Heart First, Sanity Later
Heart First, Sanity Later
Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.
Word Count: 3.4k+
A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Sequel | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.
You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”
He stared at you. Everyone did.
You slurped. “What?”
Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.
A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”
And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.
When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.
But outside of that? Absolute chaos.
One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.
"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”
He blinked slowly. “Yes.”
“Sounds fake but okay.”
He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)
Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”
Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”
You beamed. “I know, right?”
And that was just the beginning.
-
Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:
“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”
He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.
You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.
“What?” He hissed.
You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”
Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.
Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”
You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.
Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?
You were something else. A walking contradiction.
You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”
And tonight was no different.
By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.
That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.
Affection.
It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.
“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”
He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.
You had blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.
“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.
“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.
You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”
He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.
“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”
You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”
The jet went quiet.
And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.
You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.
You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.
And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:
He was fucked.
In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.
You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”
“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”
“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.
“…Terrifying.”
You winked. “Same difference.”
And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.
-
The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.
A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.
“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” you said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.
Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”
“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”
You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”
He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”
“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.
“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.
“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”
He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”
“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”
Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”
You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”
Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.
You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”
He stared at you, speechless.
"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.
Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"
“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”
Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.
You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.
But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”
His chest tightened.
“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”
He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”
“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”
Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”
Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.
Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”
You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.
But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”
Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.
But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.
-
The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. I You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.
“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.
Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”
“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”
Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.
Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”
Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”
It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.
“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”
As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”
“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”
Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.
Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.
“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.
You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”
“No.”
“Then I’m doing taxes.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”
You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”
You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.
Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.
Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.
“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.
Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”
“I do not look like-“
“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”
“I am not emotionally unavailable.”
“You have a go bag, Bucky.”
“…That’s standard protocol.”
“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.
“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”
Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.
-
When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.
And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.
“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”
Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.
“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”
You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”
He ran a hand down his face.
“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”
You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”
He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”
But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.
You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.
And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.
“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”
You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”
“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”
“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”
“That’s not a thing!”
You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”
He froze.
“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”
You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”
”I love you, you absolute menace!”
Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.
“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.
Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“Say it like what?”
“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”
“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”
“Yes!”
“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”
“Also yes!”
“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”
“I almost killed you.”
You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”
He stared. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”
He laughed, just once, short and stunned.
You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”
Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet. You’re in love with me.”
“I’m regretting it deeply.”
“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.
And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.
When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”
Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”
More Posts from Orellazalonia and Others
With all Bucky has had to deal with, he definitely earned chaos privileges and should get his own medal lol. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
Infected by the Chaos
Summary: Overtime, your questionable tendencies and unpredictable phrases have rubbed off onto your boyfriend. The team reacts by trying their best to un-corrupt the supersoldier. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Word Count: 1.2k+
A/N: Thank you to @ozwriterchick for the idea. Enjoy and Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
There was a debriefing. The usual boring, long, and necessary meeting. Everyone sat around the conference table looking various degrees of irritated.
You were leaning back in your chair, chewing gum, spinning a pen between your fingers, and mentally ranking everyone’s haircuts from “tragic” to “god-tier.” (Sam had climbed two spots today.)
Steve was talking, bless him, but honestly, your brain had already turned into a screensaver.
“-and next time, we need tighter communication. Nat, cover the north entrance. Sam, recon from above. And you two,” He gestured at you and Bucky. “Try not to burn the entire building down next time.”
You opened your mouth, probably to say something deeply unhelpful and not at all relevant but then it happened.
Bucky got there first.
Deadpan, casual, and not even glancing up from his notepad, he muttered:
“I don’t control the fire. The fire controls me.”
The room went silent.
Sam slowly turned his head. “What.”
Nat blinked. “I’m sorry- Did Barnes just say that?”
Steve dropped his tablet. You were staring at him like he’d just told you he was pregnant with a spider-dog hybrid.
Bucky glanced up with a shrug. “What? It’s true.”
“No, no, no, back up.” You stood, pointing at him. “That’s my level of chaos. You don’t get to say things like that with a straight face. That’s my thing.”
“Pretty sure I’ve earned chaos privileges by now,” He said in an even tone, biting into an apple.
Nat coughed. “What else have you been saying lately?”
You whirled on Bucky. “You didn’t even flinch. You said it like a man who has absolutely Googled whether rats can legally vote.”
Bucky smirked. “I have due to our last date. They can’t yet.”
Sam slid down in his chair. “Oh god, there’s two of them now.”
Tony, who had joined the meeting late with a coffee and zero patience, looked between you and Bucky. “I always knew one of you was a bad influence. I just didn’t expect it to be her.”
“I resent that,” You said.
“I expected more from you, Barnes,” Tony replied.
Steve looked like he was having a mild stroke. “I spent a decade dragging him out of assassin mode and you…you-“ He pointed at you with all the drama of a soap opera actor. “You corrupted him.”
You crossed your arms. “Excuse me, I elevated him. You think he’d even know what a possum rave is without me?”
“Wait,” Bucky said, serious again. “That’s real?”
“Unfortunately,” Sam muttered.
Bucky turned to you. “Do you think we could-“
“No,” Steve and Sam said in unison.
Later that night, you and Bucky were sitting on the roof, feet dangling over the ledge, and watching the stars while splitting a packet of strawberry Pop-Tarts.
You nudged him with your shoulder. “You really said it, huh?”
He smirked. “It just came out.”
“And the fire controls you?”
He looked at you with something soft and proud in his eyes. “Maybe I’ve just been spending too much time with my favorite disaster.”
You grinned and leaned into his side. “Next step: getting you to name a pigeon.”
“Already done. His name’s Charles. He watched us fight three agents yesterday.”
You gasped. “You’re perfect.”
“I know,” Bucky said. “You trained me well.”
-
As time passed, Bucky was the problem now.
At first, the team found it endearing. The grumpy super soldier smiling at dumb jokes, randomly throwing out facts about duck mating rituals, or muttering “vibe check failed” after knocking someone out. In some strange way, it was charming. Odd, but charming.
But then he named a second pigeon. And that was the last straw.
“We need to intervene,” Natasha said, deadly serious with her arms folded as she stood at the head of the war room table.
“Why?” Bucky asked, mid-bite of a toaster strudel. “Charles Junior likes me.”
“Exactly,” Tony said, pointing dramatically. “The fact that you’re calling it Charles Junior is the problem.”
“I don’t see the issue,” You said from your seat next to Bucky, proudly wearing your ‘#1 Chaos Hero’ necklace again. “It’s genetic. Charles Prime had strong leader energy.”
Steve looked between you both like he was watching two people fall off a moral cliff in slow motion. “You used to be a soldier.”
“He is a soldier,” You said. “He just also knows five ways to make banana bread ”
Bucky nodded solemnly. “Just don’t over-mix the batter.”
Tony facepalmed. “Nope. This is a brain rot virus, and you’re patient zero.”
You smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t complimenting you.”
“Still taking it that way.”
Natasha, still painfully calm, pulled out a folder labeled “OPERATION: WINTER DETOX.”
“Oh no,” Bucky muttered.
“Yes,” She said. “We're deprogramming the chaos out of you. We're doing it for the safety of the building, and also the pigeons.”
-
During phase one, you were banned from interacting with Bucky for 48 hours. No comms. No breakfast together. No late-night feral cuddling where you told him shark facts until he passed out.
You broke the rule in 6 minutes.
Literally. You broke into the vent system and dropped into his room from the ceiling like some kind of gremlin god.
“Did you know octopuses have nine brains?”
Bucky looked up from his book, deadpan. “I do now.”
When Sam burst in to yell at you, he found Bucky trying to braid your hair while you explained the 36 reasons flamingos are both cursed and divine.
Sam left with his soul cracked in half.
Phase two didn’t end much better either. They tried re-soldiering him. Military documentaries. Physical training drills. A six-hour silent stare-off with Steve.
You showed up with a whiteboard that said “Today’s Mission: Turn Bucky Into a Lizard.”
Steve had to lock you out of the room and block your contact from Bucky’s phone for two hours.
By phase three, the team tried pairing Bucky with other Avengers. Nat. Rhodey. Bruce.
Each one ended up slightly more unhinged than when they started.
Bruce now exclusively drinks out of a cup shaped like a frog. Nat started saying “mood” unironically. Rhodey got a ferret and named it “Mini War Machine.”
“Do you see what you’ve done?” Steve begged one night as you and Bucky made soup in the communal kitchen while retelling an episode of River Monsters using only metaphors and curse words.
