’t fear of getting hurt, not really. It was the quiet between you, heavier than the air, more suffocating than the mission itself.

Then came the ambush.

The first explosion sent you both to the floor. Ears ringing, you scrambled behind a lab table, catching a glimpse of Bucky. He was bleeding from a small gash near his temple, dazed but moving.

Three Hydra operatives advanced from the left.

Bucky cursed, firing off a few shots, but they kept coming. One tackled him, knocking the gun from his hands, the two others circling like wolves. You bolted forward without thinking, slamming into one with your shoulder and catching a knife through your side in return.

Pain flared. Warm blood soaked your shirt.

You welcomed it.

Bucky’s voice cracked through the haze as he shouted your name.

He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing the soldier by the throat and slamming him into the wall with a growl. The second Hydra agent went for you, but your powers were already at work. The tissue knitting, nerves sparking back into place, the blade sliding out of you with a slick noise.

You stood, bloody but calm, and delivered a solid punch that sent him sprawling.

By the time it was over, Bucky was breathing hard, hands shaking. Not from the fight, but from seeing you go down.

“Are you insane?” He shouted, storming toward you. “You ran into a knife! You could’ve-“

“I healed.”

“That’s not the damn point!”

His eyes burned. Your heart pounded. Not from adrenaline, but from the sharp edges in his voice, the way they cut deeper than any wound.

“You said I wasn’t ready,” You defended, quietly. “I proved I was.”

“No,” He said, stepping closer, voice dropping. “You proved you’re still willing to throw yourself away.”

You didn’t have a response to that.

He reached for you suddenly; gloved fingers brushing your side, feeling the warm blood that was already drying. His touch hovered, unsure.

“Stop doing that,” He spoke softer now. “Stop making me watch you get hurt just because you can.”

There it was. Raw, bare, unguarded. Not anger. Not frustration. Fear.

“I’m not afraid…” The rebuttal came out, barely above a whisper.

“I am.”

His voice barely made a sound, but it hit you like a punch to the ribs. Not the Winter Soldier voice, cold and precise. Not the soldier tone that was tactical, measured, and distant. No, this was Bucky. Just Bucky. Human. Frayed around the edges. Afraid.

Of losing you.

You stood frozen, not from pain, that was already gone, but because of the crack in his walls. The thing no one else ever got to see.

“You’re afraid for me,” You corrected, voice steadier than you expected.

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, Bucky dragged a hand down his face, leaving a smear of blood on his cheekbone, yours or his, you didn’t know. He looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the mission.

“Every time you go down, even for a second…” He exhaled hard, shaking his head. “I forget you’ll get back up. My body still reacts like I’m watching someone die. Like I’m helpless again.”

Your breath caught. He didn’t mean to say that last part. Helpless.

The word hung between you like smoke in a locked room. Bucky Barnes, who’d had his mind torn apart, his hands used for things he didn’t choose. Of course he feared helplessness. And now you understood why watching you get hurt, even if you healed, chipped away at whatever fragile peace he’d built. Your voice came next.

“I didn’t think it scared you like that.”

“I know,” He replied. “That’s the part that scares me more.”

You stepped closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, to see the small tremor in his metal hand. Close enough that the scent of his sweat and blood mixed with yours.

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” You explained yourself softly. “I just don’t know how else to help. I can’t punch like you. I can’t take down ten guys with one arm.”

“No,” He said firmly, meeting your gaze, “But you run toward pain like it’s your job to carry it.”

Silence filled the air once again. Then, gently, like he thought he might scare you; Bucky reached out, his hand brushing the side of your jaw, just enough pressure to ground you.

“I don’t want to watch someone I care about get used up trying to make up for everything they can’t fix.”

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until those words.

Care about.

You leaned into his touch, just barely. Enough to let him know you weren’t running. Not from this. Not from him.

“I’m trying to learn,” You whispered. “Maybe… you could help me.”

Bucky’s thumb grazed your cheekbone, just once, before he let his hand fall. But something had shifted, something deeper than bone and scar tissue. His walls weren’t down, not completely, but they weren’t steel anymore. He nodded once.

“I’ll teach you how to fight smart,” He said, voice low. “And in exchange, you stop putting yourself in harm’s way every time.”

And just like that, the truce between you wasn't just tactical anymore.

It was personal.

