Oh Dear, I’m So Sorry You Went Through That. No One Should Be Made To Feel Like They’re ‘too Much’
Oh dear, I’m so sorry you went through that. No one should be made to feel like they’re ‘too much’ for simply surviving something so difficult. You deserve the kind of love that holds you through the hard days without hesitation! I hope one day you’ll find that special someone who sees you the way Bucky sees the reader. Thank you for reading! ♡
Exactly As You Are
Summary: You slowly form a tender, deeply emotional relationship with Bucky Barnes supports you through the bad days and gently breaks down the walls you’ve built from past abandonment. Despite fears of being a burden, Bucky stays, proving with quiet strength and unwavering presence that love doesn’t need to be perfect to be real. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Disclaimer: Reader is chronically ill. Mentions/Depictions of symptoms of said illness. Angst. Hurt/comfort.
Word Count: 2.3k+
A/N: This is sort self-indulgent but still an enjoyable read regardless. I left the type of illness ambiguous. You are responsible for the media you consume. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
The first time Bucky saw you, he thought you were just tired.
You were sitting on a bench outside a small, independent bookstore in Brooklyn, a reusable water bottle half-empty beside you, a paperback open in your lap. It was cold out, the kind of sharp October chill that cuts through jackets and settles in bones. But you sat completely still with your shoulders slumped, hands trembling slightly, and breath shallow.
He might not have noticed if not for the way your fingers struggled to hold the book steady.
He didn’t stop. Not at first. He just glanced, like a thousand other people passing by, and kept walking. But two blocks later, something tugged at him soft and persistent, like a memory he couldn’t place. He turned around.
You hadn’t moved from your spot.
By the time he walked back and crouched in front of you, your lips were pale, and your skin had that waxy undertone he recognized from war hospitals and med units. His instincts kicked in, but not the soldier kind, rather the man who’d learned how to read distress in the quietest forms.
“You okay?” He asked, voice low but steady.
You blinked up at him slowly, as if hearing him from underwater. Then you offered a weak, breathless smile and said, “Yeah, just… my body does this sometimes.”
“Does what?”
“Stops.”
He didn’t fully understand what that meant then. But it wasn’t pity that made him sit beside you, not fear or heroism either. It was something else. Familiarity. A kind of haunted recognition.
“Can I call someone for you?” He asked. “Friend? Partner? Family?”
You shook your head. “No one close by. It’ll pass. I just need a minute.”
But your hand was still shaking as you reached for the water. He watched silently, then gently reached over and held the bottle steady so you could drink.
“Thanks,” You murmured.
He nodded. He didn’t press. He simply sat there, beside a stranger who looked like their body was betraying them one breath at a time.
After a long stretch of silence, you spoke again. “You don’t have to wait.”
“Don’t want you to pass out on a sidewalk.”
You huffed a dry laugh. “Romantic.”
He smirked. “I’ve heard worse.”
You turned to look at him then, and something in your expression shifted.
“You’ve had bad days too,” You said.
His breath caught. You weren’t asking. You knew.
He gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”
Your eyes softened. Not out of pity, but out of understanding. “Then you get it.”
He didn't reply out loud, but the way his hand hovered hesitant, then steady, offered the only answer you needed.
Eventually, you regained enough energy to stand. He offered his arm, and you took it without flinching at the metal. That surprised him. Most people still tensed.
Inside the bookstore, he bought a copy of the same book you'd been reading before slipping you his number. You noticed, and raised a brow.
“Trying to impress me?”
He shrugged. “Trying to have an excuse to see you again.”
You laughed then. Still tired, still aching, but real. “Well. It worked.”
-
You didn’t start dating right away. There were slow texts. A few coffee shop visits where he learned which chairs were softest for you to sit in for long periods, which days your hands couldn’t hold a cup, and how sometimes you’d go quiet mid-sentence but not from disinterest, just exhaustion.
But Bucky never minded. He’d lived too many years rushing through the world. With you, everything slowed down. And for once, that felt like healing.
On your first date, he had planned it carefully.
Not because he thought you needed to be impressed but because he wanted to show you he was paying attention. That he’d been listening, clocking every tiny detail you never made a big deal about.
So when he asked, “Dinner with me?” and you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because your body was in one of its quiet warning phases, he didn’t try to convince you. He simply offered an alternative.
“I know a rooftop,” He said. “It’s a quiet and private place with a good view. I’ll bring the food.”
You smiled, that same tired-but-warm curve of the lips he was learning to read better each time. “What kind of food?”
“Soft stuff,” He smiled before teasing. “Things that won’t piss off your stomach.”
You laughed, which he counted as a win.
The night of the date, he showed up at your door with a reusable picnic bag over one shoulder and that awkward, lopsided grin of his. You were in your softest clothes, sweatpants and a knit sweater two sizes too big, and your hair wasn’t doing what you wanted it to.
But he looked at you like you were wearing a red carpet gown.
“I like this,” He said simply, and gestured to your entire self. “It’s very you.”
“Exhausted?”
“Real.”
The trip to the rooftop was just a short elevator ride and half a flight of stairs, but halfway up, your legs started to tremble.
You tried to play it off, pausing to “check the sky,” you said. But Bucky had already seen the shift in your breathing, the tremor in your hand as you gripped the railing.
Without a word, he stepped behind you and wrapped an arm gently around your waist, the cool metal of his left hand bracing your spine.
“You okay with help?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded once. He didn’t rush you. Just matched your pace, supporting you the whole way to the roof.
By the time you sat down on the old couch someone had dragged up there years ago, your body was already crashing. You tried to hide it like you always did. But your hands were limp in your lap, your eyes glassy, and your shoulders had that slight slump Bucky was learning to hate.
He knelt beside you.
“Tell me what you need,” He said gently. “No pressure. Just… tell me.”
You wanted to smile. To tell him he didn’t have to stay, or fuss, or worry. But the words stuck somewhere behind your ribs.
“…I don’t want to ruin this.”
His eyes softened. “You’re not.”
“It’s not fair. You finally ask me out and I’m… this.”
“You were always this,” He countered. “And I asked you anyway.”
That made you blink.
He took the blanket from the bag, yes he’d brought one, and wrapped it around your shoulders. Then he pulled out a thermos of broth and a soft rice dish you’d once mentioned in passing. No wine. Just herbal tea. No candles. Just the city lights. No pressure to be anything but what you were.
You looked at him and he didn’t flinch from the fog in your eyes or the weakness in your voice. He didn’t reach for the version of you from the good days. He reached for you.
“I don’t need the perfect night,” He told you gently, watching you carefully. “I just need you.”
You let out a slow, aching breath. “What if I never get better?”
He brushed a knuckle down your cheek. “Then I’ll learn every version of ‘bad’ until I can walk you through it with my eyes closed.”
You felt something in your chest unravel.
And when he curled up beside you, careful not to jostle your fragile form and content to just sit in silence; you knew, with absolute certainty, that this wasn’t the beginning of something fragile.
It was the beginning of something real.
-
There were days that weren’t as pleasant. Yet time and time again, Bucky insisted on staying. Comforting and reassuring you every step of the way.
One afternoon, the apartment was quiet but not the peaceful kind. The kind of silence that pressed against the walls, thick and tense. The kind that settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.
You sat on the couch with your knees pulled up, a blanket draped around your shoulders even though it was midafternoon. You should’ve taken your meds earlier, should’ve eaten something by now, should’ve answered the texts piling up on your phone. But your joints ached like they were full of broken glass, your head pounded from hours of tension, and every sound, every thought, felt like it might shatter you.
You didn’t hear Bucky come in. Not at first.
He always moved quietly, even when he wasn’t trying to. It was a habit that never left him. A ghost of another life. He didn’t say anything right away, just took in the picture in front of him. The faraway look in your eyes. The way your hand gripped the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing tethering you to the room. The way your body curled in, like it was trying to disappear.
He crossed the room slowly and knelt in front of you, not touching you yet, but remaining close.
“Hey,” He greeted gently. “Rough day?”
You nodded, barely. Your throat felt too tight to speak.
Bucky waited. He was good at that, waiting. Letting you come to him on your own time with no pressure or pity. Just quiet, patient presence.
But then the words came tumbling out before you could stop them.
“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this all the time. With me.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed, not in confusion, but in a kind of slow heartbreak. Like he’d heard this before because he had, and every time it hurt more.
He reached slowly, brushing your hand with his gloved fingers before gently taking it in his.
“Don’t say that,” He spoke quietly.
You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “But it’s true. You didn’t sign up for this. For all the canceled plans, and the bad days, and the… God, the way I feel like a burden.”
He exhaled, long and steady, and then stood, just enough to sit beside you. His arm curled around your shoulders, pulling you in with a kind of care that felt deliberate. Solid and unshakeable.
“I know what it feels like to think you’re too much,” He began slowly. “To think you’re broken, that people will get tired, or that you’ll wear them down until they leave.”
You swallowed hard.
“I spent years feeling like that,” He continued. “Even when Steve stayed. Even when Sam stuck by me. It never went away easy. But then I met you.”
His hand found yours again. Held it tighter.
“You taught me that people aren’t burdens. That pain doesn’t make someone less worthy of love. That needing help isn’t weakness.”
You shook your head, voice hoarse. “That’s different. You went through hell. You didn’t choose it.”
“And neither did you.” His voice was low but firm now. “You didn’t ask for this. You fight through more pain in a day than most people even imagine. And you still smile. You still care. You still show up.”
“But this isn’t fair,” Your voice was shaky. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this. You could… you could have anyone.”
Bucky went very still.
You turned your head away. “I don’t want you to stay because you feel obligated. I don’t want to trap you in something broken.”
