❆ Tune out the world with me ❆

She/Her | 18+ | Marvel Writer Ongoing Hiatus | Requests: Closed!

[orellazalonia]

✩˚ ｡ Navigation/Masterlists ｡ ˚✩

Here is where you can find the masterlists for all the works I’ve written. Blog is currently on a Hiatus and Requests remain closed. Maybe someday when I return or get some free time, I’ll finish them hopefully. Happy reading!!! ♡

Last Updated: 08/14/25

Rules | Tag and Anon Request/List | About me | Requests: Closed!

⪼----➢ Bucky Barnes Masterlist

⪼----➢ Stucky Masterlist

⪼----➢ Marvel Masterlist (Random Pairings.)

⪼----➢ Marvel Agere Masterlist

Below here is where I’ll informally be posting some projects, drafts, requests, and/or ideas I want to make into a fic or post soon in no particular order.

This is also where the Waitlist is for your requests, I fulfill those in order of when they’re sent in. If you see your request there, then I’ve accepted it. (If not, I might not have seen it yet.)

My request guideline is located here! So, don’t hesitate to reach and be sure to look forward to what’s coming next! Happy reading!!

Work in Progress/Ideas:

⪼---➢ More angst, disinterested Bucky.

⪼---➢ More domestic chaos.

⪼---➢ Revisit demon!reader.

Requests:

⪼---➢ Bucky Barnes x reader, hurt/comfort.

⪼---➢ Stucky x little!reader, party.

⪼---➢ Shapeshifting Shenanigans.

⪼---➢ Bucky Barnes x reader x Yelena Belova.

⪼---➢ Tattoo Artist!Yelena Belova x reader.

[orellazalonia]

✩˚ ｡ Hiatus ｡ ˚✩

Hello there! I probably should’ve done this sooner, but as stated in my pinned post: I am currently on a Hiatus and my requests remain closed. I’m not really sure when I’ll get back to writing again. Work and college have started to become more of a priority and has consumed most of my time these days. Currently, I do not have an estimate of when or if I will get back to posting daily again. I won’t delete anything though and will still keep this blog as it is. Therefore, anyone who wants to can still re-read some of my stories!

If I do return, it’ll likely be to finish the few requests I had before everything got busy. I do sincerely apologize for not getting those out to you guys sooner!

I’ve seen most of the asks and mentions in my inbox. I appreciate the concern and well wishes you’ve all sent! I also have seen the many unique and creative requests. However, until further notice, I unfortunately will not be able to fulfill them and this blog will not be updating regularly for a while. Thank you all for your support so far! Happy reading!!! ♡

[orellazalonia]

i hope you are doing well! please know that you are appreciated and thoroughly missed!! -🐇

You’re so sweet! Thank you for the kind words. I am alright and I hope you are doing well too! ♡

[orellazalonia]

I miss youuuuu

Awww, I miss you guys too. So sorry for not being as active anymore. Wishing you a lovely day/night though! ♡

[orellazalonia]

Hey! We haven’t seen you for a while, so this is just to say that I hope you’re okay 🌻

Hello, dear. I do apologize for my absence. I’m doing alright and I hope you are as well! ♡

[orellazalonia]

Hi! Just checking in. How is life?

-🫖

Hello there! Extremely busy unfortunately. I haven’t had the time nor motivation unfortunately to update in a while, evidently. I hope you have been well though! ♡

[orellazalonia]

I'm pretty sure the previous anon (the one asking for help finding the Bucky fic) was talking about A Day in the Life by kinanabinks. Here's the Ao3 link!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40819413

I hope so! Thank you so much for sharing!!

[orellazalonia]

His Dramatic Disaster

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the ever-patient yet exasperated boyfriend, spends a day rescuing and watching you, his overly dramatic and hilariously clueless partner who manages to get into various self-made disasters. (Bucky Barnes x dramatic!reader)

Word Count: 800+

Main Masterlist

It was a quiet Thursday morning, the kind of morning Bucky Barnes cherished. The sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains of his Brooklyn apartment, the air smelled faintly of freshly brewed coffee, and for once, there were no explosions, supervillains, or interdimensional shenanigans to deal with.

At least, that’s what he thought.

“BUCKY! HELP! I’M DYING!”

Bucky sighed. The tranquility was nice while it lasted.

He set his coffee mug down on the counter and trudged toward the source of the commotion: you, his overly dramatic, slightly ridiculous, and completely endearing partner. You were in the kitchen, standing on a chair, flailing dramatically, as though you were auditioning for some community theater production.

“You’re not dying,” Bucky deadpanned, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His metal arm glinted in the sunlight, and his expression could only be described as a mix of long-suffering patience and mild amusement. “What is it this time?”

You pointed accusingly at the floor. “There’s a spider!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’ve fought Hydra agents, outrun aliens, and once punched a robot in the face. But a spider? That’s your kryptonite?”

“This is different!” You insisted, clutching your chest like you were seconds away from fainting. “It’s got, like… eight legs! And eyes! And it’s looking at me.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “All spiders have eight legs and eyes. That’s kind of their thing.”

“This one is plotting my demise, Buck! I can feel it!”

He sighed again, the sound of a man who had endured too much nonsense in his lifetime but had resigned himself to his fate. Grabbing a tissue, he approached the spider in question. It was a tiny, harmless thing that honestly looked more scared of you than you were of it. In one swift motion, he scooped it up and released it out the window.

“There. Crisis averted,” He said, turning back to you with a smirk. “You’re safe. The big bad spider’s gone.”

You stepped off the chair, looking sheepish but still clutching your chest like a Victorian damsel in distress. “Thank you, my brave knight. You’ve saved me once again.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

But your drama was far from over. “You don’t understand, Bucky! That spider was the size of a small dog! It had murder in its eyes! I could practically hear it sharpening its little spider knives!”

“Spider knives? Really?” He asked, grabbing his coffee and taking a long, slow sip. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You gasped, clutching your chest again as if his words had physically wounded you. “Lucky?! I’ll have you know I’m the whole package! Looks, charm, wit–”

“Dumbassery,” Bucky added under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” He answered, smirking behind his coffee mug.

But the day wasn’t over yet. Oh no, not with you around. A normal person would’ve taken a spider incident as a sign to relax and maybe read a book. Not you. By the time lunch rolled around, you had somehow:

Tried to bake cookies, resulting in a flour explosion that made the kitchen look like a winter wonderland.

Got your shoelaces stuck in the dishwasher (he still didn’t understand how that was possible).