Exactly As You Are

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

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

Word Count: 2.3k+

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

Main Masterlist

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

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

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

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

You hadn’t moved from your spot.

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

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

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

“Does what?”

“Stops.”

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” You murmured.

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

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

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

You huffed a dry laugh. “Romantic.”

He smirked. “I’ve heard worse.”

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

“You’ve had bad days too,” You said.

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

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Trying to impress me?”

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

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

-

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

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

On your first date, he had planned it carefully.

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed, which he counted as a win.

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

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

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

“Exhausted?”

“Real.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knelt beside you.

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

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

“…I don’t want to ruin this.”

His eyes softened. “You’re not.”

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

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

That made you blink.

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

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

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

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

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

You felt something in your chest unravel.

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

It was the beginning of something real.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say that,” He spoke quietly.

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

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

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

You swallowed hard.

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

His hand found yours again. Held it tighter.

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

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

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

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

Bucky went very still.

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

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

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

You broke off. Voice cracking.

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

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

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

“You think I want a normal life?”

You blinked at him.

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

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

Your chest caved with a soft, helpless sob.

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

His hand slid into yours, careful and steady.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he didn’t try to fix you.

He just loved you.

Exactly as you are.

Mischief and Alpine, Matchmaker Extraordinaires

Summary: One quiet morning between you and Bucky, the matchmaking schemes of your cats finally pay off. The smugness and victory of their successes evident almost each time you and Bucky are together now. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: And here lies the Finale so to speak. It was more so to wrap up the story of the second part. However, I don’t mind writing smaller fics or updates of our favorite feline matchmakers. Thank you to @kissingkillercriminals and @mysweetbucky and everyone else who has read this mini series so far! Happy reading!!! ♡

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel | Sequel

The plot was thickening. Mischief had started to show up at the most inconvenient moments, trying to nudge you closer to Bucky just when there was a hint of quiet tension in the air. Alpine had taken to sitting at the foot of your bed on some nights, watching over you with an oddly protective gaze that seemed more deliberate than before.

It was only when you woke up from a movie marathon on the couch one morning with Bucky beside you that their matchmaking days might finally be over. Mischief jumped into your lap and Alpine quietly walked over to his side.

“Alright, you two…” You muttered, rubbing your eyes. Mischief purred smugly. Alpine, with her quiet wisdom, gave you a single, slow blink.

Bucky sat up, rubbing his face. “I think they’re getting impatient.”

“Impatient.” You echoed before asking carefully, “Impatient about…?”

Bucky shifted, his hand brushing yours for a moment before he drew it back. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while now. I mean… you know what I’m talking about, right?”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, but you didn’t have the chance to respond before Mischief leaped off your lap and sauntered to the window, eyes sharp, tail flicking in time with her calculated movements.

You glanced at Alpine. She was staring at you, piercing eyes that seemed to say, This is the moment. Do it.

You looked back at Bucky. He was already watching you, that soft vulnerability in his eyes that always seemed to come out when the world wasn’t trying to tear him apart. But this… this was different. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the steady rhythm of the rain outside, or the fact that Mischief was sprawled on the windowsill like a queen, watching her hard work finally pay off.

And Alpine? She was sitting directly between you and Bucky, tail curled neatly around her paws, like she was guarding some invisible line that neither of you could cross unless you finally admitted it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” Bucky murmured, breaking the silence. His voice had a quiet rasp, but there was a warmth in it, like he was giving you space to speak or not speak, depending on how you wanted to handle it.

“I…” You took a breath. Your palms felt a little sweaty. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

You’d meant to sound casual, but the words came out soft, unsure. Mischief gave a low, disapproving meow from the windowsill, like she was scolding you for not being more forward.

Bucky’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “You know exactly what I mean.”

For a long beat, you stared at each other. Mischief’s tail twitched, as if encouraging Bucky to take that last step. Alpine was silent, but her intense gaze never wavered. She wasn’t going to let either of you back out of this.

“Bucky…Are you sure-” You began, but before you could continue, Mischief jumped back into your lap, purring loudly and dramatically, her head nudging against your chin in that way she did when she was trying to make you act. You weren’t sure if she was pushing you or just enjoying the chaos. Either way, she was going to make sure this moment didn’t pass.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, laughing softly as Mischief settled against you, almost as if she were physically forcing you to confront him. He moved closer, gently brushing your hair from your face.