“I made the team fun,” You said, stabbing a ladle toward him.
Bucky beamed. “They laugh more now. And I haven’t threatened to murder anyone in two weeks.”
Tony nodded slowly. “He’s not wrong. Still terrifying, but now it’s… unpredictable terrifying.”
The breaking point came the next morning. Bucky walked into the briefing room wearing a shirt that said: “Emotionally Stable is a Strong Word”
You wore one that said: “I Know the Assignment. I Am Choosing to Ignore It.”
Steve stood then walked out muttering something about moving to Wakanda.
The team officially gave up trying to fix Bucky Barnes.
-
Later that night, Bucky was lying beside you, watching the stars again as the city hummed below.
“They really think I’m broken now,” He said.
You shrugged, twirling a glow stick between your fingers. “They just don’t know how to handle dual-wielding emotional repression and chaotic brilliance.”
He turned to you, smiling. “You really think it’s brilliance?”
You kissed his cheek. “Obviously. I don’t waste my time on mediocrity. Now help me build a pigeon obstacle course on the balcony.”
He nodded. “It’s what Charles Prime would’ve wanted.”
Sick Day
Summary: You’re sick and your fathers take care of you. (Stucky x little!reader)
Disclaimer: Age Regression. Reader is sick.
Word Count: 400+
A/N: I tried to write more paragraphs, but I’m noticing dialogue makes that hard. Experimental blurb basically. Also, I discovered the read more button. Main Masterlist
You wake up feeling wrong.
Your head is fuzzy, your nose is stuffy, and your whole body feels like it’s moving through molasses. Even the soft sheets wrapped around you feel too heavy. When you try to sit up, a wave of dizziness knocks you right back down. Your head falls back onto the pillow, defeated.
Your whimper must’ve been louder than you thought, because before long, you hear footsteps approaching. They’re slow, careful, familiar. The door then creaks open, revealing one of your fathers.
“Hey,” Bucky says gently, voice low and full of concern. He steps inside, moving next to your bed without hesitation. “You’re burning up, doll.”
You don’t argue. You can’t. Everything hurts. You blink at him, eyes glassy, and manage a tiny, miserable sound. Bucky doesn’t say anything more. He just presses the back of his hand to your forehead and frowns. Bucky scoops you up without a word, wrapping you in a blanket like you’re the most fragile thing in the world. You let your head rest against his shoulder, too tired to lift it. He grabs your stuffed bunny as he carries you to the living room couch, where Steve has already set up a cozy little nest of pillows and soft blankets.
Steve walks in from the kitchen, holding a glass of water and a thermometer, already in full nurse-mode. “Told you she looked flushed last night,” He murmurs as he sets the glass down on the coffee table, concern evident in his expression. “Think it’s a cold, maybe more.”
Bucky hums in agreement as he lays you down and tucks the blanket under your chin, your stuffed animal placed nearby for comfort. “You just rest. We’ve got you.”
Steve comes over, brushing your hair back gently and slides the thermometer into your mouth before you can protest. You’re too dazed to mind. When it beeps, they exchange a look you’re too tired to read; something between worry and protectiveness.
“Gonna make you some tea,” Steve states. “Chamomile, with honey. That sound good, sweetheart?”
You nod faintly, eyes already drifting shut. Bucky stays beside you, fingers tracing soft circles on your back, his voice a quiet murmur of comfort. “Rest now, doll. No fighting it. You’re safe.”
You don’t need to pretend to be strong today. Not with them. Not ever.
And as your eyes flutter closed again, you know; no matter how bad you feel, you’re going to be okay. Because they’re here.
Caged in Comfort (Pt. 4)
Summary: A fresh day, a fresh start. They help you to breakfast and show you to the playroom. Throughout the morning, you become more acquainted with the household, your undignified circumstances, and the new dynamics. No matter how frustrating they may be. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)
Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression. Kidnapping. References to Labs. Lots of dialogue. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely. You are responsible for the media you consume.
Word Count: 3.8k+
A/N: I think the next chapter would have more emphasis on reader being regressed. Such an interesting balance. I wonder what their rules are. Wonder what the second door is. Should you explore it?
Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Previous | Next
You wake up slow.
Not in the comfortable, lazy way people are supposed to, more like your body is a second too late for everything. Your fingers twitch, then your toes. Your head feels like it’s wrapped in cotton, heavy and dazed. There’s a soft hum in your ears, the faintest ache in your stomach. You’re warm, too warm, the blanket cocooned around you so tight it feels deliberate.
You try to remember where you are. And then it all comes back to you.
The panic doesn’t come right away. Instead, it’s buried under the haze of whatever they drugged you with the night before. Milk. You remember the taste of it now, sickly sweet and unnatural. Bucky’s arms. Steve’s soft cooing. You swallowing it down with every intention of pretending, of escaping, of winning. You lost.
Your eyes stay shut, muscles tensing beneath the blanket. You’re not restrained anymore, you don’t think, but you’re too groggy to trust yourself with a sprint. A breath catches in your throat.
“She’s stirring,” Steve’s voice says from somewhere beside the bed. It’s low, careful, like he’s trying not to startle you. “Give her some room, Buck.”
A pause.
Then Bucky, voice gruff and firm from across the room, unmistakably annoyed. “She better not be planning anything again.”
You force yourself to stay still. Small. Controlled. However, you can’t resist cracking your eyes open just slightly.
The room is soft-lit, sunlight bleeding through light blue curtains. The bed is real and clean just like it had been the previous night. The room looked much more welcoming in the light too. The kind of place you’d think was safe if you didn’t know better. Steve is perched on the edge of the mattress, in a plain white T-shirt and sweatpants, like he never left. His face lights up the second he sees you awake.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” He speaks to you softly, like nothing happened. “You slept a long time.”
You blink slowly and try to focus your vision. Your voice comes out dry and cracked, straight to the point today despite the previous night. “Let me go.”
Steve doesn’t flinch. His hand moves gently to your blanket, smoothing a corner. “You must be starving. We made your favorites.”
You swallow hard, mouth sour and cotton-dry as you repeat. “Let me go.”
“No, baby,” Bucky’s voice comes from the doorway. You look toward him and see him leaning there, arms folded tight across his chest, watching you with that narrowed, sharp-eyed look. “That’s not on the table.”
Steve shifts slightly, picking up a hairbrush from the nightstand. His tone stays maddeningly patient. “We’re gonna help you get ready for the day, okay? Quick brush, soft clothes. Then breakfast.”
You push yourself up onto your elbows, the blanket falling away. Your body protests the movement, but you manage. You glare at them both, even as your arms shake.
“New rule,” Bucky says evenly, not missing a beat. “No glaring.”
You let out a breath, jaw tightening. “You can’t just make up rules. I’m not a kid.” You resist the urge to add that it was a stupid rule anyways.
Steve looks at you with quiet sadness, like you just don’t understand something simple. “You’re our little girl,” He says gently. “And little girls behave and have routines.”
You jerk your head away when he tries to smooth your hair.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You’re allowed to be upset,” He murmurs. “This is all new for you. You’ve been through a lot. But that doesn’t change what you need.”
You look back at Bucky, hoping maybe you’ll get something different there. You don’t know why you tried though. He simply meets your eyes without hesitation.
“You think you know how to take care of yourself?” His tone is firm and flat. “That lab didn’t raise a person. It raised a little girl who had to fight to survive and doesn’t know any better. And we’re not gonna let you keep living like that. Not anymore.”
You clench your fists in the sheets, every inch of your body trembling from the effort of staying upright and the indignity of it all.
Steve stands slowly and puts the brush aside for now. Instead, he retrieves and lifts a soft little sweater from the foot of the bed. It’s pale yellow with embroidered bunnies along the bottom hem, deliberately infantilizing. He holds it up, patient as ever.
“Arms up,” He says. “We’ll help with the rest after.”
You don’t move an inch. You can’t. Your brain is screaming at you to fight, to run, to do something, but your body won’t listen. It’s too early, too soon. You’re too tired. You know they’re taking advantage of that fact.
“You don’t have to like the rules,” Steve says gently, folding the sweater over his arm. “But you do have to follow them. You’ll understand soon.”
“She’s just testing limits,” Bucky mutters, pushing off the doorframe and walking over. His footsteps are heavy, deliberate. “She still thinks she’s got a say.”
“I do,” You snap, though your voice cracks. “You don’t own me.”
He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. He just stands at the foot of the bed and says with chilling calm, “You’re ours now and you’re home. And you’re not going anywhere.”