And attempted to fix a squeaky cabinet door with olive oil in a spray bottle, only to accidentally get it all over yourself and the cat that had wandered in from the neighbor’s apartment. (Bucky still wasn’t sure why the cat liked you so much, it was probably your shared chaotic energy.)

By the time evening rolled around, Bucky was sitting on the couch, rubbing his temples, while you bounced next to him, recounting your many near-death experiences that day.

“And then the cat looked at me like it wanted revenge! I think it’s in cahoots with the spider. We might be dealing with a full-blown animal uprising!”

He turned his head to look at you, his blue eyes filled with the kind of exhaustion that only came from dealing with you for an entire day. But there was something else there to; a softness, a fondness he couldn’t quite hide.

“Y’know,” He said, his voice low and steady, “Most people would’ve given up on you by now.”

“Most people don’t have a vibranium arm and 100 years of patience,” You quipped, grinning at him.

He smirked. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Lucky?!” You gasped again in mock indignation, reminding him firmly. “I’m a blessing, Barnes. A gift. You should be thanking your lucky stars every day that I– oh no, Bucky, the cat’s back! And it brought a squirrel!”

Bucky groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “I need a drink.”

And so, Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier, the man who had survived wars, Hydra, and Steve Rogers' stubbornness, found himself in the greatest battle of all: surviving life with you, the human embodiment of dumb chaos.

And honestly? He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[orellazalonia]

Hello there! 🩵 Can you help me find a Bucky Barnes x Reader fic where they’re married and Bucky’s a CEO in this AU? I don’t remember the full plot, but I do recall that the reader was at home while Bucky was at work, and Steve came over, they spent the day together cooking and chatting until Bucky came home, and then all three had dinner. I remembered during their conversation, Steve mentioned he just bought a new sports car because he was in the middle of divorcing Peggy, and the reader told him not to spend too much. I also remember Steve wondering if he could ever have the kind of love Bucky and the reader share. Thank you 😭😭☺️

Hello there! I apologize, but I’m not particularly the blog to help find these sorts of things (unless it happens to be one of my fics you’re looking for) since I tend to write more than I read. However, I’m happy to spread the word here and I do hope someone manages to find this for you! Best of luck to you!!! ♡

[orellazalonia]

okayyyyyy, so what about a dark!stucky x little!reader where little!reader broke up with them because of their controlling tendencies and overprotectiveness. they couldn’t go out with friends, go for a drive , etc. steve and bucky act super calm during the break up but later on (weeks/months) they ambush her at her apartment. and basically manipulate her little side into “willingly” coming back to them. saying things like “no one can protect you like us / you dont know what you need but we do / your little brain cant comprehend what you need” things like that.. it makes her feel small so she goes with them after being manipulated but later on once shes big again she realizes what happened… she freaks out on them… and the rest is up to you!!! thank youuuu

Hello! I love this plot! I left the story on a cliffhanger so y’all can imagine what you end up doing next. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

Their Overprotective Control

Summary: You break up with Steve and Bucky after their control leaves you unable to live freely. However, months later, they corner you and manipulate you into “choosing” to return with them. (Dark!Stucky x little!reader)

Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Forced Age Regression. Stalking. Coercion. Controlling Stucky. Loss of autonomy. Dark!Bucky Barnes. Dark!Steve Rogers. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 2.3k+

Main Masterlist

You hadn’t planned to leave them.

Not at first. Not even when Steve started tracking your phone or when Bucky started casually mentioning things your coworkers said in private conversations you never told him about. You told yourself it was just love. That this was how they protected you. That it was sweet, in a messed up, overbearing kind of way. And honestly? Part of you liked the way they hovered. How they made you feel small, safe, and wrapped in rules like a blanket.

But it didn’t stay safe forever. It started to feel smothering.

Steve would remind you to text him every time you left a room, let alone a building. Bucky wanted to know the names of everyone you interacted with, even the barista. And if you didn’t answer fast enough? There were consequences. Gentle, always but firm. “Privileges” were revoked. Your phone locked remotely. Your bedroom door bolted from the outside under the excuse of “keeping you from wandering off when you’re too little to know better.”

You started lying to get an hour of quiet. To leave the house alone and to feel normal.

But lying wasn’t something they forgave easily.

You still remember the day you slipped out for coffee with an old friend. Someone harmless and safe, yet someone they hadn’t approved.

You came back to find them both waiting. Calm and patient. They weren’t yelling, but worse: disappointed. Bucky asked why you didn’t trust them. Steve held your hand and gently explained the risks you clearly didn’t understand. That the world was dangerous, and your little brain couldn’t comprehend what you needed.

And something inside you cracked.

It took two weeks to work up the courage.

You did it on a Sunday afternoon. You packed only what you could carry in one trip and waited until they were in the living room, quiet and still, like two statues carved in patience. They always looked so calm, too calm when things were about to spiral.

“I’m leaving,” You stated, clutching the strap of your bag so tight your fingers went numb.

Bucky turned his head first. Steve followed, slow and deliberate, like a predator making sure his prey didn’t run too fast.

“Are you sure this is what you want, sweetheart?” Steve asked, voice soft. There wasn’t any anger or emotion at all.

You nodded, though your chest ached. “I can’t breathe anymore,” You whispered. “I need to figure things out… without you two telling me who I am.”

There was a silence so deep it felt like it could swallow you, but they let you go.

No yelling. No guilt-tripping. No grabbing. They just watched you walk out the door. And that should’ve been the end of it.

But with Bucky and Steve?

Nothing was ever that simple.

Life was… quiet without them.

Lonely, at first. You didn’t realize how deeply they’d rooted themselves in your routine until they were gone. There were long mornings where you’d reach for your phone, expecting the usual check-in message or for one of them to walk into the room but nobody came. Evenings felt hollow without the structure they forced into your day. Without Steve insisting you eat at this time, shower at that time, or have lights out by ten. Without Bucky brushing your hair while you sat criss-cross on the floor in your comfiest clothes or helping you pick out which stuffie to sleep with that night.

But in that silence, something small started to grow again: you.

You started meeting friends again. You never quite stopped looking over your shoulder though. The idea of them showing up in the middle of a lunch date made your stomach twist, but they didn’t.

Weeks passed, then months. No phone calls. No texts. No footsteps behind you in dark parking garages.

You thought they’d let go.

You even started regressing again, but on your own terms this time. You told yourself you didn’t need them for that. Instead, you created a little corner of your apartment just for your little space. Blankets, picture books, and soft stuffed animals that you picked out, not ones hand-selected by Steve after background-checking the manufacturers for safety. It was quiet, soft, and simple.

You started to breathe again.

And then, one rainy Tuesday, it all shattered.

You had opened your front door to take the trash out.