“I don’t know how much more I can take of these two trying to play Cupid for us,” He admitted, his voice a little rougher than before.

“I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t notice it either,” You said, your heart racing.

You know all the quiet tenderness between you two that had been building for weeks. The soft touches, the shared silences, the way Mischief and Alpine always seemed to be around whenever there was a moment of uncertainty.

“I care about you,” Bucky said, his voice low, steady. “More than I thought I would. I just… didn’t know how to say it.”

You swallowed, meeting his gaze. The rain outside intensified, but inside, the world felt quieter, like all the noise of the outside world had vanished, leaving only the two of you finally on the same page.

“I’ve just been scared. I didn’t want to lose what we had. I think I’ve been waiting for you to say it,” You admitted quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

And just like that, the moment shifted. Mischief purred louder, now with what almost felt like approval, while Alpine gave a single, soft, contented meow.

“Guess we owe them one,” You murmured, glancing down at the two cats, who seemed to share some silent victory.

“Maybe,” Bucky agreed, his smile spreading. “But you know… I’m not sure they’ll let us have much of a private moment after this.”

Alpine tilted her head, as if agreeing with Bucky’s prediction. Mischief hopped into Bucky’s lap with the most satisfied expression, as if to claim her victory.

“Well,” You said with a half-laugh, your fingers tracing the outline of Bucky’s hand. “Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing as long as you’re here.”

“Always,” Bucky said, his voice soft, before gently leaning in and brushing his lips against yours.

And as the rain drummed against the windows, Mischief and Alpine curled up together, as though they’d known all along how this would end and they were content, their work here done. For now.

Later that day, after the soft glow of the moment had faded, you found yourself alone in your room, the hum of the Tower around you. Mischief was curled up on the windowsill, her tail twitching ever so slightly, while Alpine lounged at the foot of your bed, looking almost smug in her perfect little furball form. You could feel their eyes on you, and despite everything, the quiet weight of their gaze made you feel like they knew something you didn’t.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at them for a moment, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to laugh at the situation. You knew what they had done. You knew exactly what they had been up to.

And now, it was time to talk about it.

“You two,” You began, your voice teasing but filled with an underlying sense of gentle disbelief. Mischief flicked an ear, but didn’t budge. Alpine, of course, kept her eyes closed like the queen she was, but you could feel the amusement radiating off her like a warmth in the room.

The silence stretched for a moment before you sighed and crossed your arms. “So. This whole ‘matchmaking’ thing. You’re really proud of yourselves, aren’t you?”

Mischief’s ears twitched, but she didn’t flinch. Alpine opened one eye, her head raising just enough to show she was paying attention.

“Come on,” You repeated, shaking your head. “You’re not exactly that subtle. You’ve been pushing us together all along.”

A purring sound emanated from Mischief, low and rumbling. Alpine’s tail flicked, and she gave a single, satisfied meow.

You blinked, the words you had been thinking all day finally clicking into place. “You knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

The answer was a soft, almost imperceptible meow from Alpine. Mischief stretched out lazily, rolling onto her back as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She already knew you were hopelessly in love with Bucky. You disregarded her advice before after all.

“Well, that’s just great,” You muttered, letting out a short laugh. “You’re both as bad as each other. I don’t know whether to thank you, or-“ You paused, realizing what you had just walked into. “Wait, are you pleased with yourselves?”

Alpine gave a low, almost triumphant purr. Mischief, for once, seemed unbothered by your tone. The two of them exchanged a glance before Mischief padded closer, her purr deepening as she nuzzled your leg. Alpine hopped up to sit beside her, looking at you with those wise, knowing eyes.

You really think we were just helping you?

Alpine’s voice echoed clearly in your mind, steady and gentle, like a quiet whisper.

We’ve seen you two dance around it long enough. Someone had to give you a little nudge.

Mischief’s voice came next, sounding smug but affectionate. Someone had to push things along. You two were taking too long to figure it out, and…

She stretched out in a luxurious way, ‘speaking’ in one of the most haughty tones you’ve ever heard from her, We don’t have time for slow burns.

You shook your head, half in disbelief and half in gratitude. “So, this was really was some grand scheme of yours? I’m not sure whether to be impressed or insulted.”

Alpine blinked slowly, her gaze unwavering.