Steve smiles, reassuring and soft and completely out of sync with the nightmare unfolding around you. “Let’s get you dressed, honey. Then we’ll show you your spot at the table.”
You can’t do anything to stop him as he takes his time dressing you, like you’re fragile, like any sudden movement might break you. He doesn’t mention your glare again, doesn’t need to. Bucky already set the tone. Every time you twitch, hesitate, or look like you might refuse, you can catch Bucky’s eyes narrow just enough to remind you: He’s watching. They both are.
You let the sweater be pulled over your head. You don’t resist the leggings or the socks with soft rubber paw prints on the bottoms. You let yourself be moved like a doll, pretending your limbs are too tired to fight. You let Steve hum while he smooths your hair. You let them think they’re winning. Because you need the drugs to wear off, then you need them to stop looking. To turn their backs again.
When they guide you toward the kitchen, the scent of something warm hits first: cinnamon, butter, maybe apples. There’s a plate already set at the table, complete with a plastic cup with handles and a bib draped over the back of the chair.
Bucky pulls out the chair and gestures for you to sit down. “Go on.”
You stare at the scene with hesitation clear enough that it went on for a beat too long, prompting his tone to shift.
“Now.”
Your body moves to obey, slowly. Cautious almost.
Steve slips the bib around your neck, like this is normal, like you haven’t long passed the years when you needed one. “You need food in your belly,” He says softly. “We want you strong. Safe.”
You glance at the plate: a small bowl of oatmeal, sliced fruit, and two animal-shaped pancakes staring up at you. The plastic fork and spoon beside the bowl look like they belong in a toddler’s lunchbox. It’s humiliating on your part and perfectly calculated on their part.
Your hands stay in your lap.
Bucky leans on the back of your chair, watching you attentively. “Pick up the spoon.”
Your fingers twitch, but you don’t act.
He leans down closer, voice low and heavy against your ear. “Don’t make me feed you again.”
The panic returns like a short, sharp spike in your chest. You remember what happened last time when they took you away like you weighed nothing. The way your body betrayed you. How it shut down under the milk. How they tucked you in like nothing had happened.
You pick up the spoon.
“That’s it,” Steve says, sitting beside you with a warm smile like you just passed some important test. “Good girl.”
You don’t respond. You take a spoonful of oatmeal. It’s warm, sweet, and comforting. It’s comforting in a way that sickens you, like they planned it. Like they want your body to respond before your brain can resist. Every bite is loaded with more than food. It’s expectation. Control.
The plastic spoon feels awkward in your hand. Childish, thick-handled, and too large for your mouth yet somehow designed to make you feel smaller. The bib itches against your neck, scratchy where the edge meets your collarbone. You pretend not to notice. You pretend a lot now.
You chew slowly.
Steve watches you with gentle, unwavering attention. His hands rest folded on the table beside his own untouched cup of coffee. He smiles each time your spoon scrapes the side of the bowl.
"That’s it, sweetheart,” He says softly. “Eat up. You need your strength.”
Bucky, on the other hand, stands off to the side now, arms crossed, eyes sharp as glass. He doesn’t praise. He studies. One wrong movement and he’ll pounce. You can feel it in the air, like a storm barely held in check. It’s clear he still held some sort of grudge from your stunt last night.
Your eyes flicker over to the plastic cup full of who knows what.
“Try it,” Steve encourages, nudging it closer. “You’ll like what’s in there.”
Your heart skips at the comment as you eye it suspiciously now. It’s an opaque, thick plastic, definitely impossible to see inside. You know better than to assume it’s safe. However, Steve’s smile doesn’t falter. “It’s just juice, I promise.”
He’s probably not lying. Not today. You really don’t want to comply, but you know they would just force you to if you didn’t do it yourself. At least they’re not so insistent on hand-feeding you this morning.
You take a slow sip and taste…apple juice. Nothing comes after it that you can detect, you can’t taste anything wrong. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t something there.
“See?” Steve speaks in a pleased tone. “Told you it was just juice.”
You don’t give him a response, resisting the urge to make a snarky comment.
Bucky shifts slightly. “Not even a ‘thank you’?”
You freeze for half a breath.
“…Thank you,” You mumble, pushing the words out like something sour.
He raises one brow. “You’re welcome. Now finish.”
You shovel the rest of the oatmeal into your mouth, quicker now. Your actions were not out of hunger, but because you want it done. The fruit goes down next, soft bananas and sliced grapes. Then the pancakes, one shaped like a bear, the other like a cat, syrup already soaked in.
Every bite makes your stomach twist. You couldn’t even enjoy the meal. Because they’re feeding you like you’re five. Talking to you like you’re four. Watching you like you’re a child.
You keep your eyes down as you eat, only glancing up once to see Bucky still watching, his eyes narrowed just slightly. Nothing else is said, but the tension in the air is still present no matter how much Steve tries to ignore it.
When the plate’s empty, you drop the spoon.
Steve is up in an instant, dabbing at your mouth with a cloth napkin before you can stop him. “Messy little thing,” He murmurs fondly.
You jerk your head away a little. Not enough to count as rebellion. Just enough to remind yourself you still exist.
“Such a squirmy girl today,” He remarks, not unkindly.
“She’s testing,” Bucky’s tone is flat, said like it’s a fact.
Steve sighs and crouches to your eye level again. “Are you testing us, honey?”
Your head turns to stare at him. He waits patiently for a response, nothing but gentleness and a hint of disappointment in his gaze. You shake your head.
“That’s good,” He exhales. “Because if you were, we’d have to do more quiet time. And you’ve had enough of that, haven’t you?”
The memory of the milk and the floaty nothingness. The way the world tilted when your limbs stopped working. You can’t bring yourself to reply, so you give him a slow nod.
“Good girl.”
Bucky moves then, walking past and ruffling your hair. Not particularly gentle, but not cruel. Just enough to make it clear, to send a message that you can’t escape his reach. “We’ll clean up. You sit right there. Don’t. Move.”
You stay frozen in your seat, hands still in your lap as the clinking of dishes starts. The bib gets removed, folded. Steve hums under his breath again as he washes the dishes. Something soft. Something wrong.
He turns back to you, drying his hands. “You’ve been so good,” He smiles at you softly. “Would you like some playtime before we go over your rules?”
“Play?” You echo, startled despite yourself.
“Mhm.” He taps your nose with his finger, not pointing out your slight flinch. “Blocks, crayons, picture books. You get choices now, sweetie. That’s what happens when you’re a good little girl.”
Despite the inviting offer, you find yourself hesitating. Even though the choices sound like freedom, a chance to regain your autonomy, it isn’t actually there. Because freedom doesn’t truly exist here, not with them.
Still, you nod, if not to appease them, then to buy some time.
Steve beams. “See, Buck? I told you she’d settle in.”
The man doesn’t return the smile. “She’s pretending to settle in.”
Your body tenses because you know he’s not wrong. Why was he so perceptive? Can’t he see it’s not like they’re giving you much of an option but to comply? You try to calm yourself.
Steve ignores him and holds out a hand. “Come on, lovebug. Let’s go pick something fun.”
You let him lead you, careful and warily. Your legs move on autopilot now, like it’s all part of the act. Steve’s hand is warm as it folds around yours, larger than life, too gentle for someone so strong. You feel the ridges of his palm, the faintest drag of calluses that speak of battlefields and shields, not nurseries and crayons.
Your bare feet make almost no sound against the sleek floors of the Compound. The hall stretches wide and bright, too pristine, like the world outside has been scrubbed away and replaced with a dream you didn’t ask for. The lights above hum softly. You pass windows, high and armored. It takes you a moment to realize they’re fake windows. They show nothing but the city skyline, looping in a projection so perfect it takes a second glance to spot the repetition.
This isn’t a home. It’s a story they’ve built around you.
As you walk, Steve slows his steps to match yours. Every so often, he glances down at you with that infuriating, infallible smile. Like he truly believes this is right. That you belong here, your hand in his.
“This whole floor’s just for us,” He explains as you turn the corner, noting the curiosity in your gaze. “Private access, state of the art security, fully soundproofed rooms.”
You don’t ask why that’s necessary nor what that might mean for you. Because somewhere deep down, you already know.
Bucky trails behind, boots thudding heavier than Steve’s footsteps. You can feel the weight of him even when you’re not looking. Like a shadow carved from iron. He doesn’t speak. There’s no need for him to.
They round a final corner, and Steve stops at a wide, reinforced door. He presses his palm to the panel beside it. A soft chime. The door unlocks with a hiss.