That was it. A normal, mindless task. You were barefoot, oversized hoodie brushing your thighs, mismatched socks on your feet. And when the door creaked open, you froze.

They were there.

Steve stood slightly in front of Bucky, arms relaxed at his sides. His expression calm and unreadable, just like always. Bucky leaned against the doorframe, hands in his coat pockets with his hair tied back. His blue eyes flickered over your face, your neck, the hoodie you were wearing, one he used to say made you look “too soft to be out alone.”

Panic started in your gut like a fire.

You took one step back, gripping the edge of the door. “You– You need to go.”

Steve held his hand up slowly, palm out like he was approaching a frightened animal. “Just want to talk, baby. That’s all.”

Your heart pounded. “Don’t call me that.”

Bucky’s hand shot out when you moved to shut the door, but it didn’t slam. He caught it gently, easily. Like he wasn’t forcing anything, just… helping. His fingers curled around the edge of the door, metal cool against the wood.

“Not safe to slam doors like that, doll,” Je murmured, voice so low it made your skin crawl.

And somehow, somehow, you let them in.

They didn’t sit or touch anything. Just walked into your space like they belonged there, like nothing had changed. You stood frozen in the kitchen, fists clenched at your sides, and trying to stay strong. Trying to remember that you had left them. That you had rights, autonomy, and that you were the one who made the decision.

But they didn’t give you room to think.

Steve took a slow step toward you, voice low and kind. “We’ve been watching. Making sure you’re okay.”

“Watching?” You echoed. “That’s not okay.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” Bucky added. “We see the lights on at 3 a.m.”

“That’s none of your business,” You snapped, heat rising in your chest. “You don’t get to–”

“You’re still so little,” Steve said softly, cutting through your words like a knife through butter. “Still need someone to take care of you.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Bucky tilted his head. “Are you really sure about that?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Your voice failed you. Steve took another step closer. The soft sound of his boots on the floor made your pulse spike.

“Without us… who’s making sure you eat enough, hm?” He asked. “Who tucks you in and keeps you safe when your brain gets too tired to think clearly?”

“I don’t need that all the time,” You said, backing into the counter. “I’m– I'm big right now. I don’t need–”

“But you do,” Steve murmured, his voice full of quiet authority. “You always have. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Bucky stepped into your peripheral vision. His voice was gentle, coaxing. “Your little brain doesn’t always know what’s best, doll. That’s not a bad thing, it’s just the truth.”

Your breath hitched. The world tilted slightly.

“You’ve been trying so hard to be grown-up, haven’t you?” Steve murmured, brushing a knuckle under your chin. “Trying to hold onto everything on your own. But you’re tired, sweetheart. We can see it. You don’t have to pretend.”

And finally, your knees gave out. You didn’t fall, you were guided slowly over to the couch. Bucky tucked your favorite stuffie into your hands. One you thought you lost.

Your voice trembled as you asked, “How did you…?”

“We kept them safe for you,” He whispered, brushing your hair back. “Like we always do.”

Steve knelt in front of you. “Let us take you home, baby. It’s too loud in here, isn’t it? Too much for your sweet mind to handle.”

You stared at him, blinking slow, confused tears from your lashes. The pressure in your head was heavy and foggy. You hadn’t meant to slip. You’d been fine. You’d answered the door with your adult voice, hadn’t you? But now… everything felt wrong-sized. Too sharp or too soft. The corners of your apartment seemed to close in around you like shrinking walls.

“I–” You hesitated. Your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore. “I don’t…”

Steve reached up, hand gentle against your cheek, thumb swiping just beneath your eye. “Shhh. You don’t have to know what you need right now. That’s our job.”

Bucky crouched beside you too, his gloved hand curling lightly around your wrist, not tight or forceful, just present. “You’ve been trying so hard to be big all the time,” He murmured. “And it’s not your fault. But that’s not who you really are, is it?”

You swallowed, the words forming in your head were too fast for your mouth to follow. You wanted to argue. You really did. But their voices were low and slow, like lullabies wrapped in velvet, and everything inside you started to fold in on itself.

“It’s okay to let go, doll,” Bucky said, thumb brushing the back of your hand. “It’s okay to just be little.”

You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no.

And in the silence, Steve gently pulled you to your feet. You stumbled into his chest, and he caught you with a soft “I’ve got you” while Bucky wrapped a blanket around your shoulders like a net closing in.

“You’ll feel better once you’re home,” Steve whispered into your hair. “Once you’re back where you belong.”

And though a small voice screamed at you to stop, to run, it was drowned beneath the fog of their warmth.

You didn’t resist when they walked you out the door. Didn’t protest when the elevator doors closed behind you. Didn’t fight when the car doors locked.

You just sank. Small and unaware that your choice had already been made for you.

You woke slowly.

Not in the peaceful, dreamy kind of way. No. This was the heavy kind of waking, like dragging yourself up from the bottom of a deep, sticky pool of fog. Your eyelids peeled open one at a time, and for a moment, you didn’t even register where you were.

Gradually, you felt the soft weight of the blanket, smelled the faint scent of cedarwood and coffee in the air, and heard the low hum of a fan. Everything felt familiar in a way that made your stomach twist.

And then you realized: You were back.

Your heart thudded once, painfully loud in your ears.

The room was warm, the kind of warmth that felt too deliberate. Your favorite onesie clung to your skin, clean, soft, and already on. You didn’t remember putting it on. A paci rested on the nightstand, a sippy cup sat half-full on the dresser, and one of your stuffed animals lay tucked under your arm.

You didn’t bring any of this with you.

Your hands shook as you pushed the blanket off. The sheets were tucked in too tightly, just the way Steve always did. You sat up, trying to catch your breath, trying to remember what happened. You remembered the knock, their voices, the moment you slipped under, and the sound of Steve practically saying “Let us take you home.”

And then, nothing.

They had waited, watched, and used your regression against you.

You stood, feet unsteady on the hardwood floor, and made your way into the hallway. Every step felt like walking through a dream, one of those bad ones where nothing is wrong enough to scream but everything is just off. The place looked and felt exactly the same. The same dark furniture and the faint sound of a radio humming in the kitchen.

They were in the living room, just like always. Steve sat on the couch with a newspaper in hand. Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter with a mug, glancing at you like you’d just come back from a nap.

“Oh, you’re up,” Steve said, like it was normal. Like this was just another morning.

You stared at him, then at both of them.

“I want to go home.”

Steve didn’t even blink. “You are home.”

“No,” You snapped, voice cracking. “My home. The one you took me from.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t move. “You came with us.”