His voice was low, firm as he asked. “You think I stay out of pity?”
“No. I think you’re kind. And maybe you don’t realize yet how permanent this is. How much this takes. I can’t go on missions with you, I can’t run, I can’t even cook without getting dizzy. Some days I can’t even-“
You broke off. Voice cracking.
“I can’t give you a normal life, Bucky. I’m tired all the time. And someday you’re going to wake up and realize I’m more burden than person and I can’t survive that again-“
Your breath caught. You hadn’t meant to say again. But it was out there now.
He didn’t try to shush you. He didn’t give you empty words or say you’re not broken, or you’re still beautiful, or it’s not that bad. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his forehead gently against yours. His voice was raw and honest.
“You think I want a normal life?”
You blinked at him.
“I spent years being turned into someone else’s weapon,” He whispered. “I wake up some nights not knowing what year it is. I have blood on my hands I can’t wash off, and a mind that doesn’t always feel like mine. You think I came here for normal?”
He exhaled shakily. “No, sweetheart. I came here for you. Just you.”
Your chest caved with a soft, helpless sob.
“I don’t want perfect,” He said. “I don’t want easy. I want real. And you… this pain, this fight, all of it; it’s real. You’re still here. You keep going. And if you think for one second I’m walking away because your body’s at war with you…”
His hand slid into yours, careful and steady.
“…then you don’t know me yet. I choose to be here,” He said. “Not out of obligation. Not because I feel sorry for you. But because I love you. All of you. Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad days.”
Tears welled up before you could stop them. You hated crying in front of people but with Bucky, it never felt like weakness. It just felt honest, safe.
He pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin, wrapping both arms around you like a fortress. “You are not a burden,” He murmured. “You are my home.”
And in the stillness, something inside you began to loosen. Not the pain, no, that stayed. But the guilt, the weight of it all began to lift just a little as you let yourself be held.
For once, it felt okay to just exist. To be loved, even when you didn’t feel lovable.
And Bucky held you like he’d never let you forget it again.
Because he didn’t try to fix you.
He just loved you.
Exactly as you are.
More Posts from Orellazalonia and Others
I appreciate this!! I will definitely keep it in mind. Thank you so much! <3
It’s starting to hit me that my recent hyperfixation of writing and posting more than one work/fic a day is not normal. So, I wanted to provide a bunch of options to ask how often I should start updating from now on or how often I should actually be posting a new fic.
Lazy Morning
Summary: Snuggled up between your loving boyfriends, you listen quietly as they argue over who is the better cook. (Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
Word Count: 300+
A/N: I am basically using this as an introductory to more Stucky content without the age regression. I’ve done many with just Bucky x reader, so I am honestly not sure why I haven’t thought of this sooner. Steve would accuse me of playing favorites… (ᵕ•_•)
Main Masterlist
You woke up slowly, the soft warmth of Steve and Bucky's bodies pressed on either side of you. Their steady breathing and the sound of their murmurs wrapped you in a cocoon of safety and comfort. The morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, casting a gentle glow on the room, but you were content just being there, between them. No missions. No battles to be fought. Just them.
Bucky shifted first, stretching lazily and groaning. "I’m tellin' ya, Stevie, I make way better pancakes than you."
Steve, already awake, chuckled softly. "You really want to start this again? You burn them every time."
"I do not!" Bucky shot back, his voice filled with playful offense. "They’re crispy, not burnt. There's a difference."
You suppressed a smile, keeping your eyes closed as you snuggled deeper into the blankets, enjoying the familiar rhythm of their playful banter. They had been doing this for months now, arguing over the most trivial things, and yet it always ended in laughter.
Steve let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly amused. "Sure, sure, Buck. Crispy like charcoal. You know, the kind you can’t even put syrup on without it crumbling."
“Better than your soggy mess,” Bucky retorted. “The secret is in the flip.”
You couldn’t help it anymore. A tiny giggle escaped from your lips, betraying the fact that you were awake. Steve turned his head slightly, smiling down at you.
“See? Told you they’re awake.” His voice was soft, warm, full of affection.
Bucky, ever the tease, leaned closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Oh, so you’re just gonna let me and him fight over breakfast, huh? Come on, you gotta choose. Who’s the better cook?”
You turned your head slightly to meet his mischievous gaze, then looked at Steve, who was giving you that calm, almost too innocent smile.
"I don’t know," You said playfully, your voice still thick with sleep. "But whoever makes breakfast better today gets the first kiss."
Both men froze. Bucky blinked, a grin slowly forming. "Oh, I see how it is. I can work with that."
Steve’s eyes sparkled with competitive fire. “Challenge accepted."
You laughed softly, content and grateful to have both of them by your side, even as they bickered over something as simple as breakfast. There was no place you’d rather be than sandwiched between them on a lazy morning.
I just read your Bucky and unhinged reader and I don’t know what kind of drugs you put in there but I’m going to need more of that
LOL, I’m wheezing. I need more of them too, I will certainly be working on that soon. Thank you for reading!!! ♡
⋆꙳•⋆❆. About Me! ･*❆ ₊⋆
Greetings and welcome! I’m Orella, but feel free to call me Ella. I’m a writer for the Marvel fandom who usually enjoys writing whatever stories come to mind. However, I love to explore new ideas, characters, and worlds. I’m always open to requests. So, don’t hesitate to reach out! Do feel free to take a look at my Main Masterlist and Rules while you’re here!
A little about me: I’m new to Tumblr and still understanding the platform, so please be patient as I learn the ropes. Feel free to check out my Carrd! It’s where I have a bit more information about me and another place where my rules are stated.
While I may be new here, I’m excited to meet you all and to be a part of this community. I'll update this introduction over time, so be sure to check back once in a while as things grow.
Thanks for stopping by and Happy Reading! ❄️
⛧⋆༺Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist༻⋆⛧
Pairing: Avengers x reader. (Mostly Bucky x reader unless requested otherwise.)
Summary: A collection of different one-shots with reader having different powers or abilities, each in their own universe.
Main Masterlist
Keys| Fluff ✿ | Angst ⛆ | Dark 𓉸 | Agere ʚɞ | Hurt/Comfort ❦
✿⛆❦ The Way He Notices - Reader with the ability to turn invisible. (Bucky Barnes x invisible!reader)
✿ In Every Form, You Still Saw Me - Reader with the ability to shapeshift. (Bucky Barnes x shapeshifter!reader)
❦ What You Can’t Heal - Reader with the power to heal. (Bucky Barnes x healer!reader)
⛆❦ The Price of Saving Until You Care - Reader has the power to transfer people’s injuries onto herself. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
✿ Mischief Managed - Reader with the ability to talk to animals. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
✿ Mischief Meets Alpine - Sequel to Mischief Managed. Reader with the ability to talk to animals. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
✿ Mischief and Alpine, Matchmaker Extraordinaires - Finale to Mischief Managed & Mischief Meets Alpine. Reader with the ability to talk to animals. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
⛆❦ The Weight of the Truth - Reader has the power to compel people to tell the truth against their will. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
✿❦ Rest for the Restless - Reader has the power of telepathy. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
⛆❦ The Loop You Won’t Let Die - Reader has the power to manipulate time to a limited degree. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
✿ You Didn’t See That Coming, Did You? - Reader has the power of precognition. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
⛆❦ What We Fight For - Reader has a similar serum as a super soldier. (Bucky Barnes x Super soldier!reader)
⛆❦ Wherever You Are, I’ll Stay - Reader has the ability to teleport. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
⛆ Falling For You, Again and Again - Reader has the power of immortality. However, each death erases your memory of what you knew and who you were before.
Caged in Comfort (Pt. 5)
Summary: You’re slowly starting to slip into exactly what they want. While you aren’t their bright little girl yet, they’re patient and present as your inner turmoil and outward resistance gradually fades. How long it will last is unknown to both you and them. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)
Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression (Implied drugging). Kidnapping. References to Labs. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely. You are responsible for the media you consume.
Word Count: 2.3k+
A/N: Would love to do a timeskip next chapter so I can explore interactions with the other Avengers. Maybe some of the others are in similar dynamics.
Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Previous | Next
You don’t know how much time passes. Minutes stretch long inside the room, dulled by soft lights and the gentle hum of something mechanical just out of sight. It’s too quiet. No voices outside. No footsteps. Just Steve and Bucky and you.
You keep your hands busy with the coloring book, eyes low. You can feel Bucky’s stare less now. He’s sitting in the corner, arms no longer crossed, just resting, watching. Steve’s still near, perched on the edge of the armchair like he’s about to tell a story. And maybe he is.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Steve says gently. “You’ve done really well today. And we’re proud of you for being so brave.”
You don’t respond, but you tilt your head slightly toward him. That’s enough to make him smile.
“We think it’s time we start going over the rules now,” He continues, voice warm like he’s saying something kind. “Just so things stay nice and easy here. You want things to be easy, don’t you?”
Your heart gives a dull thud, but you nod once.
“We’re gonna keep things simple for now,” He seems pleased, folding his hands together. “Rule number one: No wandering off. Ever. Not without one of us holding your hand. If you leave your room, it’s because one of us is with you. At least for now.”
You swallow as Bucky speaks next. His tone is low and gravelly, less gentle, more grounding.
“Number two: No lying. Not about how you’re feelin’, not about what you want, and definitely not about tryin’ to leave.”
Your shoulders tense, but you don’t move.
Steve gives him a quick look. Then softens his own voice again, like it’s meant to balance the weight of Bucky’s.
“We’ll always keep you safe. But we can only do that if you’re honest with us, okay? If something’s wrong, you tell us. Littles don’t need to worry about anything grown-up. That’s our job.”
You glance up at him. “What if I don’t wanna be… little?”