There is no harm in helping destiny along.

She licked her paw lazily, as if nothing had happened.

The two of you were already meant to be. We just sped things up a bit.

Mischief, as usual, seemed to be more direct. It's simple. You like each other. He’s a good guy. You’re surprisingly good together. You just needed encouragement.

You stared at them for a long moment, your heart still racing with the unexpected shift of events. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You two are unbelievable.”

There was a pause, and then Mischief nuzzled her head into your hand, looking up at you with eyes that were almost… too proud.

It’s not just about you, She said with a flick of her tail. We look out for our people. And we think… you're good for each other.

Alpine added with a soft meow, We’ve been waiting for you both to catch up.

You let out a soft, affectionate sigh. There was no denying it. Mischief and Alpine had orchestrated it all, played their roles, and had succeeded where no one else had, helping you and Bucky find your way to each other.

“Well,” You said, crouching down to pet both of them. “I guess you two aren’t so bad.” You paused, eyes narrowing playfully. “But don’t ever pull that stunt again, alright?”

Both cats tilted their heads as though they didn’t quite understand the question, but the gleam in their eyes told you everything you needed to know. Mischief purred softly, and Alpine blinked slowly, as if to say, Of course we will. But only if you need it.

“Alright,” You muttered, leaning back against the bed. “I guess I owe you both. But you’d better not make a habit of this.”

Mischief’s tail flicked in amusement, and Alpine simply curled up beside her, content. You could feel their satisfaction radiating off them. They were pleased. More than pleased, in fact. They had done what they set out to do and they had done it perfectly. (Or so they liked to think.)

As the evening unfolded, you could hear Mischief’s soft purring and Alpine’s contented meows in your mind as a comforting background to your thoughts.

But no matter how ridiculous or obvious their methods were, it was official: Mischief and Alpine had succeeded in their little operation. And somehow, you were glad they had.

-

The Tower had felt different for the past few weeks. The moments between you and Bucky were no longer filled with lingering tension. Instead, there was an easy comfort, like two puzzle pieces that had finally clicked into place.

You found yourselves seeking each other out more often. Sometimes it was just for small moments like when you’d bump into him in the hallway and catch the familiar glint of warmth in his eyes. Or when you’d sit next to him on the couch after a long day, the silence between you not uncomfortable, but companionable. Mischief and Alpine’s matchmaking had worked, and now, you both were navigating the early stages of this new territory with a mix of cautious hope and nervous excitement.

And the cats, oh the cats continued to observe, as if they were silently proud of themselves. Mischief still had that knowing, almost smug look every time she’d saunter past you and Bucky, like she knew exactly how much closer the two of you had gotten.

But it wasn’t just the cats noticing. The rest of the Avengers were starting to pick up on the change, too.

It was Steve who first pointed it out, his usual lightheartedness tinged with amusement. “You two are… different. More together lately.” He smiled, glancing between you and Bucky. “It’s a good thing, though. You’re both happier.”

You and Bucky exchanged a look. It had been an unspoken agreement, the way your relationship had blossomed slowly, carefully, but surely. There was no rush, and no one else had been more patient than Bucky, often waiting for you to make the first moves. It was always the little things with him, like him checking in on you after a mission, his hand finding yours in quiet moments, or the way his gaze softened every time your eyes met.

“Guess we are,” You murmured, your voice a little more relaxed than it used to be. You couldn’t deny that something had shifted. You could feel it in the way he smiled at you when he caught you looking at him. How he’d wrap an arm around you when the team gathered for briefings or dinners, holding you close in a way that felt both natural and necessary.

Bucky chuckled, his hand brushing against yours. “Yeah. I’ve… uh, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” His voice was a little quieter now, more vulnerable. “I guess… I wasn’t sure how to take the next step. But now, with you here… I think we’re both past all the hesitations.”

And just like that, everything fell into place. The weight of all the past struggles, the doubts, and fears that had kept you both in limbo, melted away. With each passing day, you saw Bucky for who he truly was: the soldier who had fought countless battles, yes, but also the man who had learned to love and heal, someone who had found a home in you.

Later that evening, as the team gathered for a late dinner in the common area, it felt as though the world around you had slowed down, the noise fading into the background. There was something undeniably special in the way Bucky looked at you, how his gaze lingered a little longer than before.