“I was little,” You spat. “I wasn’t in the headspace to give consent. You knew that.”

“You nodded,” Steve said softly. “You held my hand.”

“You tricked me,” You whispered, taking a step back. “You knew what you were doing.”

A long pause stretched between you, too long for comfort.

Then Bucky’s voice came, quiet and cold. “We protected you. You needed us.”

“I needed space,” You snapped. “I needed to choose for myself. And you– God, you stole that from me.”

Steve stood, slow and deliberate. He didn’t raise his voice or clench his fists. He never needed to. His silence always cut deeper.

“You’re overwhelmed,” He spoke calmly. “You’re not thinking clearly either. Come sit down. We’ll talk.”

“No,” You said, voice firmer now. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to play caregiver when you pushed me too far until I couldn’t say no.”

Steve’s jaw twitched.

Bucky finally spoke, tone low and dangerous. “You think the world out there will take care of you like we do?”

“I don’t care,” You snapped. “I’ll take care of myself.”

They stared at you like you’d just declared war.

You turned on your heel and walked back into the bedroom, locking the door. You didn’t have your phone, they must’ve taken it. But it didn’t matter, your mind was planning.

They made a mistake this time. They’d let you wake up too soon and let the fog lift too early.

You were going to get out somehow. And next time, you wouldn’t look back.

[orellazalonia]

Will be out most of tomorrow running errands. Hopefully, I’ll have time to finish a dramatic!reader idea I had. I actually wanted to complete and send it out today, but realized she was too similar to chaotic!reader. Then it’d be the same of one genre. So, I’ll have a buffer with this dark!stucky request then the funny dramatic!reader. And thennn my fun angsty winter soldier!reader. Your title is probably going to be Silent Reaper based on the votes, thanks for participating!

Besides that, I’ll be starting work/college again next Monday and volunteering at the church every Wednesday too. Sooo, I’m a little bummed out I won’t be as active here as I have been over the summer. But hopefully (and I doubt I will), I won’t completely leave y’all high and dry 😭

Nonetheless, thank you all again for your support and engagement each day! Happy reading!!! ♡

[orellazalonia]

Kind of a weird ask, but I relate very strongly to chaotic!reader. So I was thinking she stresses herself out/ neglects her health working on projects and missions, ect. to the point of a stomach ulcer and when Bucky finally drags her to medical and convinces her to rest she doesn't take it very seriously (in her typical fashion). Maybe she's been worried about Bucky or trying to overcompensate for her insecurities. Cuddles and ridiculous fluffy at the end.

I managed to give myself an ulcer from stress and it sucks.

-🤍🐺

Hello! No request is a weird request! I am sorry to hear about your situation though. I hope you’re recovering well and taking it easy! Thank you for this request and I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!!!

Running on Poor Life Choices

Summary: You pushed yourself too hard, ignoring the signs until the pain landed you in the medbay with a stress-induced ulcer. Despite your protests, you let Bucky take care of you, wrapped in blankets, snark, and the quiet comfort of being loved. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)

Word Count: 1.7k+

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

You’d been running on fumes for the better part of a week, maybe more. You’d lost track somewhere around the fifth all-nighter.

Who needed sleep when there were missions to prep for, reports to write, and gadgets that absolutely demanded your attention? Not to mention the AI in Tony’s drone system had started singing to itself at 3AM and you had to get to the bottom of that.

Somewhere between deciphering encrypted intel and trying to hack together a quantum battery out of spare parts and blind hope, you’d forgotten how to function like a normal human being.

Your diet consisted of vending machine peanuts, protein bars, and stolen bites of whatever takeout people left unattended in the communal kitchen. Coffee had become less of a beverage and more of a survival mechanism, something that lived in your bloodstream at this point. And water? Hydration? You thought you drank something clear two days ago. Probably.

You weren’t worried though. Exhaustion came with the job. So did headaches. And the sharp, gnawing pain in your stomach? That was probably just stress. Or bad cafeteria nachos. Or your body being dramatic again. You popped some antacids and kept going, too focused on your work to pay much attention. Besides, it only really hurt when you moved, ate, or breathed deeply.

Lately, Bucky had been giving you that look. The one that said “I love you, but I’m two seconds from dragging you to the medical bay and strapping you to a bed.” You ignored it. He worried too much.

You weren’t dead. You were just tired. Just a little… hollow-eyed, jittery, and lightheaded. Totally normal behavior all things considered.

When he’d walked into your lab last night and found you face-first on the floor, tangled in wires and muttering to yourself about gravitational pull, you’d waved him off with a cheerful, “I’m fine!”

You weren’t though, and you knew it. But admitting that would mean stopping, and you didn’t have time to stop. Not when there were prototypes to finish, data to organize, and new team missions piling up faster than anyone could process.

Not when people were relying on you.

So when Friday gently chimed in the next day, “Miss, your heart rate is elevated and your vitals are unstable,” You pretended not to hear her.

You could fix this after all. You just needed more time. More caffeine and fewer distractions.

Bucky was a distraction. A beautiful, comforting, and a way-too-perceptive distraction. You had been evading him and the others for days. Locked yourself in the lab, used the vents to avoid Steve, and ignored every knock on your door with a suspicious amount of volume-blasting music. You knew he’d worry. But you couldn’t deal with that, not when your stomach felt like it was eating itself and your brain was buzzing with too many open projects and not enough time.

You were fine, totally fine.

Until one night when he finally managed to stop you for a moment. But your vision blacked out for a second and you collapsed mid-sentence, right into the arms of a very unamused, very concerned Bucky Barnes.

You came to with a groan and a weird sense of motion. Your first thought was Oh no, I’m levitating, which wasn’t entirely impossible considering one of your projects involved magnets and questionable ambition. But no. When your eyes cracked open, you realized it wasn’t telekinesis.

It was Bucky.

You were in his arms bridal style being carried down the hallway. And judging by the way his jaw was clenched and his eyes were locked forward like a soldier on a mission, you were doomed.

“Put me down,” You mumbled, squirming weakly. “This is undignified.”

“You passed out,” He said flatly. “You’ve got the dignity of a damp paper towel right now.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s rude. I’m at least a slightly damp folder.”

He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile or indulge your little quip. That was terrifying.

“Bucky, I’m fine, really–”

“If you say that one more time, I swear to god I’m stapling you to the medbay bed.”

“Rude and violent. Someone needs a snack.”

His grip tightened just slightly. “You haven’t eaten real food in days. You’ve got bags under your eyes so dark I thought you were in cosplaying a raccoon. And you smell like soldering wires and regret.”

You let your head drop against his arm with a sigh. “That’s just my natural scent now. Mad Scientist vibes.”