“This’ll be your space during playtime,” Steve says.
The room is deceptively cozy, almost impressive. The space has warm lighting, soft carpet, a wall of shelves holding books, plush toys, puzzles, art supplies, and so much more all arranged with care. There's even a beanbag chair in one corner and a low table with pastel plastic cups and empty tea sets.
As you step into the room, silence fills the air. It’s quiet. Too quiet.
Steve crouches beside you, his hand still holding yours.
“You don’t have to talk yet,” He reassures soothingly. “You’re probably still scared. But we’re not gonna hurt you, okay? You’re safe now. You’re ours. And that means we take care of you.”
You look at him, trying not to dwell on the contradictions in his statement. What did he think this was doing to you? The answer must not matter because his eyes hold nothing but kindness. And in some way, that’s what makes it worse.
Behind you, Bucky closes the door with a firm click. The lock slides back into place. You couldn’t figure out why a playroom would need a lock. But here you are, alone in a room full of toys with two super soldiers who believe, truly believe, you belong to them.
Steve stands again and gestures to the shelves. “You can choose. Anything you want.”
You know better than to say "no." So you nod, stepping forward carefully, fingers twitching as you brush the edge of a coloring book. You don’t look at the vents yet. Don’t scan for cameras or any other listening bugs. You just pretend again.
Pretend you’re adjusting, like you’re settling. Pretend you don’t notice the second door across the room. The one that was sealed with no knob, marked only with a small red light above it.
It must be another test put into place by them. Another line they’re wondering if you’ll try to cross. You don’t focus on it and instead swallow down your panic by reaching for a crayon. Because the longer they think you’re behaving, the better your chances when it counts.
You sit cross-legged on the soft carpet, a crayon loose in your hand. It’s a dusky purple, almost the same color as the sky in the fake windows you passed earlier but less blue. The coloring book in front of you is filled with gentle cartoon animals, wide-eyed and smiling, their expressions eerily similar to the ones Steve wears. You press the crayon down, start to color, slow and deliberate strokes.
You’ve never really got to do this before, not often at least. It used to be given as a fleeting reward for good behavior until they deemed you no longer needed or required such comforts.
Behind you, your two captors watch.
Steve settles into a padded armchair across the room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, like he’s giving you space, but not too much. Bucky stands near the door, arms crossed. He hasn’t said a word since entering the room, but his presence speaks loud enough. You’re not going anywhere.
You shift your weight slightly before Steve breaks the silence first.
“That’s a really pretty color,” He compliments, voice low, meant to soothe as usual. “You always liked purples and blues in the files. We thought that might help. Familiar things.”
You don’t answer, trying not to think what else they read. Trying not to wonder what else they know about you. You keep coloring, slow and steady.
“Don’t gotta be shy,” Bucky adds after a beat, arms still crossed. “This is your place now. No one has to hurt you here.”
It’s not what they say. It’s how they say it.
You nod faintly, pretending to focus on the page. But your eyes flick upward to the shelves. You count six plushies. Three puzzles. Two identical dolls. All too neat. Nothing worn. Nothing loved. Not even the smallest sign of use. Everything here was bought new… for you. As if a new identity could be assembled out of soft fabric and crayons.
After a bit, you finally force your voice out. It sounds quiet, strained, but careful.
“…I like this one.”
Steve smiles like you’ve handed him the sun.
“Yeah?” He rises slowly, moving over to kneel beside you. “You’re doing so well. We’re proud of you.”
You feel it before it happens, his hand smoothing over your hair. Too gentle. Like you're breakable. Like you're small.
You flinch again, but only slightly. And just like before, he doesn't notice or he doesn’t make it a big deal. You don’t know which one.
As time passes, the quiet stretches long in the softly lit room, broken only by the soft scritch of your crayon on the paper. You keep your head down, shoulders relaxed, posture small. Intentional or not, you were starting to enjoy it. The simple act of coloring, but you justified it by saying you were complying. You’ve done that before. In the lab, in holding cells, in other places where survival meant silence and passivity.
You can still feel their eyes on you. Both of them.
Steve hums gently as he’s sat across the room again, reading one of the books in the room as his eyes occasionally flicker over to you. Bucky lingers closer, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes always alert.
But you’ve noticed it, how the tension in Bucky’s jaw eases, just slightly, when you don’t resist. When you obey. When you’re good.
You reach for another crayon, soft pink, and start filling in the petals of a daisy. Your movements are slow, deliberate. Calm. You don’t dare look up, but you feel it: the shift in the room’s energy. The way Bucky’s stance loosens just a fraction, his weight shifting from foot to foot.
“…She’s quieter today,” He mutters, not quite to you, not quite to Steve.
“She’s getting used to it,” Steve says gently. “Told you she would. Just needs routine.”
You glance up, just once, and catch Bucky watching you, brow furrowed. Not angry. Not cold. Just… watching. So you do something risky. You offer a small nod.
Bucky blinks.
He doesn’t smile, you don’t think you’ve seen him smile once actually, but he exhales like something inside him unclenched. He pushes off the wall and crosses the room with slow steps, stopping just beside where you sit.
You tense, your body ready to flinch away if he touches you. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he lowers himself into a crouch beside you and rests his arms on his knees. His voice is lower than Steve’s, rough around the edges, but quieter now. Almost careful.
“Coloring, huh?” He mutters.
You nod again.
“Better than scribbling on a wall, I guess.”
You don’t give him an answer. But you slide the coloring book slightly toward him, an invitation. It’s barely noticeable, but his gaze softens.
“…Haven’t done this kind of thing in a long time.”
You risk a glance at his face. His eyes aren’t cold now. They’re watchful, yes. but less like a threat, more like something gentle or protective. He doesn’t reach for a crayon, but he stays there beside you.
“You’re doin’ good,” His voice has that sharp undertone still, but something in it has shifted. He doesn’t sound like a captor. He almost sounds… proud.
You duck your head, hiding the grim twist in your stomach. A part of you hates that you liked the sudden praise. But you’ve seen this before. Attachment through obedience. Trust built on chains. And if it softens the harder one, if it makes him hesitate when the time comes, then you’ll take it. Even if it makes your skin crawl.
What you weren’t realizing though, you were slowly leaning into it all, gradual and slow. The lines between pretend and reality blurring. And they could tell, they just needed to keep it slow, encouraging enough for your walls to fall unconsciously. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always a little something one of them can give you to push you over the edge.
✩˚ ｡ Masterlist ｡ ˚✩
Here is where you can find all the works I’ve written. All of this currently involves Steve and/or Bucky unless specified otherwise. I may branch to other characters later on. Don’t forget to take a look at my Rules! Otherwise, feel free to review My Intro, Carrd, and the rest of my masterlist. Happy reading!!! ♡
Last Updated: 05/22/25
Keys| Fluff ✿ | Angst ⛆ | Dark 𓉸 | Agere ʚɞ | Hurt/Comfort ❦
Series:
✿⛆❦ Whispers of the Gifted (Masterlist) - A collection of different one-shots with reader having different powers or abilities, each in their own universe. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
✿ Earth’s Mightiest Headache (Masterlist) - A collection of different one-shots with an unhinged reader as a chaotic whirlwind of misplaced confidence, untraceable knowledge, and genuine good intentions. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)
ʚɞ 𓉸 ⛆ Caged in Comfort (Masterlist)
Two-Parts:
𓉸 Obsessive Love & Devoted Possession - You and Bucky Barnes fall into a quiet but intense obsession with each other. While your love is sweet, watchful, and clingy beneath a gentle surface, Bucky’s affection turns darker and more possessive. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x Yandere!reader)
⛆ Even If You Forget & I’ll Still Love You - After a mission gone wrong, you lose all memory of your relationship with Bucky. Even though it pains him to the core with grief, he stays by your side and quietly swears he’ll always love you no matter what happens. “I’ll Still Love You” shows what would happen if you had swapped places. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Fics/One-Shots:
ʚɞ ❦ Difficult Morning - You’re having a harder time waking up this morning. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are patient and comforting throughout. (Stucky x little!reader)
ʚɞ ❦ After the Noise - During a meeting, everything becomes too much for you. Your fathers notice instantly, bringing you to a quieter space and reassuring you that you don’t always have to be big. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ ʚɞ Fort Kingdom - You spend a rainy evening with your caregivers, Bucky and Steve, building the ultimate blanket fort. (Stucky x little!reader)
⛆❦ The Silence Between Us - When a mission goes wrong and you resort to bad habits, one of the last teammates you expected finds you. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
✿ ʚɞ A Little Mess Won’t Hurt - Your caregivers help you try finger painting, noticing your reluctance to create any kind of mess despite your love for art. (Stucky x little!reader)
𓉸 Because He Always Knows - You're close friends with Bucky Barnes, trusting his quiet, protective nature. What you don’t know is that Bucky is secretly obsessed with you. And he’ll do anything to keep you safe, close, and his. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)
✿ ʚɞ ❦ Learning to Ask - When you muster the courage to ask for something, Bucky responds with quiet warmth, holding you close as Steve gently joins in, reminding you that it’s safe to ask for things and even safer to be held. (Stucky x little!reader)
⛆ The Solstitial Truce - You met him at the border between realms every solstice, simply watching the stars together. Two entities out of place, bound by quiet conversation and the kind of silence that speaks more than words ever could. (Demon!Bucky Barnes x Angel!reader)
⛆ ʚɞ ❦ Not a Burden - Lately, you’ve been feeling like a burden to your caregivers. It doesn’t take long for Steve and Bucky to notice and reassure you that you’re never a burden to them and you never will be. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ ʚɞ Beach Day - 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.