It comes out smaller than you mean it to. Careful. Testing.
Steve’s smile doesn’t falter. “That’s just the scared part of you talking, honey. You are little. You’ve just forgotten how to feel safe.”
Bucky stands now, slow and steady, and walks over. You hold your breath as he kneels beside you again. His eyes don’t soften, but his voice drops to something quieter.
“You’re ours now. You get to stop running.”
You turn your gaze away as Steve continues.
“Rule number three: Big girls don’t make the rules here. Littles follow the routine. You’ll get up when we say, eat what we give you, and nap when it’s time. And if you’re good, sweetheart…” His tone drops to a purr. “You’ll get certain rewards. Books. Toys. Maybe outings if you’ve been extra good.”
“And… if I’m not good?” You ask, voice barely a whisper, already suspecting the answer.
Bucky speaks first.
“Then we teach you.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
Steve gives a lighter version. “We help you remember what’s best. That’s all.”
There’s a silence after that, thick and expectant. Then Steve brightens a little, clapping his hands softly once.
“But you’ve been very good today, haven’t you? I think someone’s earned a little reward.”
You sit frozen, the rules echoing in your head. No wandering. No lying. No questioning the routine. You’re sure there’s more they aren’t mentioning yet.
You’re still holding the crayon in your hand, the colors blended together on the page. Steve’s footsteps are soft as he walks to the small counter on the other side of the room, but you don’t pay any attention to him. The world feels strange, like the edges are becoming blurry. You can’t focus on the drawings anymore. The crayon feels wrong in your fingers, too heavy. Everything’s shifting, like the walls are closing in.
Bucky’s voice breaks through the fog. It’s firm, steady, like it’s always been, but now there’s something gentler behind it. Like he’s trying to make you feel something you can’t put into words.
“Time for your snack, little one.”
You flinch. The words hang in the air, just as oppressive as they were earlier, but now, they feel different. Heavy. You swallow hard and feel a knot form in your throat. It’s like your brain can’t decide whether to resist or to just let it happen. Your fingers tremble as they grip the crayon tighter.
Steve’s voice is next, and it’s gentler, almost coaxing. “You’ve been a good girl. Now, it’s time to get your treat. You deserve it, sweetheart.”
The word girl makes something tighten in your chest. You want to argue. Want to snap that you’re not a child. That you can take care of yourself. But the resistance feels… heavy. It’s like a pull inside your chest, urging you to listen, to do what they say.
Bucky returns with a bottle given to him by Steve. The milk inside is warm and thick, the smell faintly sweet, like it’s supposed to be comforting. Your stomach churns. It smells like safety, something your body is telling you it’s supposed to trust, even though your mind rebels.
You try to pull away, but Bucky’s already there, crouching beside you again. His eyes flick over your face, calculating. For a moment, it feels like he’s waiting for you to make the next move, but you don’t. Your head dips a little. A silent surrender. You feel the smallest twinge of guilt, like something inside of you’s letting go. The last thread of resistance. Your mouth parts instinctively as Bucky raises the bottle to your lips.
“It’s good for you,” Steve says softly, standing close behind him. “Nice and warm. Makes you feel better.”
The bottle feels too big in your mouth. You sip it slowly, unsure, but the warmth settles in your stomach, spreading outwards. It feels… safe. A little too safe. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s there. You almost want to sink into it, but you can’t.
You drink, slow and hesitant, until the bottle’s empty. Bucky takes it away without a word, and you blink up at him, trying to hold onto some fragment of yourself, some edge of defiance. But the fog is thicker now. You can feel your eyelids heavy, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Still, you fight to keep your eyes open, not wanting to give in.
Steve’s voice cuts through the haze.
“Good girl.”
His words are soft, but they settle in your chest like something warm. You don’t know why, but it’s enough to make your body sink a little deeper into the softness of the cushions, like your muscles are finally giving up the fight.
“You’re doing so well,” Steve continues, his fingers brushing through your hair gently. “We’re proud of you.”
A part of you wants to pull away, to refuse the soft touches, the kind words that feel too familiar now. But another part of you is weak, and it feels nice. Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the pressure build up behind your eyes.
But Bucky’s voice cuts through before you can retreat any further.
“You’ll learn to trust us,” He mutters, like a promise. “You’ll see that we’re here to take care of you.”
You feel yourself shrinking inward, like the words are pushing you back into a corner. Your face heats, your stomach tightens. The bottle and the warmth from it make your body want to give in, even if your mind still screams to fight.
You want to escape. You want to run, but there’s nowhere to go. Your body’s too heavy, too compliant now. And your mind is so small, so young. You can’t focus on anything other than the weight of their presence, their hands, their soft, soothing words. They surround you like a cocoon, and part of you feels like you could disappear into it. It’s almost easier.
But it’s not right. You know that. You want to scream, but instead, the words come out weak, almost childlike.
“Don’ wanna be here… wanna go home…”
It’s barely a whisper, and before you can even think about it, tears prick at your eyes. Your chest tightens painfully, longing for a home that never existed.
Steve’s eyes soften immediately. His hand moves to your cheek, warm and comforting, like the moment your vulnerability slips free, he’s there to catch it.
“You are home,” Steve reminds you, voice quiet but firm. “This is where you’re safe now.”
And that’s when you realize, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how much you wish it weren’t true, their version of safety has started to settle into your bones. You blink back the tears, but they come anyway, soft and silent, like a child finally giving in to the feeling of being held. Steve is there to hold you gently as your body melts into his arms even if your mind rebels, comforting you softly.
Steve and Bucky exchange a quiet look. There’s something different now in the air, something that shifts the dynamic between them, like they’re waiting for something to happen. But they’re patient, and that patience settles over you, pushing your shoulders to relax just a little bit more.
Steve’s voice comes first, low and soothing.
“You’re feeling little now, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
You nod slowly, your head still heavy, your body sluggish, but warm. Comfortable. It’s a strange sensation. It’s like something that feels a little too good to resist, even though you know, deep down, it’s wrong. You swallow, trying to fight it, but your body betrays you. You feel small, too small to push away their words, to hold onto the edges of yourself.
Bucky’s gaze flickers over to Steve for a moment before he turns back to you. His voice is softer than it has been all day.
“Alright, little one. Wanna get back to your playtime?”
Your heart skips a beat at the question. It sends a ripple of discomfort through you, but it’s too late to pull back now. The milk and the warmth have dulled everything down, leaving you tired and vulnerable. You look up at them, uncertain, like a child unsure of what’s coming next.
Steve looks down at you, his expression patient but expectant. “We got you some other toys to play with. Do you want to see them?”
Your eyes flicker between them, making a small movement of your head, nodding. Like you’ve given in without realizing it.
Bucky moves across the room, gathering a few plush toys, blocks, and a soft blanket from a nearby shelf. He arranges them in front of you, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s setting up a space for you to feel safe.
“There you go,” He mutters, settling on the floor beside you. “All for you.”
You stare at the plush toys and blocks, unsure of what to do with them. The toys look soft, inviting, like something that should belong to a little girl. A little you. Something in you pulls at the thought, and your fingers twitch as if reaching for them, but your mind is still cloudy. It’s hard to make decisions now, hard to decide whether you want to push away or lean in.
Steve’s voice is gentle when it comes again, pulling you back into the moment. It’s like he can see you struggling as he encourages you, “You can do whatever you want, honey. Just relax and have fun. No need to think about anything else.”
You hate the way they make you feel, like you have to be small. But there’s an undeniable pull in his tone, something comforting that makes it hard to resist. And so, your hands move almost automatically toward the plush toys. They’re soft, almost too soft, and they feel like a childhood that you never got to have.
You turn your attention to a stuffed bear, picking it up and running your fingers over its fuzzy ears. Your face softens without meaning to as you curl the bear into your lap. Something inside you lets go.
Bucky watches you from his place on the floor, his gaze is less guarded now. There’s a small shift in his posture, like he’s watching a part of you unfold that he’s been waiting for. Both of them are being careful in their movements as they watch you regress.
“That’s a great friend you have there, kiddo,” He speaks, his voice lower now, less sharp.
Steve sits beside you, his hand resting gently on your back, providing an anchor. His touch is comforting in a way that feels almost too real.
“You’re safe, sweetheart. Just play with your bear, okay? No one’s going to hurt you here.”
The words sound so simple. So easy. But they strike deep. Your fingers move to tuck the bear into the crook of your arm, holding it close. You feel small. Like a child. And even though part of you tries to pull away, tries to scream no, another part of you is so tired, so tired of resisting. You bury your face against the soft fur, closing your eyes for just a moment.
A soft sigh escapes you, and you feel Steve’s hand rub your back gently. His thumb makes little circles, just enough to ground you. Just enough to make it easier to slip deeper into this state.
And you become a little more pliable in that moment. The situation settles in like a balm to a wound. Your body feels heavy, lethargic, and in the same breath, there’s a part of you that’s letting go. Fully leaning into the care they’re offering. You don’t have the strength to fight anymore. Not now, at least.
You curl the bear tighter, pulling it to your chest as if to keep the tiny shreds of your older self intact. The way you play is slow, hesitant, and yet… you start to feel like it’s not that bad. Not if you let it wash over you like this. Let yourself be small.
It really is! Full of fluff, they’re so cute. Thank you for reading! ♡
A Shot of Something More
Summary: You’re the closing barista at a campus café. Steve comes in to study, Bucky shows up to tease him, and you. They start staying late, helping you close, or walking you home. Over time, flirting turns into banter, and late nights turn into something deeper. (College AU! | Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes)
Word Count: 3.7k+
A/N: Really hoping other folks like this too. It’s a college AU/setting by the way. I thought it was cute and I quite like flirty Bucky lol. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
The espresso machine hissed as you wiped down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It was nearing 9:00 p.m., and the usual lull had settled over the campus café. Half the lights were dimmed, soft jazz hummed through the speakers, and the scent of coffee clung to your oversized hoodie like a second skin. You were alone behind the counter, as usual, your co-worker having ditched early with a vague excuse and a flirty grin you ignored out of habit.