He huffed. “Not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

By the time he burst through the medbay doors, Bruce looked up from his tablet with a startled expression. “Whoa. What happened?”

“She passed out, again,” Bucky snapped, setting you down not-so-gently on the nearest bed. “She’s been working herself to the bone, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept, and she thinks caffeine counts as a food group.”

You waved weakly, sitting there with your legs swinging lightly. “Hey, Bruce.”

Bruce gave you a once-over. “You look terrible.”

“I’ve felt worse but I’m really fine, just–ow, okay, no, don’t poke there–ow.”

“Exactly where does it hurt?” He asked, already scanning your vitals. His brows furrowed instantly. “Have you been having stomach pain?”

You hesitated. “…Define ‘pain.’”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Answer it as yes.”

Bruce sighed. “How long?”

You glanced at the ceiling. “Maybe a few days or weeks. Maybe a month? Time is fake.”

“Okay, we’re doing bloodwork and a scan right now.” He gestured toward the machine behind you. “Lie back. No arguing.”

“I’m not arguing, I’m just aggressively disagreeing with– okay, fine, I’m lying back, you don’t have to use the dad voice.”

You heard Bucky mutter, “Maybe if you acted less like a reckless toddler, you wouldn’t hear it so often.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

The scan and tests were executed fast but the results were faster.

Bruce tapped on the screen, then turned to you with a no-nonsense look. “You have a stomach ulcer.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

“A pretty bad one. Your body is literally eating itself because you haven’t slowed down. This isn’t stress anymore, it’s a full-blown medical issue. You need treatment and rest.”

You turned your head to Bucky. “…You were right.”

His expression was grim, but his hand found yours. “I didn’t want to be.”

“But you’re smug about it anyway.”

“A little.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “No more labs. No missions. No caffeine. No weird protein bars. You’re going to eat normal food, sleep eight hours a night, and stop playing Frankenstein with alien tech for a while.”

“Even if it’s really cool alien tech?”

Bucky squeezed your hand. “Argue again and I’m unplugging your entire lab.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You groaned, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I hate this.”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky said softly, brushing hair from your face. “You hate that you let yourself get this bad before letting anyone help.”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because he was right again.

You were being held hostage. By your boyfriend.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even being dramatic about it. You were. You were lying in bed with a heating pad on your stomach, surrounded by a ridiculous fortress of snacks, bland soup, warm tea, and a “Bucky Barnes approved recovery playlist” playing at low volume in the background. It was all very domestic.

And suffocating.

“I’m dying,” You groaned, flopping onto your side with a whimper.

“You have a stomach ulcer,” Bucky replied from the chair beside you, flipping a page in his book without looking up. “You’re not dying. You’re just not allowed to live like a caffeinated trash goblin anymore.”

You gasped. “I am a genius.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

“A gifted dumbass!”

That got him to look over, lips twitching into the smallest, most infuriating smirk. “A gifted dumbass who thought a lunch of sour gummy worms and espresso was ‘fuel for creativity.’”

You huffed and pulled the blanket over your head. “You just don’t understand the grind.”

“I understand that your ‘grind’ literally ate a hole in your stomach.”

You peeked out from under the blanket. “Okay, that was funny.”

After the first day or so, you didn’t expect Bucky to stay honestly.

Once Bruce gave you the whole list of recovery rules and the “don’t be stubborn or I’ll sedate you” look, you figured Bucky would check in occasionally, maybe call you out when you tried sneaking back into the lab. You didn’t expect him to sit with you while you napped, carry you to the bathroom when your legs were too shaky, or refill your tea without being asked.

You especially didn’t expect the cuddles.

At first, you protested. “You’ll catch it– oh wait, ulcers aren’t contagious.” Then: “I smell like bland soup and poor life choices.” Then: “You should be doing something useful.” And finally: “Why are you warm? Why are you so warm? It’s like hugging a hot water bottle with muscles.”

But you didn’t stop him. You never really could.

And now? Now you were curled against his side, your face against his chest, one leg thrown over his, and your arm clinging to his middle like he might disappear if you let go.

“Your heartbeat’s annoying,” You muttered sleepily into his shirt. “Keeps reminding me you’re right.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know.”

There was a long pause, soft music playing in the background. His hand traced lazy patterns on your back.

Then, very quietly, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were in pain?”

You swallowed. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

“Too late.”

“I just…” You sighed. “I was already falling behind. There were missions and reports people needed, and you’d been having those nightmares again. I thought if I just powered through, it would get better.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s not your job to hold the world together.”

“I know.”

“You don’t act like it.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you tightened your grip on him, burrowed closer, and mumbled, “I feel really dumb.”

“You are dumb.”

You looked up, scandalized. “Excuse you?”

He grinned and cupped your cheek. “You’re also brilliant, funny, and too stubborn for your own good. But mostly, you're mine. So next time something hurts, you tell me. Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes stinging a little.

“Even if it’s just a paper cut?”

“Especially if it’s a paper cut.”

By the time you drifted off, head on his chest and arm still clinging to him like a koala, he had shifted just enough to wrap both arms around you.

“You’re never going back to eating gummy worms for breakfast,” He whispered.

You, half-asleep, mumbled, “Gummy worms are fruit technically.”

He just laughed, quiet and warm, and held you tighter.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @mouseratface @mel-reads @itsmejen

[orellazalonia]

The Domestic Soldier

Summary: You come home to find Bucky fully embracing his role as a househusband: cooking, cleaning, and running the apartment with soldier-like precision. His domestic streak reaches peak intensity when he bans you from folding laundry “wrong” and vows to handle it himself forever. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 900+

Main Masterlist

You weren’t expecting the smell of fresh bread to hit you the second you opened the apartment door, but there it was: warm, buttery, and so mouthwatering that you actually stopped in the doorway just to take it in.

“Close the door, doll, you’re lettin’ the heat out,” Bucky called from somewhere inside.

You stepped in, kicking off your shoes before following the sounds of clinking dishes and the faint hum of a song you didn’t recognize. When you rounded the corner into the kitchen, there he was. Bucky Barnes with his hair pulled back with a small tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and an apron tied neatly around his waist. Not just any apron, the ridiculous pink one you’d gotten him as a joke for Valentine’s Day. The one that said Kiss the Cook.

He glanced up from where he was slicing vegetables with the kind of precision that made you suspect he was overqualified for anything involving knives. “You’re home early.”

“And you’re… domesticated.” You leaned against the doorframe, grinning.

He smirked, not looking the least bit embarrassed. “Somebody’s gotta keep this place running. You work too hard.”