✿ DIY Project - You and your competitive boyfriends attempt to build a bookshelf one day. You have to refrain from laughing as they keep trying to one-up each other.
⛆ 𓉸 Rewritten - You wake up in a cozy home with no memory of anything. You find your alleged lovers reassuring you that you’ve always lived there and that they’ll stay by your side through this difficult time. However, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is wrong. (Dark!Stucky x reader)
✿ A Place They Call Home - You become a quiet, comforting presence in Steve’s and Bucky’s lives. They slowly form a deep, romantic bond with you built on quiet moments, mutual care, and unspoken understanding. (Stucky x reader)
ʚɞ❦ When They Need You - Steve has been having a rough day, trying to hide his exhaustion from Bucky and you, but you can tell something’s off. In your little headspace, you take it upon yourself to comfort him. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ Tiny Winged Trouble - When SHIELD accidentally captures you, a fairy, in a jar, Steve and Bucky are tasked with figuring out what you are. You refuse to speak at first, until Steve gives you a cookie. Now they’re stuck with a clingy, stubborn fairy who calls them “Tree” and “Shadow.” (Steve Rogers x fairy!reader x Bucky Barnes)
✿❦ Picture Perfect - You’ve always loved photography but never dared to try until your boyfriends encourage you to pick up a camera and capture the world through your eyes. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
✿❦ Love Letters in the Smoke - 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)
✿ Tiny Wings, Gentle Things - Steve gently teaches you human things like books, buttons, and manners, while Bucky encourages mischief, showing you how to pull harmless pranks around the tower.(Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)
⛆❦ Exactly As You Are - You slowly form a tender, deeply emotional relationship with Bucky Barnes. Despite fears of being a burden, he stays, proving with quiet strength and unwavering presence that love doesn’t need to be perfect to be real. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
✿ A Shot of Something More - You’re the closing barista at a campus café. Steve comes in to study, Bucky shows up to tease him, and you. Over time, flirting turns into banter, and late nights turn into something deeper. (College AU! | Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
✿ ʚɞ Toy Store Visit - You go to a toy store with a budget and pick out one new stuffie. Your caregivers gently guide you and remain patient as you carefully choose which stuffed animal or toy to bring home. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ Escape Room Chaos - You take Steve and Bucky to an escape room for a fun, relaxing evening, but things quickly spiral into chaos. Both somehow ignore the obvious clues in favor of dramatic theories and property damage. You’re just trying to survive until you can successfully escape without a lawsuit. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
✿ Chaotic Cat Curse - You were accidentally cursed and turned into a cat, causing all kinds of fun chaos for Bucky: destroying things, attacking his shoelaces, and generally making his life impossible. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
❦ Tiny Caretaker - Steve returns from a mission injured and emotionally drained. You wordlessly comfort him using small, nature-based gifts. (Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)
𓉸 Again - You live in a carefully constructed world with Bucky Barnes, unaware he’s been resetting your memories every time you try to leave him. Each time you begin to remember the truth, he gently erases it, cloaking control in affection. To you, it feels like love. To him, it is. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)
✿ Stray Magic - After your last incident of being cursed into a cat, you now stumble, quite literally, across the ability to shift into a feline form whenever you want. A lot of benefits and amusing situations have resulted from your newfound ability. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Blurbs/Drabbles:
ʚɞ ❦ Sick Day - You’re sick and your fathers take care of you. (Stucky x little!reader)
✿ Lazy Morning - Snuggled up between your loving boyfriends, you listen quietly as they argue over who is the better cook. (Stucky x reader)
✿ Left Alone with the Air Fryer - You leave him home alone with a new air fryer and strict instructions not to use it. He does it anyways. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Rest for the Restless
Summary: You and Bucky Barnes slowly build a bond through shared understanding, periodic teasing, and finding comfort in each other’s company. In a world full of uncertainty and chaos, you become each other's calm. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: Reader has the power of telepathy.
Word Count: 2.9k+
A/N: Telepathy was next from the poll. I started it out fun (hopefully) but then had to throw in the classic heartfelt stuff. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist
The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the space. Bucky Barnes was pacing slowly, his brows furrowed in deep thought. His metal arm clinked faintly with each step, but he didn’t seem to notice. You, on the other hand, were sitting on the couch, trying to focus on what he was saying.
You weren’t just anyone. You had a unique ability that set you apart. Telepathy. It was a power you hadn’t exactly asked for, but it had made you useful to the team. You could hear people’s thoughts, even feel their emotions, often before they spoke.
It wasn’t always easy to control, especially in situations like this, when your mind wandered. It was a double-edged sword, one that Bucky had learned to live with over time, though it wasn’t always smooth sailing.
Your relationship with Bucky had been complicated at first. He was a man with a past as turbulent as your own, a shared sense of struggle and understanding that had drawn you closer. You had both found comfort in silence, in the understanding that sometimes words weren’t necessary. He was patient with you, mostly. After all, he’d dealt with enough chaos in his own mind to know what it was like to be overwhelmed by your own thoughts.
But right now, it seemed like your mind had a mind of its own. Bucky was talking about the mission strategy, his voice low and serious, but your focus was slipping. You could hear his thoughts faintly in the background, always steady and calculating, but your own mind… well, it was a different story.
“…and we need to be careful about how we move in and out, making sure we don’t attract-“ Bucky paused mid-sentence, his sharp blue eyes narrowing at you.
You blinked, suddenly aware of how distant you’d become. Your thoughts had drifted. But before you could even register what you were thinking, the thought slipped out, clear as day in Bucky’s mind:
I wonder what’s for dinner tonight…
There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Bucky stood still. His eyes narrowed further, the faintest shift in his expression signaling that he’d caught the thought. You could almost feel him trying to process it, but he didn’t miss a beat.
“What?” He asked slowly, his voice a little too calm, like he was trying to control a laugh. “Are we talking about dinner now?”
You felt your face flush, immediately regretting it. No, no, no… You cursed inwardly, trying to pull your attention back to the conversation, but Bucky wasn’t letting it go.
He folded his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re really thinking about food while we’re planning a mission?”
You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, your mind had already started to wander again. What do you think? I haven’t eaten all day… You cursed again, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on it.
But of course, he did.
Bucky’s smirk grew, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He shook his head as if in disbelief, but his grin was widening. “What is it? Pizza? Burgers? Oh, wait, you were probably thinking about pasta, huh?”
You sighed in exasperation. “I’m… trying to concentrate, Bucky,” You muttered, desperately trying to focus. But your thoughts refused to comply.
Do I even have any leftovers in the fridge?
Bucky raised an eyebrow, obviously entertained by your mental chaos. “Seriously? We’re literally talking about life-or-death stuff, and you’re over here planning dinner.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice dripping with teasing affection. “Do you think I’d be a good cook? Because I could totally whip up something after this mission, if you can stop thinking about carbs for two seconds.”
You could feel your face growing warmer by the second, but you refused to back down. “I’m trying to stay focused,” You said, though the words didn’t come out with quite as much conviction as you hoped.
But your thoughts were betraying you again.
Wait, do we have any garlic bread left? I hope not. It tasted stale.
Bucky shook his head, the smirk never leaving his face. “Seriously, garlic bread? You're impossible.”