It had been a long day with two lectures, lab work, and your phone buzzing every twenty minutes with group project drama. This place was your tiny sanctuary tucked between the English building and the art studios. It was the only space that ever felt quiet, even when it was loud.
You were just about to flip the “Closing Soon” sign to close early for the night when the bell above the door chimed.
You glanced up, already expecting some last-minute caffeine addict who’d argue for one more shot of espresso, but your fingers paused mid-reach.
He was back.
Steve Rogers stepped inside, eyes scanning the room like he always did as if expecting danger even in a sleepy café with free Wi-Fi and discount muffins. He gave you a small smile, polite and familiar. His blond hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and his flannel sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that did dangerous things to your focus.
“Hey,” He said, voice low and warm. “Didn’t realize it was this late.”
You tilted your head. “You always realize it’s this late.”
A chuckle escaped him as he made his way to his usual table in the corner, setting down a textbook the size of a brick. Philosophy, or maybe ethics… you weren’t sure anymore. He had this routine down to an art: order a plain black coffee, sit for one or two hours, read maybe five pages, and somehow leave you flustered even when he barely looked your way.
You grabbed a clean mug. “Let me guess. Caffeine to fight existential dread?”
Steve looked up, smiling wider now. “You read my mind.”
You started the brew, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “That’s not impressive. You’re a walking finals-week poster boy.”
And then, just as you were pouring the coffee, the bell above the door rang again.
This time, the energy shifted.
“Rogers, you’re such a nerd,” came a familiar voice all smooth, teasing, and louder than necessary.
Bucky Barnes strolled in like he owned the place, wearing a black hoodie, ripped jeans, and a look that could melt steel. His eyes flicked over to you then back to Steve, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Tell me you’re not actually studying again,” Bucky said, sliding into the seat across from his best friend without asking.
“I was,” Steve muttered.
You stood there, holding a mug in each hand, heart suddenly beating faster.
Bucky looked up at you, and something about his gaze, lazy and sharp all at once, made your fingers twitch.
“Well hey there, doll. Don’t suppose you’ve got something strong for a guy who had to suffer through group critique today?”
Steve rolled his eyes. You went behind the counter and made Bucky’s usual order, double shot with vanilla and just a touch of cream, before he even asked. He smirked.
You didn’t say it out loud, but they were both regulars now. And you were starting to wonder if they really came for the coffee… or if something else kept bringing them back, night after night.
-
As silence settled comfortably among you three, rain started somewhere between Bucky’s first sip and Steve’s third sigh.
It began as a soft patter, barely audible over the music, but soon grew into a steady drumbeat against the windows. Outside, the streetlights blurred into glowing halos through the glass, casting warm shadows over the near-empty café.
You glanced at the clock. 9:47. Almost fifteen minutes until closing time.
Most nights, you’d be starting your last round of cleaning out the espresso portafilters, wiping down the milk steamer, stacking the chairs. But tonight, you hesitated. You weren’t sure if it was the weather or the way Bucky had stretched out in the booth, legs spread, and his eyes watching you from under thick lashes. Or maybe it was the way Steve hadn’t looked at his book in twenty minutes, choosing instead to glance at you whenever he thought you weren’t paying attention.
They didn’t seem in any rush to leave. And truthfully… neither were you.
“You’re closing up soon, right?” Steve finally asked, his voice low as he reached for his mug again.
You nodded, wiping your damp hands on a towel. “Yeah. I usually start around now, but…” You gestured toward the rain. “Didn’t want to kick anyone out into that.”
Steve smiled faintly. “You’re always this nice to your customers?”
“Only the ones who don’t make a mess,” You answered, raising a brow. “So one of you.”
Bucky laughed, his head falling back against the booth. “Guilty. I do spill a lot. But I also tip well.”
You tried not to stare too hard at the way his neck looked when he stretched like that. “That’s true. I guess you can stay.”
“Generous,” He said with a wink.
There was a long pause. The café was nearly silent now with just the low hum of the fridge, the soft rain, and the clink of Steve’s spoon against his mug.
Then Bucky spoke up to ask in a casual tone, “You always close alone?”
You hesitated for a moment. “Usually. My coworker bails. Most nights.”
Steve frowned slightly. “That doesn’t seem safe.”
You shrugged, not used to concern like that. “It’s a college café, not a crime scene.”
Bucky made a face like he wasn’t satisfied with the answer. “Still… maybe we stay until you lock up. Walk you out.”
You blinked. The offer shouldn’t have made your stomach flip the way it did. But it wasn’t just the offer, it was the way they both looked at you when Bucky said it. Like it wasn’t just about safety. Like maybe they wanted to linger.
“…You’d wait around just to walk me to the bus stop?” Your voice was more curious than skeptical.
Steve shrugged. “We’ve got nowhere else to be.”
Bucky leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Unless you wanna kick us out. We could be very offended. Might leave a bad Yelp review.”
You laughed, too surprised to stop yourself. “Fine. But if you’re staying, you’re helping.”
“Oh?” Steve looked amused. “Helping how?”
You tossed a towel at him with a smirk. “You, Captain Neat, are wiping tables. Bucky, you’re mopping. Try not to make it worse.”
“Hey,” Bucky protested, catching the mop you handed him with mock offense. “I’ll have you know I was almost a janitor once.”
“Was that before or after your brief career as a barista at that goth café downtown?” You teased.
His eyes narrowed. “You stalked me?”
“You told me.”
“I did?”
You nodded. “You said you got fired for stealing scones.”
Steve laughed; really laughed, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking. “You would get fired for stealing scones.”
“Allegedly.”
You rolled your eyes, heart full in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. There was something comfortable about this. Domestic, even. The three of you cleaning up the café together like it was some weekly tradition. Like you weren’t just the barista and they weren’t just two regulars with unread books and flirtatious smiles.
Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was the beginning of something.
Either way, the rain hadn’t let up by the time you three got finished.
If anything, it had gotten heavier with each droplet sounding like a soft drumbeat against the awning as you turned off the café lights and locked the front door behind you. The three of you stood just outside, huddled under the narrow cover as the neon “Closed” sign flickered quietly in the window.
Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the sky. “I take back everything I ever said about romantic rain scenes in movies. This is miserable.”
Steve pulled a small, very very sad-looking umbrella from his backpack. “I brought this. But it’s… yeah.”
You looked at it. “That’s a two-person umbrella, Steve.”
“Three, if we’re friendly,” He offered, holding it up between you all.
Bucky snorted. “I don’t mind getting a little wet.” Then, with a wink your way, “Unless someone wants to get friendly.”
You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt warm. “You’re going to catch a cold.”
“I’ll survive,” He grinned. “But I’ll complain the entire time.”
You glanced from him to Steve, then sighed. “Fine. Scoot over.”
Somehow, you ended up in the middle with Steve on your right and Bucky on your left. Your shoulders bumping as the three of you navigated the narrow sidewalk beneath the umbrella’s barely-there coverage. Rain still splashed across your boots, soaked the edge of their sleeves, but you didn’t really mind.
Not when Bucky kept cracking terrible jokes about how this was definitely the origin story for a very wet, very tragic indie film. Not when Steve kept leaning just a little closer to keep the umbrella steady over you. Not even when your hands brushed once, then twice, then lingered.
Your dorm wasn’t far. Just past the library and through the row of tall sycamore trees that lined the main walkway. It should’ve taken five minutes.
It took twenty.
Not because you were walking slowly (though you were), or because Bucky got distracted by every glowing window (which he did), but because none of you seemed in any rush to get to the end.
Steve was the first to break the silence as you neared the edge of campus.
“So… do you always do closing shifts?”
You tilted your head. “Most nights.”
“Kind of late to be walking back alone, don’t you think?” He asked carefully.
“Kind of late to be hanging around the café every night,” Your voice was light as you shot back playfully.
He smiled. “Touché.”
Bucky smirked. “We like the vibe.”
“Oh? The coffee?”
He looked at you, serious for a moment. “No. Just the vibe.”
You held his gaze longer than you meant to, heartbeat quickening. Steve’s fingers brushed yours again, deliberate this time, and you swore your breath caught.
The trees overhead rustled with wind. The rain, gentler now, tapped softly on the umbrella like it, too, was listening in.
You cleared your throat as your dorm came into view, its warm yellow lights glowing through the fog.
“Well. This is my stop,” You said quietly, turning to face them beneath the umbrella.
Steve nodded, but didn’t step back. “Thanks for letting us help tonight.”
“Thanks for staying.”
There was a pause.
Bucky looked like he wanted to say something more, but didn’t. Instead, he stepped forward and brushed a raindrop off your cheek with the back of his finger gently, like it was an accident, even though it wasn’t.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked.
You nodded. “Same time?”
Steve smiled. “We’ll be there.”
And then, because it was easier than saying anything else, you turned and walked up the steps to your building, only glancing back once.
They were still standing there, shoulder to shoulder under that tiny umbrella. Making sure you got in safe before heading to their own dorm, teasing each other the whole way back.
-
Sleep didn’t come easily.
You laid in bed long after midnight staring at the ceiling. Your pillow was cool against your cheek as your thoughts were tangled in the warmth of the moments earlier that day and the quiet laughter you shared.
It wasn’t just that they walked you home. Or that Steve looked at you like you were worth protecting. Or that Bucky had touched your face so softly you could still feel it hours later.