The kitchen looked like something out of a magazine. There was flour dusted across the counter, a loaf of bread cooling on a rack, and two pots simmering on the stove. He moved through it like it was second nature, and you realized this wasn’t some one-off experiment. He’d been doing this all day.

“Bucky,” You said slowly, “How long have you been… nesting?”

He chuckled low in his chest. “Since about 9 this morning. Did the laundry, vacuumed, and fixed that squeaky cabinet door you hate. Then I figured I’d make dinner from scratch.”

“And bread?”

“And bread,” He said, as though that was the obvious next step after laundry.

You wandered over, reaching out to tear off a piece of the loaf, but his metal hand gently caught your wrist. “Not yet. It’s still cooling. You’ll ruin it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious about this.”

“I’m serious about you,” He said simply, then went back to chopping.

That was Bucky all over, making big gestures sound like small ones. You sat on the counter, watching him work, and listening to him mutter about seasoning ratios and the importance of letting dough rise properly. Every so often, he’d glance up and smile at you, like having you there was the best part of his day.

When dinner was finally ready, he set the table with a care that made you feel like a guest instead of someone who lived here. The bread was perfect too, soft inside with a crust that crackled under your fingers. The soup was hearty and rich too, while the salad crisp and colorful.

“You missed your calling,” You told him between bites.

“Nah,” He said with a little shrug. “I’m right where I wanna be.”

Afterward, you tried to help with the dishes, but he just kissed your temple and shooed you away. “Go relax, sweetheart. This is my department tonight.”

From the couch, you could still see him moving around in the kitchen, humming again wit( his sleeves still rolled up and that pink apron still on. You realized that Bucky Barnes, the feared soldier and trained assassin, was somehow the most dangerous when he was like this. Gentle, steady, and completely at home.

And as you curled up under a blanket, you realized you hadn’t needed grand gestures at all. Just this, him, and the simple peace he brought.

The next morning carried the same quiet warmth, sunlight spilling across the apartment with the smell of fresh coffee drifting in the air. You’d barely started on the day’s laundry when the sharp sound of a throat clearing behind you made you freeze.

“Doll…” Bucky’s voice had that dangerous calm to it, the one you’d heard before missions. Except now, he was standing in the laundry room with his arms crossed over his chest.

You glanced over your shoulder. “What?”

He walked forward slowly as if approaching a wild animal. His eyes were locked on the shirt in your hands. “What… exactly… are you doin’ to that shirt?”

“Folding it?” You looked down, baffled. It was folded. Mostly.

“That,” He said, pointing at it, “is not folding. That is crumpling with intention.”

You blinked at him. “Are you seriously critiquing my laundry skills right now?”

“I’m not critiquing,” He said with absolute solemnity. “I’m intervening. There’s a difference.”

Before you could respond, he was already plucking the shirt from your hands and shaking it out like it had been through a war. He smoothed it over with precise, soldier-like movements, then folded it into a perfect, crisp rectangle.

“There,” He said, sliding it into the stack with a satisfied nod. “Proper.”

You stared at the neat pile he’d made. Every shirt was identical in size and shape, like they’d been pressed in a factory. “You do realize normal people don’t fold clothes with… combat-level precision, right?”

He glanced at you, deadpan. “Normal people also don’t break into Hydra facilities and dismantle weapons shipments. We all have our talents.”

“Your talent is… laundry?”

“And cooking and vacuuming in straight lines,” He added without irony. “But laundry’s important. If you fold it wrong, it doesn’t stack right. If it doesn’t stack right, it leans. If it leans, it falls. If it falls–”

“–the world ends?” You guessed.

He gave you a pointed look that suggested you weren’t entirely wrong.

By the time he was done, every piece of laundry looked like it belonged in a retail display. You, on the other hand, were banned, banned, from touching the folded stack.

“I’ll do the laundry from now on,” He said with finality, kissing the top of your head as if this was the most romantic vow he could make.

And honestly? Seeing him carry that basket like it was the most important job in the world made you love him a little more.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @mouseratface @mel-reads @itsmejen

[eeveedream]

I need this kind of man please and thank you

[orellazalonia]

You and me bothhh! Thank you for reading as always!!! ♡

[orellazalonia]

Superrrrr random. But I’m makin’ a winter soldier-like reader, but I want her own title/name. However, every name I come up with makes me cringe or think it’s already taken somewhere. And while ultimately it doesn’t affect the story that much, I wanna have you guys choose the code name y’all go by for this story :]

Think bound by orders, detached, blank slate, born to be a weapon vibes. Also, what adjective would be good? Silent? Iron? Hollow? (I.e. Silent Ghost, Hollow Reaper, etc.)

What codename should reader have?

The Ghost

The Phantom

The Oath

The Reaper

The Shadow

The Unit

The Covenant

Comment your suggestion.

Voting ended onAug 14, 2025

[orellazalonia]

The Domestic Soldier

Summary: You come home to find Bucky fully embracing his role as a househusband: cooking, cleaning, and running the apartment with soldier-like precision. His domestic streak reaches peak intensity when he bans you from folding laundry “wrong” and vows to handle it himself forever. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 900+

Main Masterlist

You weren’t expecting the smell of fresh bread to hit you the second you opened the apartment door, but there it was: warm, buttery, and so mouthwatering that you actually stopped in the doorway just to take it in.

“Close the door, doll, you’re lettin’ the heat out,” Bucky called from somewhere inside.

You stepped in, kicking off your shoes before following the sounds of clinking dishes and the faint hum of a song you didn’t recognize. When you rounded the corner into the kitchen, there he was. Bucky Barnes with his hair pulled back with a small tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and an apron tied neatly around his waist. Not just any apron, the ridiculous pink one you’d gotten him as a joke for Valentine’s Day. The one that said Kiss the Cook.

He glanced up from where he was slicing vegetables with the kind of precision that made you suspect he was overqualified for anything involving knives. “You’re home early.”

“And you’re… domesticated.” You leaned against the doorframe, grinning.

He smirked, not looking the least bit embarrassed. “Somebody’s gotta keep this place running. You work too hard.”

The kitchen looked like something out of a magazine. There was flour dusted across the counter, a loaf of bread cooling on a rack, and two pots simmering on the stove. He moved through it like it was second nature, and you realized this wasn’t some one-off experiment. He’d been doing this all day.

“Bucky,” You said slowly, “How long have you been… nesting?”

He chuckled low in his chest. “Since about 9 this morning. Did the laundry, vacuumed, and fixed that squeaky cabinet door you hate. Then I figured I’d make dinner from scratch.”

“And bread?”

“And bread,” He said, as though that was the obvious next step after laundry.