“I'm sorry!” You protested, a little louder than you meant. “I’m really trying to focus! It's just… it’s been a long day!”
Bucky softened a little at your frustration, but his teasing didn’t stop. “It’s fine, I get it. You’re hungry. But I’m not planning to raid any kitchens while we’re in the middle of a mission, alright?”
You sighed, rubbing your temples in frustration. “I know, I know,” You muttered, trying to refocus. “I’ll try to focus.”
Bucky gave you a reassuring smile, but there was still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Good. And hey,” He added, his voice quieter now, “I’ll let you decide what we eat after we save the day. No garlic bread involved.”
You gave him a small, embarrassed smile, feeling both flustered and oddly comforted by his easygoing nature. But as your thoughts slowly returned to the mission, you couldn’t help but think: What if we get Chinese takeout?
Bucky’s eyebrow quirked up instantly. He caught it in an instant. “Chinese takeout?” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You can’t be serious.”
You fought back the smile threatening to break through. “I didn’t say anything,” You muttered, trying to sound serious, but failing miserably.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, after the mission, we’ll do Chinese.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the warmth that spread through you. Despite your wandering thoughts, Bucky was right there, patient, teasing, and always ready to catch you both mentally and emotionally when you needed it.
-
While the lighthearted moments came here and there, often you two enjoyed each other’s company in silence with a sort of calmness in the air.
Today, the sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a soft orange glow in the sky. The safe house was quiet, almost too quiet, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen the only sound breaking the stillness. You were sitting on the couch, your legs tucked under you as you stared at the TV. It wasn’t even on; you were just lost in thought, trying to unwind from the mission earlier that day. It had been a long one, but nothing too intense. Still, you felt mentally drained.
You knew Bucky was nearby, probably in the kitchen, making sure you both had something to eat. In all honesty, he was a quiet guy, but his presence was always enough. The two of you had settled into a comfortable routine, one where you didn’t have to say much to understand each other. His past was full of silence and trauma, and so was yours, in different ways. Over time, you'd found solace in the space between the fun moments, a shared understanding that didn’t require constant chatter.
You heard Bucky’s footsteps approach before the smell of something warm hit your nose, something savory. You didn’t look up, though, knowing he was there. He wasn’t one to disturb you unless he had to. And when he did speak, it was always in that low, steady voice, like he was trying to make up for the years he’d lost, years he often seemed to spend in quiet contemplation. It was part of what made him… Bucky.
He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, observing you with that same watchful gaze he always had. His eyes were soft, but you could tell he was assessing you, sensing that something was on your mind.
“Food’s ready,” He said simply, the words not holding any pressure, but an invitation to join him nonetheless. His tone wasn’t demanding, just offering. That was Bucky. He’d been through so much in his life, but he never imposed his feelings on anyone, not even when you knew he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
You nodded, but didn’t move right away. Instead, you rubbed your temples, sighing softly.
“Hey,” Bucky said, his voice just a touch gentler now, as though he knew what was going on in your head even though you hadn’t said anything. “You okay?”
You glanced up at him briefly, then dropped your gaze to the floor. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired. It's nothing.”
“Don’t ‘nothing’ me,” He teased, but there was a hint of concern hidden behind it. “If you’re not fine, you don’t have to pretend.”
You bit your lip, a small part of you still trying to keep up that wall you’d built, the one you both knew was always there, even if unspoken. “It’s just… everything. The mission, the noise in my head, all of it,” You admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Sometimes it feels like it’s too much, you know? And I can’t shut it off.”
Bucky stood silently for a moment, his gaze softening as he processed your words. He couldn’t hear your thoughts this time. It seems like you were controlling your power to prevent him from doing so. But he didn’t push, didn’t try to fix anything. That was the thing about Bucky. He knew better than anyone that not everything needed to be fixed right away. Sometimes, the most comforting thing was just knowing someone understood.
He finally walked over to where you sat, leaning down so he could rest one hand on the back of the couch. There wasn’t a rush to it, no sense of urgency. He was just there, present, allowing you the space to breathe.
“You know,” He said quietly, “You don’t have to go through this alone. Not anymore.”
You didn’t answer right away, just letting his words hang in the air, mixing with the silence. It felt nice, though, nice to hear it out loud, even if it wasn’t something you’d said yourself.
Bucky reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and solid, like a grounding force. “I get it,” He added softly. “The thoughts, the noise. I can’t always shut mine off, either. But… we’ve got each other. I’m not going anywhere.”
His words weren’t dramatic or heavy, just matter-of-fact, the kind of comfort only someone who had lived through darkness could offer. You leaned into his touch for a brief moment, allowing yourself the quiet comfort of his presence.
“Thanks,” You murmured, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Bucky gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Probably survive just fine,” He said, the humor in his voice lightening the moment, “But I’m glad I’m here anyway.”
You chuckled softly at that, feeling the tension in your shoulders loosen just a little. “You’re impossible.”
“Yup,” He agreed with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “But you love me anyway.”
You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of the moment creeping in. “I don’t know about that…”
“Sure you do,” Bucky teased, standing up straight again. “Now, come eat before I eat all the food myself.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of the day slowly lifting. There was something comforting about these quiet moments with Bucky, just two people finding solace in each other’s company. No words necessary, just the simple act of being there.
As you walked into the kitchen behind Bucky, the soft clink of plates being set down on the counter pulled you from your thoughts. He’d already set out two bowls of whatever he'd made, the smell of savory spices filling the air. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple homemade dish but somehow, it felt like it was exactly what you needed.
You sat down at the table, taking the bowl he handed you. You didn’t speak right away. Your mind kept flicking back to how you and Bucky had even gotten to this point in your relationship, this place of quiet understanding. You both hadn’t expected things to evolve this way, but here you were, comfortable, without needing much more than each other’s company.
Your relationship had started off slowly, cautiously. When you’d first met, you had both been wary of forming any kind of connection. You were part of the team, but you kept mostly to yourself, not exactly trusting anyone too easily. After all, you had your own demons to deal with, and opening up meant letting people see parts of you you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to see.
Bucky had been no different. At first, he’d kept his distance. He used to be the Winter Soldier, after all, even if he was trying to leave that behind. His past was complicated, full of violence and control, and the last thing he wanted was to drag anyone else into it. Especially someone like you who could hear everything he thought, feel everything he felt. It terrified him to think you might be able to read all of that pain in his mind.
But then, slowly, the walls between you had started to come down. It wasn’t anything grand. No big gestures. Just quiet moments where you were forced to share the same space. Things like missions that pushed you both together, nights in the compound where you sat next to each other without needing to say much.
Bucky, in his own way, started to understand your telepathy. He’d been so used to keeping things locked away, the idea that someone could hear his thoughts was strange at first. But after a while, he became more comfortable with it, even appreciated it. You weren’t like everyone else; you didn’t push for him to talk, didn’t force him to relive his past. Instead, you just knew. It was comforting in a way that words couldn’t always express.
And then there was the day it all clicked. You’d been on a mission together, just the two of you, a covert op to track down a rogue HYDRA agent. It had been a tense, exhausting day. You’d gotten separated during the mission, and the panic in your head had nearly overwhelmed you when you couldn’t find Bucky for a few minutes. The only thing that had kept you calm was knowing that you could reach him, that somehow, you could always feel his presence. When you finally found him, his own relief mirrored yours, though neither of you said anything about it.
That night, back at the compound, you’d been sitting on the couch together. The quiet stretched out between you, and for the first time, Bucky had asked you a question he hadn’t before.
“Do you ever just… feel like you’re too much?” He had asked, his voice low. “Like your head’s just full of everyone else’s thoughts, and you can’t escape it?”
You had looked at him then, meeting his eyes for the first time with the raw understanding of someone who had the same kind of burden. Yes. You had said that word in your mind to him, even if you didn’t speak it aloud. You could see the way his posture softened. His tense expression gave way to something quieter, something more vulnerable.
“I don’t know how to stop it,” You had admitted quietly, your gaze falling to the floor. “Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning in everyone else’s feelings.”
“I get it,” He had said softly, leaning in a little closer. “You’re not alone in that.”
And then, without another word, he had reached over and taken your hand. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment. It was the first time you felt like you didn’t have to hide the mess in your mind because he already understood it. He was right there with you.
From that moment on, things had shifted between you. There had been no grand confession, no dramatic realization. It had just happened, two people finding comfort in each other’s chaos.