It was everything. The quiet between you. The way they filled the silence without crowding it. The way you felt seen, not just as a barista or a student or some tired person behind a register, but as you.
You didn’t know what to do with that.
So you didn’t do anything. You showed up for your shift the next afternoon like always. Your hair was still damp from your rushed shower as you wore an apron that was only half-tied. Caffeine already whispered promises of survival.
The café was slower today. The sky was gray but unthreatening. The air smelled like rain that might come back, if only to keep you on your toes.
Steve and Bucky didn’t show up right away. A small part of you worried they wouldn’t. Maybe last night had meant more to you than it did to them.
But then you heard the bell above the door chimed.
You didn’t have to look up to know it was them.
Steve entered first, holding the door for Bucky, who strolled in like he owned the place (which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth with how many drinks he ordered a week). They were dressed down wearing hoodies and jeans, student backpacks slung casually over shoulders, but their presence still shifted the room like sunlight through a window.
You met them at the counter, hands already reaching for their usual orders.
“Afternoon,” Steve greeted, a little smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re late,” You said, teasing. “I was about to give your booth to someone else.”
Bucky raised a brow. “You’d betray us like that?”
“Rent isn’t free. Loyalty has limits.”
He smirked. “Guess we’ll have to earn it back.”
You turned to start their drinks, only to find a folded piece of paper under your cup they had slipped when you reached for the cups to fulfill their order moments prior. Your brows pulled together.
Steve gave you a look, mischief and nerves tucked behind his smile. “It’s nothing. Just… open it.”
You wiped your fingers on a towel and unfolded the note.
Movie night. Our place at 6 on Friday. Pizza, bad commentary, and a couch big enough for three. Say yes. – Bucky (and Steve, but I’m the cooler one)
Your fingers paused on the paper, glancing at the address scribbled at the bottom. You looked up at them slowly.
Steve shrugged, just a little. “Only if you want.”
Bucky leaned on the counter, chin in his hand. “No pressure. Just… thought you might want a night off.”
You stared at them. These two men both bright and ridiculous, kind and impossible were standing there like they hadn’t just turned your whole week upside down with a handwritten note.
You tried to play it cool.
“Depends,” You said lightly. “What movie?”
Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky looked at you.
Bucky grinned. “You’ll just have to see.”
-
You spent most of Friday pretending it was just any other night.
You didn’t put extra effort into your outfit. (Except for the third shirt you changed into before leaving but that didn’t count.) You didn’t check your phone every ten minutes. (Except you absolutely did.) And you definitely didn’t spend a full fifteen minutes debating whether to bring snacks or let them handle it. (You settled on bringing cookies. Homemade. But again, not a big deal.)
Their apartment wasn’t far. A short walk off campus, tucked above an old bookstore with ivy growing along the brick walls and a buzzer that didn’t work unless you pressed it just right.
Bucky answered the door. He was barefoot, wearing soft joggers and a t-shirt that looked like it had been washed a hundred times. His hair was a little messy, eyes bright.
“You made it,” He smiled, stepping back to let you in.
Steve was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, pulling a pizza from the oven. “Hey!” He called out, grinning when he saw you. “Perfect timing.”
The place was cozy with bookshelves lining the living room wall, posters of vintage comics and cheesy movie prints framed above a massive couch that had clearly seen better days. A blanket was already tossed over one end, and two mugs of something warm steamed on the coffee table.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” You set your cookies down on the table.
Steve waved you off. “You work too much. You deserve a night off.”
“And,” Bucky added, flopping onto the couch, “You deserve to know how terrible Steve is at picking movies.”
“Bold talk for someone who suggested Sharknado 3,” Steve shot back.
“Exactly. It’s a masterpiece.”
You laughed, already feeling the tension in your chest ease.
Eventually, the pizza was sliced, drinks were topped off, and the three of you settled onto the couch. Steve sat on your right, Bucky on your left, and it didn’t take long for knees to brush, for shoulders to touch, for the space between you to shrink until it barely existed at all.
The movie played, albeit half-forgotten, while the room was filled with lazy commentary and sleepy warmth. Bucky stretched out with his feet on the table, arm draped casually along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder. Steve leaned forward now and then to refill your drink or offer another slice, always gentle, always looking at you like he meant it.
You were full, warm, and softened in a way you hadn’t expected.
Halfway through the second movie (something terrible with robots and space cowboys), you shifted to get more comfortable. Steve moved with you, letting you lean just slightly into his side.
And then Bucky did the same. His fingers found yours on the blanket all tentative and light, and for one moment, no one moved.
Not a word was said.
But your fingers curled around his. And Steve’s hand settled on your knee, thumb brushing slowly. And it felt like something unspoken had finally been understood. You didn’t know what this was, this tangle of limbs and comfort or the way your chest ached in the best possible way, but you weren’t afraid of it.
Not here. Not with them.
Even as the movie kept playing and the leftover pizza grew cold, none of you moved.
-
You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. You hadn’t mean to and neither did they. You woke up not in your own bed and not alone. But you weren’t in a rush to change any of that.
The living room was quiet, filled with the pale blue light of early morning seeping through half-closed curtains. The TV had long since gone dark, the screen reflecting only faint movement from the rain streaking the windows.
Your head rested on Steve’s chest, steady and warm. One of his arms was wrapped around you, loose but certain, holding you there like he never wanted you to move.
On your other side, Bucky sat slumped at an angle, legs draped half off the couch, mouth parted slightly as he snored, quiet and completely unbothered by how awkwardly he was folded. His fingers were still tangled loosely with yours.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t, maybe. Your body was tucked into theirs like a puzzle piece, your heart beating too loud in a space that had become too quiet. It should’ve been awkward. Too intimate, too vulnerable, or too much. But it wasn’t.
Because it was safe. It was warm too.
Steve stirred beneath you. His thumb began to stroke slowly up and down your arm, just enough to let you know he was awake.
“Morning,” He murmured. His voice was rough from sleep, a little quiet.
“Hi,” You whispered.
You both glanced toward Bucky. He was still out cold, lips slightly parted, hair tousled like a storm. You smiled without meaning to.
Steve caught it. His voice was softer now, barely a breath: “He really likes you.”
Your gaze flicked to him. “You say that like it’s a secret.”
“It’s not,” He said. “Not to me.”
“And you?” You asked carefully, heart skipping.
He didn’t look away. “Me too.”
You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “You both… talked about this?”
Steve nodded, slow and honest. “We weren’t sure how you felt. We didn’t want to push.”
You looked between them. Steve, awake and steady. Bucky, still asleep but even then, he felt familiar and safe. You thought about the nights at the café, the walks, the note, the night before, the way neither of them ever really asked for more than you were ready to give.
And the way you’d wanted more anyway.
“I don’t know how this works,” You said softly.
Steve smiled. “We figure it out together.”
It was Bucky who shifted then groggy and blinking, mumbling something unintelligible as he stretched and then promptly smacked Steve in the face with his arm.
“Watch it,” Steve said with a quiet laugh.
“Wha…? What time-” Bucky rubbed his face, squinting at the light. “God, why am I on a couch. Who let me fall asleep like this?”
You raised a brow. “You literally said, ‘I’m not moving. This couch is my home now.’”
Bucky blinked at you. Then at Steve. Then at your very obvious shared position on the couch.
A slow, sleepy smirk spread across his face. “Did we finally say it?”
Steve gave him a dry look that clearly implied he did all the work. “You didn’t say anything. You drooled a little though.”
Bucky reached over and flicked Steve’s shoulder. “Shut up.” Then he turned to you. “You okay?”
You nodded. “Better than okay.”
He leaned in a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His grin softened, almost turning shy for a moment before it shifted bold and certain. He leaned in the rest of the way and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed nor was it loud.
It was soft, like the first word in a language none of you had dared to speak before.
And when Steve kissed you after, slow and reverent like he’d been waiting forever, you realized something else:
You weren’t falling for them. You already did long before you realized it. And they fell just as hard for you too.
Oops, I Joined a Cult Again
Summary: You joined a cult. That’s it. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)
Word Count: 900+
A/N: Same as the unhinged/chaotic reader series, supposed to be shorter but then I added more group chat shenanigans. I wanted something quick while I work on other stuff. Sorry if it’s messy. Happy reading!!!
Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist
Bucky Barnes had one job: watch your back on the infiltration mission.
He didn’t know that meant literally watching you disappear into a torchlit temple deep in the mountains and emerge forty-eight hours later in robes, glowing, smiling cheerfully, and being worshiped as the reincarnation of a snake god.
“They call me The Hissening,” You whispered, eyes far too wide, far too smug.
“I told you not to touch the statue,” Bucky muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as the robed people behind you chanted in perfect sync: “HISSSSSSS.”
-
48 HOURS EARLIER
The briefing was simple. Infiltrate and investigate a rising cult rumored to be a Hydra front. No weapons. No overt powers. In and out.
Naturally, Tony turned to you and said, “You’re on distraction duty. Just… go be yourself.”
You took it as a compliment. It was not.
You and Bucky parachuted into the outskirts of the mountains under cover of night, both in tactical gear. Silent and focused… until you turned to him mid-descent and yelled, “DO YOU THINK CULTS HAVE SNACKS?”
“…What?”
“LIKE HOLY GRAHAM CRACKERS OR- wait, no, Blessed Chex Mix!”
He didn’t respond. He just stared straight ahead, wondering for the millionth time what cosmic punishment he was paying for to be partnered with you on this particular mission.
The problem was never that you were bad at missions. In fact, in combat, you were terrifying. Strategic. Surgical.
But in deep cover? You were yourself, which is how exactly five minutes after entering the temple courtyard, you said:
“Nice snake statue. Can I boop it?”