You wandered over, reaching out to tear off a piece of the loaf, but his metal hand gently caught your wrist. “Not yet. It’s still cooling. You’ll ruin it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious about this.”

“I’m serious about you,” He said simply, then went back to chopping.

That was Bucky all over, making big gestures sound like small ones. You sat on the counter, watching him work, and listening to him mutter about seasoning ratios and the importance of letting dough rise properly. Every so often, he’d glance up and smile at you, like having you there was the best part of his day.

When dinner was finally ready, he set the table with a care that made you feel like a guest instead of someone who lived here. The bread was perfect too, soft inside with a crust that crackled under your fingers. The soup was hearty and rich too, while the salad crisp and colorful.

“You missed your calling,” You told him between bites.

“Nah,” He said with a little shrug. “I’m right where I wanna be.”

Afterward, you tried to help with the dishes, but he just kissed your temple and shooed you away. “Go relax, sweetheart. This is my department tonight.”

From the couch, you could still see him moving around in the kitchen, humming again wit( his sleeves still rolled up and that pink apron still on. You realized that Bucky Barnes, the feared soldier and trained assassin, was somehow the most dangerous when he was like this. Gentle, steady, and completely at home.

And as you curled up under a blanket, you realized you hadn’t needed grand gestures at all. Just this, him, and the simple peace he brought.

The next morning carried the same quiet warmth, sunlight spilling across the apartment with the smell of fresh coffee drifting in the air. You’d barely started on the day’s laundry when the sharp sound of a throat clearing behind you made you freeze.

“Doll…” Bucky’s voice had that dangerous calm to it, the one you’d heard before missions. Except now, he was standing in the laundry room with his arms crossed over his chest.

You glanced over your shoulder. “What?”

He walked forward slowly as if approaching a wild animal. His eyes were locked on the shirt in your hands. “What… exactly… are you doin’ to that shirt?”

“Folding it?” You looked down, baffled. It was folded. Mostly.

“That,” He said, pointing at it, “is not folding. That is crumpling with intention.”

You blinked at him. “Are you seriously critiquing my laundry skills right now?”

“I’m not critiquing,” He said with absolute solemnity. “I’m intervening. There’s a difference.”

Before you could respond, he was already plucking the shirt from your hands and shaking it out like it had been through a war. He smoothed it over with precise, soldier-like movements, then folded it into a perfect, crisp rectangle.

“There,” He said, sliding it into the stack with a satisfied nod. “Proper.”

You stared at the neat pile he’d made. Every shirt was identical in size and shape, like they’d been pressed in a factory. “You do realize normal people don’t fold clothes with… combat-level precision, right?”

He glanced at you, deadpan. “Normal people also don’t break into Hydra facilities and dismantle weapons shipments. We all have our talents.”

“Your talent is… laundry?”

“And cooking and vacuuming in straight lines,” He added without irony. “But laundry’s important. If you fold it wrong, it doesn’t stack right. If it doesn’t stack right, it leans. If it leans, it falls. If it falls–”

“–the world ends?” You guessed.

He gave you a pointed look that suggested you weren’t entirely wrong.

By the time he was done, every piece of laundry looked like it belonged in a retail display. You, on the other hand, were banned, banned, from touching the folded stack.

“I’ll do the laundry from now on,” He said with finality, kissing the top of your head as if this was the most romantic vow he could make.

And honestly? Seeing him carry that basket like it was the most important job in the world made you love him a little more.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @mouseratface @mel-reads @itsmejen

[orellazalonia]

hiiii ur doing the work of angels cant believe we r so lucky to have u here writing such good fics

may i request pretty plz a little!reader fic where reader gets in trouble for something they didnt do and is upset to the point of actually throwing a massive fit and screaming “I hate you” to their caregiver (dealers choice) theres lots of ways it could go from there but i just think the angst potential is tasty

Thx again 🩵🩵 we love u lots an lots

Hello! Thank you so much for the kind words! I appreciate you all for reading my work! The angst was tasty in this one so I hope you enjoy it too. Thank you for the request and happy reading!!!

The Big Mess

Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression! Angst & Hurt/Comfort.]

Summary: You got blamed for something Peter did and were so heartbroken and overwhelmed that you yelled "I hate you" at your daddies, putting yourself in timeout. After Peter confessed, your daddies gently apologized, reassured you with love and cuddles, and made everything feel safe again.

Word Count: 1.8k+

Main Masterlist

You were having a very good day.

It started with your favorite jammies, the ones with tiny bears and stars, and a warm breakfast from Daddy, who made the eggs into smiley faces. Papa let you have chocolate milk and strawberries with whipped cream, which only happened on weekends or “extra special” mornings. And best of all?

Peter came over.

He was little like you sometimes, and even though he was a bit older, he was fun and silly and knew how to build forts out of couch cushions. You spent most of the morning giggling under a blanket tunnel, eating goldfish crackers, and pretending you were pirates on a spaceship.

Everything felt safe. Warm and bright.

Until it wasn’t.

It was after your lunch of peanut butter and jelly cut into stars, thank you very much, when everything fell apart.

You’d gone to the bathroom, singing a song under your breath as you walked back toward the living room. That’s when you heard Papa’s voice from the hallway. Not yelling, but serious. The voice that made your tummy twist.

“Buck,” Steve called out. “Come look at this.”

You rounded the corner and froze.

There, on the hallway walls, was a mess. Scribbles in every color you could think of. Some looked like swirls. Some looked like shapes. And right in the middle, in crooked-but-familiar handwriting, was a name.

Your name.

And not just that, the couch cushion had blue smears, and on the floor you spotted a broken pencil. One of the good ones. The ones Papa kept in the high cupboard. The ones you were never allowed to use without asking.

You barely had time to breathe before you saw your daddies.

Steve’s hands were on his hips, eyes fixed on the wall. Bucky came in behind him, arms folded, and mouth in a thin, quiet line. He didn’t look angry, but his eyebrows were scrunched, his thinking face. The one he used when he was deciding if you needed a warning or a timeout.

“Sweetheart,” Steve said slowly, turning to face you, “Did you take my pencils out?”

You blinked. “Wha–? No! I din’t– I didn’t do that!”

“Bug,” Bucky crouched down so he was eye level. “This looks like your name, doesn’t it?”

You shook your head so fast. “Didn’t! Didn’t write it! Wasn’t me!”

Steve frowned. “No one else was here, honey. It’s okay to tell the truth.”

“I am tellin’ the truth!” You cried, voice starting to crack. “I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t even touch the fancy pencils!”

But it didn’t matter.