When Bucky had kissed you for the first time a few weeks later, it wasn’t anything extravagant or over the top. It was simple. Just a soft press of his lips to yours after a long day, both of you knowing without words that this was where you were supposed to be. You didn’t need to read each other’s thoughts to understand that.
Now, sitting together at the table, you glanced over at him again. He was eating in that quiet way he always did, not rushing through it, just savoring the moment. You hadn’t needed any of the usual pretenses or forced conversations to make this work. There was an ease between you now; one built on shared understanding, occasional teasing, and the kind of companionship that didn’t need to be explained.
Bucky looked up from his bowl and caught your gaze. There was a quiet warmth in his eyes, a tenderness that made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe it.
“Thank you,” You said quietly, the words more meaningful than they appeared.
Bucky raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “For what?”
“For being here,” You spoke a little more softer. “For making me never having to hide what’s in my head.”
Bucky’s gaze softened, and he reached across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to hide anything with me,” His voice firm yet kind. “I’m not going anywhere, remember?”
You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. This was more than just a relationship. It was a partnership, built on understanding, comfort, and the freedom to be your truest self. And in that quiet moment, with the weight of the world outside and the noise of your mind finally quieting, you knew that you had exactly what you needed.
And you were ready to hold on to it, no matter what came next.
Hiiii, would you ever write a part 2 to The Way He Notices or go back and write more to any previous fics?
Greetings, friend! Congrats on first ask. I could probably write something additional in that universe with the reader who can turn invisible. Maybe when they do confess or something. Regarding the second half of your question, it would depend if anyone would want to see more of whichever work I’ve written! Thanks for reading!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
Caged in Comfort (Pt. 1)
Summary: Though your life was not perfect, it was familiar. There was routine. A system in place. You practically grew up there all your life. So, when two super soldiers take you away from it all, how do they expect a lab experiment to react?
Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Not forced age regression yet, but heavily implied. Kidnapping . References to Labs. Lots of dialogue. Reader cries/panics. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely.
Word Count: 1400+
A/N: As I say, if I can’t find a fic like it, I’ll just write it. Maybe you’ll like it too. Please read the warnings though. You are responsible for the media you consume. Also, let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.
Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Next
You wake with a jolt.
The air feels too still. Too clean. There’s something wrong. Your body’s stiff, your wrists ache, though they’re no longer bound. The sheets smell like detergent and lavender, not the cold metal and chemicals you were used to. You’re not in the lab. But this doesn’t seem like freedom.
You don’t move at first. You listen.
There are voices. Male. Muffled.
“She’s still sleeping?” One asks, firm yet laced with a hint of concern. It unsettles something deep in your gut.
“She’s just tired,” Says another. This voice is lower, rougher, but not unkind. “She’s been through a lot.”
You bolt upright.
The room is soft, painfully soft. Pastel walls, gentle lighting, plush toys sitting on shelves like they belong to someone half your age. There’s a rocking chair in the corner. The window is shut. There are no locks on the door, but that doesn’t mean you’re free.
You scramble back against the headboard, heart slamming in your chest.
Footsteps approach.
The door opens slowly, and you see them.
Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes.
You know them. Not personally, you would have never imagined ever encountering them, not like this, but you know. They’re supposed to be heroes. But the way they’re looking at you now, like they already own you. It sends panic twisting in your stomach.
“Hey, hey,” Steve says quickly, raising his hands like you’re a frightened animal. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
“No,” You breathe, barely audible. Your form is shaking now. “No, I don’t—this isn’t—where am I?”
Bucky takes a step closer, voice calm. Almost too calm. Like he has rehearsed this. "You’re home now. This is your room. We brought you here because the people who had you before? They didn’t take care of you. But we will.”
You stare at him. Then at Steve. “You kidnapped me.”
Steve frowns, as if the word offends him. “We rescued you.”
Your hands clutch the edge of the blanket like it’s the only thing grounding you. “I don’t know you. I want to leave.” Your words came out in a hurried manner as your eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for something. A way out? An exit? Anything will do at this point.
“You don’t need to leave,” Bucky says, slowly kneeling beside the bed like you’re a scared child. “You’re safe now. We’re gonna take care of you. Feed you. Keep you warm. No more experiments. No more pain.”
You shake your head, the pressure building behind your eyes. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“But we have decided,” Steve replies, still gentle. “You’re our little girl now. You just don’t remember what that feels like yet. But you will.”
“I’m not yours!” You shout, whether it be the conditioning or the fear breaking through. Your voice is sharp, almost shrill. “Let me go!”
Bucky’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t flinch. Neither of them do. They probably expected this. They simply look at you with something terrifying in their eyes. Not anger, not cruelty. But love. Warped, dangerous love.
“You’re scared. And that’s okay,” Steve says softly, stepping toward you. “New littles always are at first. But we’ll teach you. You don’t have to be strong anymore. You can let go.”
“I don’t want to let go,” You whisper. You don’t even know what that truly means. If you even know how to.
“But you need to,” Bucky says. “And it’s okay now. That’s why we’re here. To love you when you can’t love yourself. To hold you when it’s too much.”
You try to run.
You throw the blanket off and jump from the bed, but your legs are weak, your body too drained. Steve catches you instantly with ease before your body can hit the ground. He doesn’t hurt you. That almost makes it worse. He just holds you, firm and warm, like you’re something fragile. Like a child.
“Shhh,” He soothes into your hair. “You’re okay. You’re okay, baby girl.”
“No, no, no—” You fight, your voice breaking. “Don’t call me that. I’m not—!”
“You’re tired,” Bucky says firmly, yet still moves closer to stroke your back. “That’s all. Sleep a little. You’ll feel better. It gets easier.” The order comes out easy for him.
You sob once, harsh and sudden.
Because some part of you, the smallest part, wants to believe them. And that’s the most terrifying thing of all.
You can’t stop the tears now.
They come fast, hot, humiliating. Your body shakes as you struggle in Steve’s hold, but he doesn’t let you go. He just sinks to the carpet with you in his lap, sitting back against the edge of the bed as if this is routine. As if this is normal.
“I want to go,” You choke out, the words ragged against the lump in your throat. You know you didn’t have many things before, but at least it wasn’t as confusing and disorientating as this. “I want to go home. Please…”
“This is your home now,” Bucky rises with a sigh. His arms now folded across his chest. His metal fingers twitch, not with aggression, but with restraint, like he’s holding himself back. “You’re not going anywhere. You weren’t safe there nor would you be safe out there. You know that.”
“I don’t know anything!” Your voice comes out sharply, snapping at him as you try to pull away from Steve again. However, he holds you tighter. Not hurting you, never hurting, just keeping. Containing. “You drugged me…Took me—”
Steve’s voice comes quiet against your ear. “You were shaking when we first saw you. Do you remember that? Curled up in the corner of that place? That wasn’t living. That was surviving. Barely.”
He rocks you a little as he speaks, a gentle back and forth that makes your stomach twist.
You didn’t remember. You didn’t know they were even there, watching you. How long were they watching you?
“You didn’t ask,” You whimper softly, trying to find any rebuttal you could.
“We didn’t need to,” Bucky says, crouching now, eye-level. His eyes are hard, but not cold. Just…sure. Certain of himself, of what they’ve done. “You belong here. Whether you’re ready to admit it or not.”
“I don’t!” You cry out again, your voice cracking. “I’m not your little girl, I’m not—!”
“Sweetheart,” Steve soothes, rubbing slow circles into your back. “Shhh…I know it’s scary. I know your head’s telling you to fight. But you don’t have to anymore. Not here, not with us.”
You shake your head furiously, pressing your forehead into his chest to hide the tears, even though you hate how your body leans into the warmth. You don’t want to. You really don’t. But your resolve is starting to crack.
“I’m not little,” You mumble. “I’m not your baby.” Maybe if you repeat it enough times, it will come true. You know, deep down, it won’t.
“You are now,” Bucky says, simple and final.
You stiffen at his words, but Steve just hugs you closer, resting his chin gently atop your head like you’re something sacred. “He’s a bit blunt,” He murmurs. “But he loves you. We both do. So much already, baby.”
You start to tremble.
Because no one’s said that to you before. Not like this. Not without conditions or expectations or pain behind it.
You want to scream. You want to hit something. You want to run, even if your legs won’t carry you far.
But all you can do is sit there. Curled in the lap of a super soldier, a stranger, in a room that’s already been built for you like this was always going to happen.
Bucky rises again, slow, looming.
“I’ll bring her something to eat,” He says, turning toward the door. “Maybe that’ll help her accept us better when her stomach’s not empty.”