And when the head priest responded, “Only the Chosen One may lay a finger upon the sacred Fang of Enlightenment,” You touched it immediately, whispered “boop,” and passed out.
When you woke up, glowing faintly with what may have been divine energy (or some type of poisoning), the cult declared you their prophesied leader.
You didn’t correct them.
-
BACK TO PRESENT
Bucky had finally gotten inside. Posing as a new recruit, hood up, mouth shut, inner turmoil vibrating at a ten. He spotted you instantly. You were standing on a golden platform, arms open, and being fanned with palm leaves.
“Hey,” He hissed when he reached you. “Mission. Hydra. Ringing any bells?”
You waved vaguely. “They have really good soup here.”
“This is not the time for soup.”
You nodded solemnly. “There is always time for soup.”
Someone handed you a ceremonial staff. You took it. It was sparkly.
You then whispered to Bucky, “So here’s the thing… I might’ve said we should cleanse our enemies in a fire of spiritual rebirth. Which they interpreted as actual fire. So, like… maybe be cool about that.”
He blinked at you.
“You started a holy war, didn’t you.”
You smiled brightly. “Only a small one.”
That night, under cover of darkness, the two of you escaped; you still in full ceremonial garb, Bucky dragging you by the elbow while you shouted goodbye to your “disciples.”
One of them threw a snake at you in farewell. You caught it. You named it Gary.
Steve, upon your return, asked what happened.
You saluted and said, “I was a god for three days and it changed me. Also I have this soup recipe now.” You handed him a scroll. When he opened it, it was blank.
Bucky looked at you, exhausted, covered in ash, a little bruised, holding a snake in one hand and your glitter-covered robes in the other.
“…You are the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me,” He said.
You winked. “But I’m your weirdo.”
“Yeah, you are.”
-
Bonus Debriefing.
Group Chat:
Tony: Okay, so. Roll call. Who let them start a religion??
Clint: AGAIN?!?
Sam: Are we seriously ignoring the snake?? Why does she still have the snake?
You: his name is Gary, he chose me
Bucky: The snake did not choose you. You caught him and said “I am your mother now.”
You: and he accepted me
Wanda: Did you eat something weird again? The last time you said a goat “chose you” we had to evacuate a whole town.
Steve: Back up. How did we go from “infiltrate Hydra cult” to “being crowned a divine prophet of the hiss age”?
Bucky: Because she touched the sacred artifact. While they were giving a warning not to.
You: i wanted to boop it 🐍✨
Bruce: [Image attached: Security cam still of you dramatically booping a snake statue and passing out like a Victorian child seeing ankles.]
Tony: Okay but why are you glowing in this?
You: i think I absorbed a minor god
Sam: Define “minor.”
You: likeee a demi-snake. A snack god
Bucky: You said, quote: “Let the hiss of salvation whisper in your soul or something.”
Tony: You started preaching???
You: they gave me a podium! what else was I supposed to do? NOT use it!?
Natasha: …Yes?
Clint: wait, so did we ever find out if the cult was a Hydra front or…
Steve: Nope. She gave a sermon and declared Bucky her “divine enforcer.”
Bucky: Yeah. Still mad about that.
You: srry Prophet Punchy
Tony: We are never letting you go on recon again.
Bruce: I still want to know how you pulled off a glowing aura with no tech or magic.
You: I ate three glowsticks on accident.
Wanda: …
Steve: …
Bucky: This is not a joke. I watched it happen.
You: I thought they were minty tubes.
Sam: Was anyone else weirdly inspired by her speech though?
Steve: Sam.
Sam: I’m just saying I felt something 🐍
Bucky: I felt betrayal and secondhand shame.
You: don’t worry guys, the cult disbanded peacefully. i left them a doctrine :)
Tony: A what.
You: [Image attached: Crayon drawing of a snake with sunglasses saying “BE NICE. EAT SOUP. HISS IF THREATENED.”]
Bruce: This is shockingly coherent.
Clint: I hate how effective it is.
Thor: I would like to join this religion. It seems wise. HISS.
[Thor has been muted again.]
Beach Day
Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression!]
Summary: You and your caregivers go on a trip to the beach where you have an action-packed day of building sand castles, splashing in the water, and spending time with your daddies.
Word Count: 3.1k+
A/N: I tried to make reader actually speak more this time, more excited in little space. I’m also going to the beach this week, so maybe I’ll find some inspiration to write more beach-related scenarios. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
Sunlight peeks through your curtains, warm and golden. Before you’re even fully awake, you feel it, that fluttery kind of excitement deep in your belly. Today is the day you take a trip with your daddies to the beach.
You practically tumble out of bed, your stuffie clutched in one hand and your blanket trailing behind you like a cape. Your feet patter down the hall to the kitchen where Steve is already pouring coffee and Bucky’s at the table packing snacks and food into a cooler bag.
As soon as they see you, both of their faces light up.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Steve says with a grin, crouching down as you barrel into him for a hug.
“‘S beach day!” You declare, bouncing on your toes and giggling. “Gon’ swim, an’ eat sammiches, anddd… maybe find a crab!”
Steve chuckles and ruffles your bedhead. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”
Bucky comes over and lifts you into his arms with a dramatic motion. “You sound ready to explode with excitement, doll.”
“Boom!” You shout happily, flopping into his shoulder with a squeal.
“Alright, tiny firecracker,” Bucky says with a smirk, kissing your temple, “Let’s pick out that swimsuit, huh? I laid out a few.”
He carries you back to your room, setting you down in front of the bed where three different swimsuits are folded: one with little sharks, one with rainbows and glitter, and one with ducks wearing sunglasses.
You gasp. “Ducks!! ‘M wearin’ the ducky one!”
“Excellent choice,” Steve says from the doorway, holding up a tiny bottle of sunscreen like it’s a secret weapon. “Operation Sunshield begins after we’re dressed.”
You squeal again and squirm excitedly while Bucky helps you into the ducky swimsuit, gently tugging the fabric into place and letting you spin in front of the mirror.
“Look at you,” He teases. “The duck commander herself.”
You pose with your hands on your hips. “Quack,” You say seriously before breaking into giggles.
Steve brings over your favorite sunhat, the one with little cat ears sewn on top. He crouches down to tie the strings carefully under your chin. “There. Our beach baby is ready.”
You nod with a wide smile, pointing to yourself. “Beach baby. Dat’s me.”
Bucky hands you your beach bag, shaped like a strawberry, already packed with your floatie, water bottle, a towel, and your favorite shell-collecting bucket. You peek inside and spot your teddy tucked in there too, wearing his own little sunglasses.
“Brownie comin’ tooooo!” You squeal, hugging the bag tight.
Steve chuckles and kisses your forehead. “Of course. He’s our co-pilot.”
You skip toward the door, flip-flops smacking the floor, bag bouncing against your side, already humming a made-up beach song.
And behind you, Steve and Bucky exchange a soft look, all warm smiles and quiet love, before following you out the door.
It doesn’t take long until you’re all buckled into your seat in the back of Steve’s big SUV, your strawberry beach bag beside you and Brownie resting in your lap. Your feet are swinging back and forth and you’ve got a sippy cup of cold apple juice in one hand.
Bucky’s driving, sunglasses on and arm relaxed out the window, while Steve twists in the front seat to check on you again.
“Got everything, sweetheart?”
You nod enthusiastically. “Mhm! Brownie, got snacks, got juice… oh! Forgot da crayons- wait, no I didn’t! They in the bag!” You unzip it and proudly show off your zip-up pouch full of stubby, broken crayons and coloring pages.
Steve gives you a dramatic sigh of relief. “Phew. Beach emergency averted.”
Bucky grins at the road. “Can’t survive a beach trip without crayons. Everyone knows that.”
You lean back and hum a little song to yourself while kicking your feet. Then, suddenly, “Papa?”
Steve turns again, his expression soft. “Yeah, bug?”
“How many waves do ya fink there gonna be? A gazillion?”
He hums in thought before answering, “Maybe a gazillion and one.”
You giggle and wiggle in your seat. “I’mma jump in alla them! Gonna splash ev’rywhere!”
Bucky snorts, joking. “Better not splash me, unless you wanna get launched into orbit.”
You gasp, wide-eyed. “Like a rocket?!”
“Yup. Straight to the moon, kiddo.”
Steve leans over and smacks Bucky’s arm playfully. “No launching beach babies today, sergeant.”
“Awwww,” You whine with a little pout, “But I wanna go moon swimmin’…”
They both laugh, and Bucky says, “Okay, okay. We’ll settle for ocean splashing. But you are gonna need to hold our hands in the water if you don’t have your floatie with you.”
You cross your arms with a dramatic sigh. “Cuz waves big?”
Steve nods. “And ‘cause we love you. Wanna keep you close.”
That makes you go quiet for a second before you agree with a nod, “Okay. I hold your hands forever!”
The car is quiet after that for a few minutes, filled only with the sound of tires on pavement and the music playing softly through the speakers, one of your favorite silly beach songs.
Eventually, your eyes start to feel a little heavy from the sun and excitement, and your voice gets small. “Tell me when we’re there?”
Steve turns slightly in his seat, watching you snuggle up with your teddy bear. “Of course, baby. You rest. We’ll get you there safe.”
And with Bucky humming along to the song and Steve’s assurance warm and steady, you drift off to sleep, dreaming of ducks in sunglasses and waves that reach the stars.
-
The car slows down into a parking lot full of stray sand, and you awaken instinctively.
“We here?” You mumble, still a little sleepy, rubbing your eyes.
“We’re here, baby,” Steve says, twisting to smile at you. “And there’s the shore.”