When he reached for your hand under the table, you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers intertwined, and the simple touch was a quiet affirmation of everything that had shifted between you two.

Mischief, ever the observer, hopped up on the table in front of you, her fur sleek and pristine. Alpine, now regularly spending time with both of you, sat beside her, her eyes flicking from you to Bucky as though in approval.

“Alright, alright,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair with a mischievous grin. “We all see it. The cat’s out of the bag, no pun intended.” He nodded toward Mischief, who was now watching Bucky with a level of interest that could only mean she was approving. “You two are… a thing, aren’t you?”

You felt a slight blush rise to your cheeks, but Bucky just chuckled softly, squeezing your hand. “Yeah. Guess so.” He gave you a small smile, one that had become second nature, but it still made your heart skip a beat.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “About time,” she teased, but there was a warmth in her voice. “It’s nice to see you two so happy.”

It wasn’t just the team noticing. It was everyone who saw you and Bucky together, there was an undeniable sense of calm and happiness that seemed to radiate off you both. You had learned to open up to him, and in turn, he’d let you in. And now, there was nothing to hide between you anymore.

That night, when the Tower was quiet again and the rest of the team retired to their rooms, you found yourself with Bucky on the balcony, gazing at the city lights below. The air was cool, the soft hum of the city in the distance adding a peaceful rhythm to the moment.

Bucky leaned against the railing, his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You know,” He murmured, “I never thought I’d get here.”

“Here?” You asked, your voice soft.

“Yeah,” His voice quieter now, his breath warm against your ear. “With someone who… makes me feel like it’s okay to be me. Not the soldier. Not a monster. Just me.”

You turned toward him, your heart swelling. “You are you, Bucky. The person who’s been through hell and back, and you’ve still got the strength to love.”

He smiled, his hand gently caressing your cheek. “And you’re the one who helped me realize that. You make me better, you know that?”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. For the first time in a long time, you felt whole. With him. With Bucky. And with the unexpected help of two very clever, very determined cats.

“You make me better too,” You whispered.

And when you kissed him softly at first, then with a growing intensity, you knew that the road ahead was uncertain, but as long as you walked it together, everything would be alright.

Disastrous Dates

Summary: Bucky wanted to take you on an actual date. It was meant to be sweet. Normal. Quiet. Unfortunately, you were involved. So naturally, it was none of those things. He tried two more times only to have them go as successfully and normal as the first. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: Not going to lie, I had just written the first date to be a blurb or super short one-shot; but I wondered what the other dates would look like and thought it’d be fun to explore more of reader’s chaotic side. I’ll explore more of the dumb mixed with genius side in later works. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Prequel | Extra

The night started with promise.

You wore pants that didn’t have a hole in them, Bucky wore a real shirt with buttons, and neither of you were bleeding. Progress. He even opened the car door for you, all old-fashioned charm and tight-lipped grumbling, and for a brief, shimmering second, it felt like something resembling normal.

Dinner had… potential.

You sat across from him at a tiny Italian place, candlelight flickering between you, and for maybe two full minutes, it was peaceful. He was smiling, barely, but it counted and you weren’t doing anything weird yet. You even managed a sincere, almost romantic sentence:

“You’ve got great hands,” You said, eyes on his fingers wrapped around a wine glass. “Very stabby. I like that in a man.”

He blinked at you. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

Then came the moment. The Moment. The part of the evening where fate, or physics, or your godforsaken inability to just exist normally kicked in.

You were halfway through telling Bucky about the time you mistook a street magician for a real sorcerer and tried to recruit him for the Avengers when you leaned a little too far back in your chair to demonstrate his “mystical flair.”

And promptly tipped the entire thing to the ground. You hit the floor with the grace of a brick dropped from a tenth-story window, one leg in the air, one hand somehow still holding your water glass like a trophy.

Bucky didn’t move. He just stared down at you.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” You wheezed. “Just checking the integrity of the floor.” Still upside down, you added, “Feels solid.”

The waiter cautiously stepped over your foot to refill Bucky’s wine.

You climbed back into your chair with all the dignity of a feral goose being escorted out of a five-star hotel, hair sticking up on one side, eyes bright with chaos. Bucky was covering his mouth with one hand. You weren’t sure if he was horrified or trying not to laugh. Possibly both.