Steve hums in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Buck.”
Bucky pauses at the doorway. He looks back at you, one last time. His eyes narrow, jaw tight. “You’re not a prisoner. But don’t try anything,” He warns. “We’ll be kind. But if you think we’ll let you bolt out into the night and end up back in some lab’s basement? Think again.”
Then he’s gone.
The door shuts behind him with a soft click.
You stay frozen in Steve’s arms, your breath shaking in your chest. He’s warm. He smells like soap and leather and safety you don’t trust. You feel so small, despite your rage. Despite your fear and confusion.
Steve hums again, that same soothing sound, like a lullaby without words. “You’ll get used to it,” He says gently, brushing a tear from your cheek. “The softness. The quiet. The being wanted.”
You don’t reply.
Because part of you doesn’t believe it. And the rest is afraid that you might start to.
But no matter how pleasant these two strangers try to spin it, you’ve simply moved from one cage to another.
When They Need You
Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression!]
Summary: Steve has been having a rough day, trying to hide his exhaustion from Bucky and you, but you can tell something’s off. In your little headspace, you take it upon yourself to comfort him, offering him a stuffed bear, sharing your favorite snack, and gently inviting him for cuddles.
Word Count: 1k+
A/N: I also realized I’ve been writing too much fluff, too much happiness. Needed some variety to balance it out lol. Remember! You are responsible for the media you consume.
Main Masterlist
It was a quiet evening, the kind that stretched longer than usual as the golden hues of sunset slowly faded into dusk. You sat cross-legged on the couch, a blanket thrown over your legs, surrounded by your stuffed animals, a cup of juice resting beside you. The soft hum of the TV played in the background, but your attention was elsewhere. Steve had been unusually quiet all day. He’d been frowning when you saw him, his voice a little lower, his steps a little heavier. It wasn’t like him at all.
You hadn’t asked, but you could tell something was wrong.
Bucky had noticed, too, though he’d been the one keeping his distance, busy with his own tasks in the living room. He’d been giving Steve space, just like Steve liked when he had a bad day, but that didn’t stop Bucky from throwing occasional glances at his partner. His eyes filled with worry and concern made it clear he, too, was picking up on it.
The silence finally broke when Steve settled on the couch beside you. He let out a deep sigh, trying to hide the exhaustion on his face with a forced smile. “Hey, kiddo,” he said softly, his voice strained. “How’s my favorite little star?”
You didn’t buy it. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the way his shoulders slumped was something you’d seen in the past when he was trying to hide something from you. He was good at it, but not good enough to fool you.
You scooted closer to him, sensing his discomfort. “You okay…?” You asked, tilting your head, not fully regressed but definitely in a tender little space. You didn’t speak much when you were in these moments, but you were always in tune with their moods.
He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Bucky before giving you a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, sweetheart. Just… tired, I guess.”
Bucky, who’d been standing nearby, noticed the exchange. He stepped closer, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “He’s been a little off all day,” Bucky explained quietly, trying to keep it light. “You think you could cheer him up, princess?”
You looked between Steve and Bucky for a moment, then nodded. They were your family, your safe place. You always wanted to make sure they were happy and taken care of, just like they did for you. There was no question about it. You knew you could help, in your own little way.
Moving off the couch and going over to your pile of stuffed animals, you pulled out one of your favorite bears, the one with the soft, patchy fur and the little bowtie that was starting to fray at the edges. You walked back to the couch and held it out to Steve with both hands, your eyes wide and full of affection. “Patches is here, Papa,” You said, your voice sweet and comforting. “He makes people feel better.”
Steve chuckled quietly, his eyes softening as he took the bear from you. He squeezed it slightly, a little sigh of relief escaping him. “Thanks, kiddo,” He muttered. The bear was a small gesture, but it seemed to soothe him more than he let on.
You weren’t done, though. You noticed the faint bags under his eyes, the way his fingers fidgeted with the bear’s ears. That was your cue. You reached over to the coffee table, where one of your caregivers had set out a small bowl of goldfish crackers earlier, and grabbed the edge of the bowl. You gently nudged the bowl towards him, offering the snack like it was the most important thing in the world.
“Want some?” You asked with a little smile, your voice hopeful. “Goldfish make you smile.”
Steve’s lips twitched at the corner, a faint smile tugging at them. He reached forward slowly, taking a few of the crackers, his fingers brushing against yours. You watched him with a hopeful gaze, waiting for his reaction. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just chewed thoughtfully, but when he looked at you again, the weight in his eyes seemed to lift slightly.
“They do, huh?” He said with a soft laugh, as if it was the first real laugh he'd had all day.
You nodded seriously, making sure he understood the importance of snacks in lifting a mood. “Uh-huh. And cuddles too.”
At your words, Bucky chuckled softly and sat down on the couch and pulled you close to him with one arm. You felt his steady heartbeat next to you, the way his chest rose and fell in that reassuring, comforting rhythm.
With a gentle hand, you reached out for Steve’s hand, tugging it lightly. “You come cuddle too?” You asked quietly, not demanding but gently offering. You’d seen how Steve and Bucky needed affection in their own way, and sometimes, just being close was enough.
Steve’s smile grew a little wider as he glanced at Bucky, who just nodded, a silent encouragement. Slowly, Steve shifted, inching toward the two of you. He sat with his back against the couch, pulling you between him and Bucky, your head resting on his chest and your legs tangled with theirs.
Bucky wrapped his arm around you tighter while Steve found his place to cuddle you closer. For a long moment, the three of you just sat there in quiet comfort. You felt their tension start to melt away, slowly but surely, the weight of the day lifting in the warmth of each other’s presence.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Steve whispered after a while, his voice softer than before. “I feel better just being with you two.”
You smiled sleepily, your eyes drifting half-closed as the peaceful feeling of being surrounded by love made your own worries fade. “We always take care of each other,” You murmured, your voice drowsy now.
Bucky kissed the top of your head, his voice low and steady. “That’s right. And we’ve got you, always.”
And as you rested there, between Steve’s comforting warmth and Bucky’s steady presence, you realized you didn’t need to do much more than just be there. Because sometimes just being there is enough to lift up anyone’s day.
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Heart First, Sanity Later
Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.
Word Count: 3.4k+
A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.
You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”
He stared at you. Everyone did.
You slurped. “What?”
Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.
A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”
And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.
When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.
But outside of that? Absolute chaos.
One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.
"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”
He blinked slowly. “Yes.”
“Sounds fake but okay.”
He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)
Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”
Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”
You beamed. “I know, right?”
And that was just the beginning.
-
Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:
“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”
He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.
You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.
“What?” He hissed.
You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”
Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.
Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”
You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.
Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?
You were something else. A walking contradiction.
You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”
And tonight was no different.
By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.
That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.
Affection.
It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.
“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”
He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.
You had two blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.
“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.
“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.
You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”
He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.
“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”
You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”
The jet went quiet.
And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.
You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.
You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.
And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:
He was fucked.
In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.
You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”
“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”
“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.
“…Terrifying.”
You winked. “Same difference.”
And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.
-
The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.
A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.
“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” you said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.
Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”
“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”
You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”
He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”
“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.
“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.
“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”
He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”
“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”
Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”
You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”
Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.
You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”
He stared at you, speechless.
"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.
Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"
“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”
Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.
You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.
But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”
His chest tightened.
“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”
He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”
“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”
Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”
Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.
Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”
You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.
But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”
Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.
But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.
-
The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. I You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.
“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.
Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”
“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”
Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.
Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”
Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”
It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.
“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”
As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”
“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”
Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.
Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.
“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.
You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”
“No.”
“Then I’m doing taxes.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”
You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”
You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.
Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.
Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.
“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.
Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”
“I do not look like-“
“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”
“I am not emotionally unavailable.”
“You have a go bag, Bucky.”
“…That’s standard protocol.”
“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.
“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”
Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.
-
When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.
And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.
“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”
Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.
“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”
You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”
He ran a hand down his face.
“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”
You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”
He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”
But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.
You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.
And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.
“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”
You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”
“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”
“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”
“That’s not a thing!”
You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”
He froze.
“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”
You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”
”I love you, you absolute menace!”
Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.
“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.
Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“Say it like what?”
“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”
“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”
“Yes!”
“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”
“Also yes!”
“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”
“I almost killed you.”
You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”
He stared. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”
He laughed, just once, short and stunned.
You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”
Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet. You’re in love with me.”
“I’m regretting it deeply.”
“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.
And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.
When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”
Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”
-
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She/Her | 18+ | Marvel WriterAsks/Requests are welcomed!
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