You sit up fast, blinking at the blue sky, the seagulls flying overhead, and the endless stretch of sparkling ocean beyond the dunes. Your mouth opens in a soft gasp. “Iss sooooo biiiiig!”
Bucky chuckles as he parks the car. “Told ya the ocean was a giant bathtub.”
“Bath tub don’t got birds,” You correct him seriously.
Steve laughs and gets out, opening the back door and unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you out. “You’re right, smarty-pants. No seagulls allowed in bathtubs.”
Bucky lifts the beach bag and tosses a towel over his shoulder. Your floatie, shaped like a giant donut with pink frosting, is tucked under his arm. “Alright, sunshine, grab a hand.”
You immediately reach for both of them, one hand in each of theirs, swinging between them as the three of you walk toward the beach. You can feel the sand seep onto the surface of your flip-flops and the ocean breeze tugs playfully at your hat, but you don’t mind one bit. You’re too busy bouncing in excitement.
“Papa! Daddy! Look, look, a doggie!” You shout, pointing to a golden retriever with a stick in its mouth.
“I see him,” Bucky says. “Reckon he’s here for the waves too.”
“Bet he surfs,” You whisper, awed.
The beach opens up in front of you, wide and bright, with the tide glittering under the sun. Steve lays down a big blanket while Bucky sets up the umbrella and cooler. You spin in place, arms out, squealing, “So big!! So blue!! So sandyyyy!!”
“You’re gonna be so sticky by the end of the day,” Steve teases, “Sticky and sandy and tired.”
You beam. “Dat’s the best kinda day.”
He chuckles, holding out the donut floatie. “Want it on now or wait till we go in?”
You tap your chin like you’re thinking real hard, then answer, “Gon’ wait. ‘Mma build da castle first.”
Bucky sets the floatie down, securing it to make sure it doesn’t blow away in the wind. “Then let’s build the biggest castle in the whole world. Fit for a beach princess.”
“I’m a queen,” You say matter-of-factly, plopping down and grabbing your bucket.
“Apologies, your majesty,” Bucky replies with a bow, handing you your shovel.
You take it gratefully. Now sitting criss-cross in the sand, shovel in hand, and your tongue poking out the side of your mouth in deep, serious concentration. “Dis side gonna be da dungeon,” You declare, patting down a lopsided tower with a wet slap.
“Uh-oh,” Steve says, leaning over with a raised brow. “Who’s getting sent to the dungeon?”
You look up at him dramatically. “Any bad guys. Like… da people who steal snacks. Or take my floatie wifout askin’.”
Bucky smirks. “That first one’s harsh, kiddo. Even I snuck a bite of your granola bar last week.”
You gasp, eyes wide. “DADDY!”
He holds up both hands. “I surrender to the queen.”
You scramble up and point your shovel at him. “To the dungeon!!”
Steve is already half-laughing as he scoops up a little wet sand with his palm and begins forming a jail cell beside your crooked tower. “There. You can lock him up right next to the crab moat.”
“Crab moat?” You squeak, spinning to look and sure enough, Steve has drawn a little wavy trench in the sand around your castle.
“Yup. To keep the villains out. Filled with tiny crab soldiers.”
You light up. “Can I name ‘em?!”
Bucky grins from where he’s now digging a tunnel. “They need names if they’re gonna work for you.”
You begin listing in a sing-song voice as you place little seashells at intervals around the moat. “Dis one’s Sir Pincie. Dat one’s Lady Clawdia. Ooooh! And King Crunch!”
“You’re a natural monarch,” Steve says, brushing sand off your nose gently.
The three of you work for a long while like that. Steve shapes towers and walls with his big, careful hands, while Bucky digs tunnels and hides treasure shells underneath the sand (“For adventurers later,” He says with a wink). Meanwhile, you are darting between them, giving orders, adding stick flags, and occasionally squashing the sand with your knees when things get too exciting.
At one point, you tug Steve’s hand and whisper, “Papa, look! I made a tiny throne!” and point to a lumpy mound near your castle.
He crouches beside you, looking at your creation with a warm smile. “That’s perfect, baby. Just your size.”
You plop onto it,sticking your legs out and puffing up proudly. “Now I’m da queen of da whole beach.”
Bucky bows low. “Queen of Shelltown.”
“Queen of Snacksville,” Steve adds with a smile.
You nod seriously. “I rule wif kindness… and naps.”
Sand coats your legs and arms, your cheeks are flushed pink from the sun and all the giggles, and there’s a little grain of sand stuck to your bottom lip, but you’re glowing from all the fun.
And when the tide starts creeping closer, Steve leans over and murmurs, “Wanna defend the castle, or let the waves have it?”
You consider that deeply, then whisper, “They can have it. I’ll build a new one. Wif you an’ Daddy.”
Steve kisses your temple. “Always, sweetheart.”
-
The castle’s been claimed by the tide, you had waved goodbye to Sir Pincie and Lady Clawdia, and now it’s ocean time.
Bucky crouches down beside you, holding your floatie. “Alright, sunshine. Arms up.”
You giggle and shoot both arms skyward. “Up, up, up!!”
He gently slides the floatie down over your head and around your tummy, adjusting the back. “There ya go. You’re officially donut-fied.”
Steve steps up beside you, brushing hair out of your face and slipping your goggles down over your eyes. “Ready to swim, baby?”
You nod furiously, bouncing in place. “Ready!! Wanna splash! Wanna gooooo!”
“Okay, okay,” Bucky chuckles, scooping you up into his arms. “Let’s get those little feet wet.”
As he carries you toward the water, your legs kick excitedly in the air. The waves rush up to greet you and Bucky sets you down in the shallows, keeping a hand on your floatie. “Whoa there, jellybean. Don’t go zoomin’ off just yet.”
The water laps at your knees and you squeal. When Bucky helps you a bit further to where you can float in the water, you exclaim with glee. “I’m floatin’! I’m a boat!! Papa, look!! I’m a boat!!”
Steve walks in beside you, letting the waves wash over his ankles as he chuckles. “Best boat I’ve ever seen. Might need to name you ‘Captain Giggles.’”
You dramatically turn the wheel of your imaginary ship. “Aye-aye, Captain Papa!”
Bucky lets you drift out a little more, still holding on. The floatie bobs up and down with the swell, and you squeal every time the water splashes up. “The ocean’s ticklin’ me!!”
“You’re lucky it likes you,” Bucky teases.
Another wave comes, bigger this time, and it lifts you gently, your floatie catching it just right. “WHOOOOA!!” You twist in the floatie and throw your arms up. “DO IT ‘GAIN!”
Steve laughs and nudges the float gently from behind so you rock back into Bucky’s waiting hands. “You’re fearless today, huh?”
You beam up at them through your goggles. “M’brave. ‘Cause I gots you two.”
Something about the way you say it makes both men soften instantly.
“That’s right, baby,” Steve murmurs. “You always got us.”
Forever, even when the tide rolls in.
-
After some more fun in the ocean, your floatie squeaks faintly as Bucky lifts you out of the water, droplets running down your legs and arms. “Okay, okay, little sea monster,” He says with a soft smile. “Time for snacks before you turn into a prune.”
You giggle, leaning your wet cheek against his shoulder. “I’m not a monster… I’m a…. mermaid now!”
“Even mermaids need snacks,” Steve calls from where he’s already crouched by the umbrella, unfolding a soft towel with cartoon sea creatures on it, the one you picked out at the store yourself and insisted “smells like sunshine.”
Bucky lowers you onto it, and Steve helps remove your floatie then immediately starts rubbing you down gently with another dry towel, working from your toes up with patient, warm hands. “You did a lot of splashing out there,” He says as he dries your hair with a little tousle. “You hungry, sweetheart?”
You nod dramatically. “M’really hungwy. Like…” You pause to think, then spread your arms wide, “…like this much hungry.”
Bucky chuckles as he pops open the cooler. “Well lucky for you, I packed the royal picnic. Your Majesty’s favorites.”
You scoot onto your knees and peek eagerly as he starts unpacking it all. Slices of juicy watermelon cut into stars, a crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into triangles just the way you like, a little container of goldfish crackers, and a juice box with a tiny superhero on it. Your mouth already waters just looking at the watermelon.
Steve sits cross-legged beside you, passing you the juice box with the straw already poked in. “Start with some sips, okay? You got lots of sun.”
You sip happily, legs folded under you. “Dis tastes like blue.”
“That’s ‘cause it is blue,” Bucky teases, handing you one of the watermelon stars on a tiny plastic fork. “Eat that before your sandwich. Hydration first.”
You crunch into it and immediately let out a content hum. “Mmmmmm. Cold!”
Both men smile as they eat alongside you, not rushing, not talking much. It’s just quiet, sun-warmed company. Seagulls squawk in the distance. Waves roll in soft and lazy now, like the ocean’s getting sleepy too. There’s sand on your knees, salt on your cheeks, and watermelon juice running down your chin.
Steve reaches over with a napkin and dabs your face gently. “You’re makin’ a mess, aren’t you?”
You look up at him, grinning. “I’m da mess queen.”
Bucky leans over and plants a kiss to your temple. “Then we must be the mess kings.”
You end up snuggled between them, leaning back against Bucky’s chest with your legs draped across Steve’s lap, half a sandwich in hand. The sun peeks out from behind a cloud, warming your face. You let out a little yawn around a bite.
Steve notices and brushes your damp hair back. “Sleepy?”
You shake your head slowly, though your body sags against Bucky. “Noooo. Jus’… comfy.”
Bucky pulls a second towel over your legs, letting you burrow in like a little cocoon. “That’s okay, sweetheart. You just rest. We’ve got you.”
“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed. “You always do.”
And they always will.