“So,” You said, stabbing your pasta like it had wronged you. “You still in love with me or did I kill it?”

Bucky chuckled, actually chuckled, which most would say was rarer than a solar eclipse.

“I think I love you more, honestly. It’s like dating a walking concussion.”

You grinned and twirled spaghetti around your fork with entirely too much enthusiasm. Some of it hit the wall.

“You’re the one who kissed me, barnacle boy.”

“I regret nothing.”

He reached across the table to brush a strand of sauce-streaked hair from your face. It was a soft moment. A brief oasis of genuine affection in a night otherwise ruled by chaos and misfortune.

Then the power in the restaurant flickered. Then it went out. Then the fire alarm shrieked.

And suddenly you were outside in the cold with thirty other strangers, still holding your plate of pasta like a newborn, as a kitchen fire was swiftly extinguished by firemen who looked way too calm about the situation.

You turned to Bucky. “So. Wanna make out in front of the fire truck?”

He looked at you, wind ruffling his hair, eyes full of baffled affection and suppressed concern. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Romantic, huh?”

“No,” He wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side. “But you’re mine.”

And as the fire alarm was silenced and the restaurant staff handed out apology coupons, you stood there in the dark, your hair full of marinara, your date fully ruined, and your chest aching with the quiet joy of being adored exactly as you are.

You leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Next time, we’re going mini golfing.”

Bucky looked down at you like you’d just promised war. “God, help me.”

-

It was supposed to be the perfect redemption for your extremely chaotic dinner date.

Mini-golf was nothing too fancy. No exploding kitchens or fire trucks. Just a tiny course, soft pastel colors, and some hole-in-one shenanigans. Simple and relaxing. No wildlife to ruin everything.

Except of course, that would have been far too easy.

Bucky had already placed a sensible hat on his head, the kind of hat that gave off “I am mature, responsible, and don’t run into the street to tackle strangers” vibes. You, on the other hand, were rocking a neon pink visor and an obnoxiously bright ‘#1’ foam finger. You’d already declared yourself the reigning champion of the entire course, much to Bucky’s dismay.

“You realize we’re just here to have fun, right?” Bucky said, trying to ignore how you were methodically measuring the first hole as if it were the final stage of some Olympic event.

“Fun?” You asked, like he’d asked you to consider doing a jigsaw puzzle without a single corner piece. “We’re here to dominate, Barnes.”

He sighed, adjusting his grip on the golf club. “Just don’t do anything weird, okay?”

You flashed him a grin, all teeth and wild energy. “No promises.”

It was truly fine at first. You took your shot with the same calculated chaos you approached everything in life. The ball rolled and then… bounced off the tiny windmill. It ricocheted off the back of the frog statue, hit the clown’s nose, and shot straight into the hole.

“Hole in one!” You stood there, arms wide, as if you had just accomplished some great feat of athleticism.

Bucky, standing next to the hole, stared in stunned silence. “How…?”

“I’m just that good,” You said smugly, doing a weird celebratory dance that probably looked more like an epileptic seizure than a victory jig.

He was still staring in disbelief. “You… you’re not allowed to do that again.”

“Watch me.”

“You’re impossible,” He muttered, walking over and adjusting the grip on his own club near the ball. His shot was much more controlled. The ball landed neatly in the hole.

You blinked, slowly clapping. “Wow. Look at you. Mr. Mature.”

Bucky tossed you a mock glare, but he was still smiling. He wasn’t mad. He was just in constant disbelief at the fact that you could turn something so simple into a disaster zone.

You made your way to the next hole, where you decided this time, you were really going to focus. No distractions. No wild swings. No ricocheting frogs. You lined up the ball in a perfect stance. You took a deep breath. And then… you flipped the club completely by accident, sending the ball soaring across the green and directly into another windmill.

There was a pause before it stopped right at the entrance. It was as if the windmill itself had considered eating it, but ultimately rejected the offer.

You blinked, stunned by your own ineptitude for a moment. Bucky was staring at the windmill, then at you.

You turned to him, grinning widely. “See? It’s all part of my highly developed strategy. Confuse the course, confuse the ball. Keep ‘em guessing.”

He just sighed. “I swear to God, I don’t know why I’m here.”

“You’re here because you love me,” You replied, smirking. “It’s either that or a deep-seated addiction to chaos.”

“And because you wouldn’t let me leave,” Bucky added with a smirk. He took his next turn with more care, carefully positioning the ball and then knocking it straight into the hole.

“Okay, showoff,” You teased, trying to focus for real this time. “Let me get one in before you start your victory lap.”

-

But this date wasn’t all pure chaos.

For a brief moment, when you finally reached the last hole which, mercifully, had no ramps, moving windmills, or surprise rock slides, you did manage a solid shot. The ball rolled smoothly, looking like it had gone into the hole, a perfect arc. For just a second, there was a quiet calm between you two, and Bucky even gave you a small, approving smile.

“Okay, that was impressive,” He admitted, tossing his club aside and walking over to you.

You grinned, still overly proud of yourself. “Told you. You’re welcome for being this good at things.”

Then you turned, just as he reached out to lightly ruffle your hair, and noticed you’d overshot your ball earlier. It had not gone into the hole like it seemed. Instead, it had rolled right into a tiny water hazard at the very edge of the course, and now, a small flock of actual ducks had claimed it as their own.

“No.” You pointed dramatically. “I did not lose to ducks.”

“I’m pretty sure you lost to ducks,” Bucky said, trying to stifle his laughter.

“No, no,” You muttered, brushing off some dirt from your jeans before walking toward the water hazard and began negotiating with the ducks. “I’m gonna need you to give that ball back. I earned it. Respect me.”

Bucky was now watching you with an expression that could only be described as fascinated horror.

“I cannot believe I’m dating someone who’s talking to ducks right now.”

“Well,” YOU called over your shoulder, “I’d just like to point out that you are the one who dragged me here, Barnes. I could be at home with my plants and not having a mental breakdown in front of an audience of feathered assholes.”

One of the ducks made a threatening honk. You took a step back, eyes narrowing. “I’m not scared of you.”

Before Bucky could respond, you had the brilliant idea to “negotiate” by offering them some of your snack chips, which you had brought for “emergency rations.”

It worked. Kind of. The ducks did not care for the chips. Instead, they went on to aggressively peck the bag out of your hands and run off with it.

You stood, defeated. “They betrayed me.”

Bucky walked up, placing his hand on your shoulder in a rare moment of sympathy. “I’ll buy you a new bag of chips, if it makes you feel better.”

“I want a refund,” You said solemnly. “Those ducks will pay for this.”

He chuckled. “You know, I never thought I’d have a moment like this in my life.”

“Where you’re physically ashamed to be seen with me?” You asked innocently.

“You mean where I’m emotionally invested in your safety and happiness? Yeah, that’s the one.”

You smiled at him, your face lighting up, “Well, Barnes,” You winked dramatically, “Consider yourself lucky. I’ll never get this good at mini-golf again. This is a one-time offer.”

“Thank God for that.”

Then, you reached up and kissed him on the cheek, “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet though. I still need my ball back. It was my emotional support ball.”

Bucky’s hand slid down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

And despite the whole, epic mess, the chaotic and dare he say hazardous golf shots, and the birds you swore were plotting your demise, you both ended up sitting in a grassy patch next to the mini-golf course. Bucky pulled out a blanket and the two of you looked up at the stars.

You leaned against him, grinning.

“Next time, we’re going bowling.”

“You’re on.”

-

Bowling was supposed to be a safe option.

No moving windmills. No ducks. No water hazards or miscalculated shots. Just a ball, a lane, and the dream of seeing Bucky try to put spin on his shots, right?

Except nothing is ever that simple with you two.

It started when you walked in, strutting up to the counter like it was the red carpet. You pointed to the most ridiculous neon bowling ball you could find, the one that looked like it had been painted with every color of the rainbow and had no real grip.

Bucky didn’t even question you at first. He just grabbed a more sensible ball and followed you to the lane. He should’ve questioned you.

The first roll was just… spectacular. You swung the ball back and released it with the same dramatic flair you gave everything else. It slid down the lane, wobbling like it was trying to make a run for the emergency exit. The pins saw it coming, too like the inanimate objects were clearly preparing to make their escape. And yet…

Crash.

All of them, knocked down for your first strike.

You threw your hands up, struck a victory pose, and immediately jammed your knee into the ball return mechanism. Bucky watched as you colorfully lectured the machine for getting in the way. He just stared at you for a solid ten seconds before muttering, “Oh no.”