-
The sun is dipping low now, casting long golden streaks across the parking lot as Steve loads up the trunk. The beach towels are a little sandy, the cooler is mostly empty, and your floatie sits squished between the seats like a deflated donut. Everything smells like salt and sunscreen.
Bucky lifts you gently from where you were half-dozing under the umbrella, your cheeks warm and your limbs floppy with that worn-out, sun-drenched tiredness that only little ones know.
“C’mon, peanut,” He murmurs, cradling you close against his chest. “Time to go home.”
You mumble something into his shirt, mostly vowels and half-syllables, nothing real, but your arms curl around his neck automatically. He smiles, brushing a kiss into your damp hair.
The backseat’s already set up, your soft blanket with the stars and moons, Brownie resting nearby, and a small travel pillow that smells like home. Bucky settles you in carefully, buckling you up while keeping the blanket snug around your legs before shutting the door carefully and moving into the passenger’s seat.
Steve climbs into the driver’s seat and glances back at you in the rearview mirror. “All set, sweetheart?”
You blink slowly, eyes heavy. “Goin’ home?”
“That’s right,” He says, starting the engine. “You did so good today. Brave in the water, kind to the sand crabs, full of giggles. I’m proud of you.”
You smile sleepily, turning your head toward the window as the car pulls away from the beach. The world passes by in a blur of fading light, palm trees, street signs, the occasional swoop of a bird overhead. Your eyelids flutter, heavier with every mile.
Bucky twists in his seat, watching you for a moment. His voice is softer now. “Get some rest, babydoll. We’ll be home soon.”
You hum softly, barely awake, your fingers curling in the corner of your blanket. “You stay wif me?”
“Always,” He whispers. “Not going anywhere.”
The car hums along the road, the sound of tires and the occasional song from the radio blending into the perfect lullaby. Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting quietly on Bucky’s thigh, and the two of them share a look, the kind that says everything without words.
And in the back seat, warm and all out of energy from the big day… you drift off to sleepy, safe and loved as ever.
You Didn’t See That Coming, Did You?
Summary: You and Bucky Barnes turn your precognition into a playful, flirtatious game. What starts as harmless teasing evolves into a deeper connection as Bucky challenges your abilities in creative ways, from sparring matches to leaving cryptic notes and pulling mischievous stunts. Eventually, the game becomes your shared language and you have the quiet realization that even when you see things coming, some moments are worth letting surprise you. (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Disclaimer: Reader has the power of precognition.
Word Count: 1.4k+
A/N: Honestly, I was worried how I’d create a good story with this power. However, it turned out so fun. I definitely have a second part in the works if y’all like it too. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist
You weren’t exactly a spy. Or a soldier. Not even an Avenger. You were just… useful. That’s what Natasha had called you the first time she brought you in. “This one sees things. Makes life easier.”
Your gift, if you could call it that, was simple in concept and chaotic in execution: you could see short flashes of the future. Usually just a few seconds ahead. Sometimes minutes. Rarely, a day. It wasn’t flashy like Wanda’s magic or Steve’s shield throws. It was quiet, subtle, and often annoying. Like déjà vu that never stopped happening.
That’s how Bucky Barnes became your daily torment.
The man had the audacity to be interesting. A mystery wrapped in a grumpy, tactical jacket with eyes that were always watching. He didn’t trust easily. Neither did you. But trust was a little easier to fake when you already knew what someone was about to say.
At first, he hated it. You’d finish his sentences before he even opened his mouth:
“You're going to say we should sweep left instead of right.” “What the hell-“ “I know. You hate that.”
He scowled at you for a solid two weeks straight. But then came the mission in Prague, when a bullet meant for his temple missed by a fraction because you shoved him sideways exactly one second before it hit. After that, his scowl softened into something else. Something wary. Something curious.
"How did you know?" He’d asked that night in the safehouse, a whisper between the click of his metal fingers unbuckling his gear.
You looked him straight in the eye. “I always know.”
You didn’t mean to flirt. That was the problem with precognition. Sometimes you said things you hadn’t decided to say yet.
Bucky started testing you after that. He’d toss questions at you when your back was turned. “What am I thinking right now?” “What number am I holding up?” “What color shirt is Steve going to wear tomorrow?” You were right every single time.
Eventually, he stopped testing and started playing.
He’d make dramatic predictions just to throw you off. "I bet I’m going to trip over that table."
“Nope, you’re going to stub your toe on the leg and then swear under your breath like a cartoon villain.”
Which he did. Twice. You caught him smiling after the second time.
Somewhere between missions and late-night kitchen raids, you began orbiting each other like clockwork. He’d brew two mugs of coffee without asking if you wanted one. You’d hand him his forgotten gloves before he remembered them. He’d mutter, “You already knew I’d forget, didn’t you?” and you’d just shrug, sipping your drink like you weren’t smug about it.
The Avengers noticed. Steve raised an eyebrow at your synchronized movements. Sam teased Bucky mercilessly. Natasha didn’t say anything, just gave you a knowing smirk that said she’d been right all along.
The thing about seeing the future is, you never get surprised. Not really.
But Bucky managed it.
It happened on a Tuesday. You were both holed up in a quiet corner of the compound, a storm pelting the windows. You were curled up with a book pretending to read, and Bucky was tinkering with his knife. You saw the future as easily as breathing. The next page. His next move. The way he’d stretch, then ask if you were cold. You prepared to tell him you were fine before he said anything.
But he didn’t follow the script.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out. A crumpled slip of paper. It was a fortune cookie message, the cheap kind from the takeout place a few blocks away.
“Surprises are the universe’s way of making sure you’re paying attention.”
You blinked.
“You didn’t see that coming, did you?” He asked, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Your mouth opened, but no words came out. For once, your foresight had gone quiet. No flashes. No hints.
Bucky chuckled. “Finally caught you off guard.”
And you realized, he’d been trying to surprise you this whole time. To prove he could. Not to annoy you. But to know you, in a way you couldn’t predict.
You looked at him then, really looked. The way his hair fell into his eyes. The tension in his shoulders as he waited for your reaction. The hope he was trying not to show.
You smiled, slow and genuine.
“I didn’t see that coming,” You admitted.
He grinned back. “Good. Maybe I’ll keep you guessing.”
And for the first time in a long, long while, you hoped he would.
After that night, Bucky made it a thing. A challenge. A game neither of you officially acknowledged but one you both played with increasing intensity.
“I bet you think I’m going to grab the left mug,” He’d say the next morning, hand hovering indecisively between two identical coffee cups.
“You already decided on the right one three seconds ago,” You’d reply, not even looking up.
“Damn.”
The rules were simple: he tried to surprise you. You tried to stay unshaken. It was fun and harmless. At first. But then came the curveballs. You walked into the training room one afternoon and found the lights dimmed, the floor cleared, and Bucky standing dead center with a smug expression.
“What’s this?” You asked.
He tossed something underhand at you. A soft, rolled-up T-shirt. Your T-shirt. “Figured you’d want to change before I beat your ass in hand-to-hand.”
You caught the shirt easily. “You really think I didn’t see this ambush coming?”
He grinned. “Oh, I knew you saw it. Doesn’t mean I won’t win.”
You sparred for half an hour, laughter echoing off the walls. You dodged every feint, every fake-out but there were moments when he moved unpredictably. Sloppy on purpose. Lazy where he should’ve been sharp. You were reading him, but he was adapting.
By the end of it, you were both breathless, flushed, your back against the mat with his weight braced above you, metal arm warm against your ribs. He was close enough to kiss. Close enough that the future went blurry.
You expected him to pull away but he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned in and whispered, “Didn’t see that one, did you?”
Your heart stuttered. “No, not this time.”
But he didn’t kiss you, not yet. That bastard just smirked, rolled off, and offered a hand to pull you up.
The game? Still on. And it only escalated from there.
Sticky notes started appearing around your room: “Bet you can’t guess what I’ll cook tonight.” “Wrong sock color. Check again.” “Don’t look in the third drawer unless you want to scream.” (You did. It was a glitter bomb. He laughed for ten minutes.)
He started carrying around coins, flipping them when you least expected it. “Heads or tails?” He’d ask, already knowing you’d call it right. But then he’d switch coins on you mid-flip. Or not flip at all. Or throw it across the room and say, “Plot twist.”
He lived to frustrate you and he loved when you slipped.
The game became your language. Your dance.
You pretended not to know when he would brush your hand in the hallway. You pretended not to see the moment he’d glance at your lips and look away. And eventually, you started bending the truth. Saying you “weren’t sure” even when you were. Letting him win.
Because sometimes, it was nice not knowing.
One night, you found a note slipped under your door: “Meet me on the roof. No peeking ahead.”
The stars were out when you arrived, cold air kissing your skin. Bucky was already there, leaning against the railing, arms crossed, watching the city lights twinkle below.
You stood beside him in silence.
“I had a vision,” You said softly after a moment. “About tonight.”
He looked sideways at you, wary but amused. “Oh yeah? How’s it end?”
You smiled. “That depends.”
He leaned a little closer. “On what?”
“On whether you finally kiss me, or if you chicken out again.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “I thought I was supposed to surprise you.”
You shrugged. “You still can.”
He hesitated but not for long. The kiss was unhurried. Intentional. Less about passion, more about proving something. That even if you saw every move, every possible path, this choice was still his. And he was choosing you.
When he pulled back, he searched your eyes.
“Did I get you?” He whispered.
You nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. You got me.”
“Good,” He smiled. “Because I’ve got at least ten more moves planned and I bet you won’t see half of them coming.”
You laughed, head against his chest, and let the future fade for once just enough to stay in this moment.
Game on.
-
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She/Her | 18+ | Marvel WriterAsks/Requests are welcomed!
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