You just grinned at him. “You have to admit, that was impressive.”

“You’re going to cause a bowling alley-wide catastrophe or end in up in the ER.”

“No, no,” You waved him off before giving him finger guns. “It’s fine. We just… need to keep the ball rolling.”

Bucky’s gaze was all kinds of incredulous, but you were already preparing for your next turn, oblivious to the chaos trailing behind you.

The next round was where things really got out of hand.

You decided that the best way to improve your game was to introduce some… unorthodox techniques. Bucky, in a moment of bravery or maybe just a genuine desire to watch you fail, agreed to bowl with a two-handed technique.

“I’ve seen pro bowlers do it,” You said with utmost seriousness. “It’s the future of bowling.”

“What’s the point of using two hands?” He asked, clearly trying to keep a straight face. “To get extra power?”

“Exactly,” You said, giving him a look that said, What are you, a bowling amateur? “You don’t get it, Barnes. It’s like… the bowling ball can feel my power.”

Bucky was about to comment when you stood up, placed the neon ball between your hands, and threw it, not down the lane, but sideways. The ball flew directly to the adjacent lane, bounced off the guard rail, and landed in the gutter of the lane next to yours.

“Oh my God,” Bucky gasped, “What in the hell was that?”

“Finesse,” You said smugly, “Bam. Power.”

He let out a strangled laugh. “That was a disaster. We’re gonna get kicked out.”

You paused. “Nah. I’m pretty sure they’ll respect my skill once they see how good I am at… doing whatever the hell that was.”

It only got worse from there.

Every time you tried to bowl, you somehow either a) hit yourself with the ball, b) attempted to bowl in an entirely new direction, or c) made a series of weird noises and gestures like you were conducting some kind of elaborate ritual to the gods of bowling.

At one point, you even tried to bowl with your eyes closed, saying it would make you “feel the energy of the pins.”

Bucky just stood there in the back, arms crossed, watching the trainwreck unfold before his eyes. It was like a slow-motion disaster he couldn’t stop, but he couldn’t look away either. The worst part? He was kind of enjoying it. No matter how ridiculous it got, you never once stopped being enthusiastic. Even when your ball rolled straight into the gutter of someone else’s lane for the third time in a row.

“Alright,” He said finally, after suggesting sliding down the lane to knock the pins down like an illegal slip and slide. “Let’s just finish up the game, okay? For both of our sanity.”

“You’re right,” You said, dramatically wiping your forehead. “You know what? I’m gonna let you win this one. As a gift.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said skeptically. “Sure.”

The game continued, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to finally make a decent shot, this time by doing absolutely nothing except rolling the ball in a straight line. It gently knocked down two pins. Bucky was almost speechless.

“Is this… the start of a new era?” He asked, still trying to process the sudden miracle of a swing that didn’t involve total destruction.

You pumped your fist into the air, shouting with all the drama you could muster. “YES! The power of mediocrity has blessed me!”

Bucky couldn’t hold it in anymore. He burst out laughing, completely disarmed by your inability to take anything seriously, especially bowling. “You’re a mess,” He said, shaking his head as you set up for another shot.

“And you love me for it,” You shot back with a grin, letting the ball go with a dramatic, reckless swing that sent it straight into the neighbor’s lane again.

“Well, I’m pretty sure they hate us,” Bucky noted, but the smile on his face said it all.

There was no doubt now. You two might have just broken a local bowling record for how many throws led to the ball landing in a different lane, but it was the kind of record no one ever wanted to repeat. And yet, Bucky couldn’t imagine it any other way.

At the end of the game, he stared at your final score: 15. And his? A solid 105. Somehow, you had still won in your mind cause “fifteen is closer to first place than a hundred and five”. You handed him your bowling shoes with a cheeky grin.

“I think I need a better challenge.”

Bucky shook his head, trying to stifle a grin of his own. “Okay, next time, we’re staying home. Maybe a home cooked meal or something. Something that can’t completely descend into chaos.”

“Deal,” You said, offering your hand, as if you hadn’t just bowled worse than anything anyone has ever seen before.

As you both walked out of the building, arm in arm, you both were definitely banned from that bowling alley. However, you didn’t care because you were with him.

And even though nothing ever went according to plan, it was perfectly your kind of chaos and the kind of chaos that Bucky wouldn’t trade for anything else.