They didn’t say “you’re lying,” but the look they gave each other said enough. You knew it, you knew it in your bones that they didn’t believe you.

Bucky’s voice was gentle, but final. “Go sit in the timeout corner, baby. We’ll talk more in a minute.”

Your mouth opened. You tried to protest, tried to say more, but your throat felt all tight, your chest started to hurt, and your heart was thumping so loud it made your ears buzz. You didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know how to make them listen, and all the feelings just exploded at once.

“I HATE YOU!” You screamed.

It was so loud it made even you flinch. The words came out sharp and wild, and the second they left your mouth, your eyes stung with tears.

Bucky’s face changed fast, his eyebrows lifted and his mouth opened a little, like he didn’t know what to say. Steve blinked, stunned silent for a beat.

But you didn’t wait.

You turned and stomped to the timeout corner yourself, fists balled, and tears falling down your cheeks. You sat down hard, legs crossed, face to the wall, chest heaving in big, hiccupy sobs.

Your face felt hot. Your whole body felt too full. You were mad, sad, embarrassed, and hurt all at the same time. And your tummy twisted up like you swallowed something bad.

You didn't know if you meant what you said. You just wanted them to understand. You just wanted someone to believe you.

And now? Now you sat in the corner all by yourself, crying too hard to stop with your arms wrapped tight around your knees.

You were supposed to feel sorry for what you did, but you didn’t even do it.

And that made everything so much worse.

A few minutes passed, and the corner felt cold.

The kind of cold that didn’t come from the wall or the floor, but from inside. Like your heart got small and curled up in a tight little ball, just like your body was doing now.

You pressed your face into your knees and cried so hard it hurt your chest. Ugly, hiccupy sobs spilled out of you in loud bursts, the kind that made your shoulders jump and your nose run. You didn’t care. You didn’t care if they heard. You didn’t even care if they came.

You hated them, except you didn’t. But you did, because they didn’t listen, and they didn’t believe you, and they thought you were bad. And maybe if you really was bad, then they wouldn't be so surprised.

The thoughts kept racing in your head like thunder. You said you hated them. You screamed it. You saw Daddy flinch. You saw Papa’s face go still and quiet.

Maybe they hated you back now.

You hiccuped again and wiped your face with the back of your sleeve, even though it didn’t help. Your jammies were damp now. Your eyes hurt and your throat burned.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, maybe forever, before you heard someone shuffling in the hallway.

Not heavy footsteps like your daddies. These were soft, light.

“…Hey,” came a whisper.

You looked back through blurry eyes to see Peter peeking around the corner.

His hands were fiddling with the hem of his shirt, and he looked like he’d just eaten a spider. “Are you still crying?”

You didn’t answer. You just glared at him through your snotty face and scrunched-up eyebrows.

He looked at the ground.

“I… I didn’t know you’d get in trouble,” He mumbled. “I only wanted to surprise you. I was tryna draw your name real big so you’d see it in rainbow.”

You blinked.

“What?” You rasped.

Peter fidgeted. “I snuck the pencils down while you were in the bathroom. I didn’t think they’d notice… but then I messed up, and I panicked and ran when they came.”

Your chest twisted up again, but in a different way this time.

“You did it?!” You snapped, voice cracking. “It was you?!”

Peter nodded, looking miserable. “I’m sorry. I shoulda told them, but I got scared.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “I said I HATED them!”

He looked at you with big, round eyes, like he finally realized how big that was.

“I didn’t mean it,” You whispered, tears rising again. “I was just mad ‘cause they didn’t believe me.”

Peter inched closer, hugging his arms around himself. “Are you gonna tell them it was me?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too busy trying to untangle the knot of shame, anger, and sadness sitting heavy in your tummy. But finally, with a tiny voice, you said:

“They gotta know. I don’t wanna be in trouble no more…”

Peter nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell.”

You sniffled and wiped your nose again.

“You better,” You muttered.

And even though you still felt awful… a tiny little bit of the weight started to lift.

Peter left but not before gave you a small, nervous glance before he tiptoed off toward the kitchen. You could hear his voice start, quiet and unsure, and then you heard his words get faster, the way they did when he was explaining something important and felt bad.

You didn’t move.

Even though your legs were cramping from sitting so long. Even though your cheeks were dry now, but sticky and tight from dried tears. Even though your throat hurt and your chest still felt like someone had stepped on it. You didn’t move because no one said you could.

Time-out meant stay there. And even though you had yelled, stomped, cried, and gone there yourself, you still waited. Because part of you hoped… if you were good now, maybe they wouldn’t be mad forever.

The clock ticked. Footsteps came closer. Then stopped.

You didn’t look back right away. You stared at the floor, arms wrapped around your knees.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You heard Papa call out gently.

You sniffed.

Bucky stepped beside him. “Can we talk to you, bug?”

You nodded a little, turning around but still not lifting your eyes.

“You can come out now,” Steve said, voice soft as a blanket.

You stood slowly, legs wobbly, and face hot all over again. You didn’t run into their arms, even though you wanted to. You just stood there, wringing your hands in the hem of your shirt.

“Peter told us everything,” Steve said after a moment. “He said he took the pencils and wrote your name.”

Bucky crouched down to your level. “That means you were telling the truth.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at the ground, and then, finally, you whispered, “You didn’t believe me.”

It came out so small, like a mouse. But it was the biggest feeling in the world.

Steve stepped closer, kneeling down beside Bucky. “You’re right,” He said. “We didn’t, and that was our mistake.”

“A big one,” Bucky added, reaching to gently touch your hand. “You tried to tell us and we didn’t listen. That’s not fair, baby.”

You sniffled, blinking fast. There was silence for a moment.

Then you looked up, eyes shiny and lip wobbly.

“I said I hated you,” You whispered. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, honey,” Bucky said, scooping you up into his arms without hesitation. “I know you didn’t.”

“We knew even when you said it,” Steve said, wrapping his arms around both of you. “Sometimes big feelings say things our hearts don’t mean.”

You curled into Bucky’s chest, finally letting go. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers clutching the soft fabric of his hoodie. Steve pressed a kiss to your head, then your cheek, then your temple.

“You’re not in trouble anymore,” Steve whispered.

“Not even a little bit,” Bucky promised.

You hiccuped, your voice muffled into Bucky’s shoulder. “Still sad…”

“That’s okay,” Steve said, rubbing your back slow. “We’ll hold you until it goes away.”

“And then we’ll get your own drawing supplies out,” Bucky added. “The ones that are really yours.”

“An’ hugs?” You asked, voice thick.

“Hugs forever, babydoll,” Bucky said.

“No more timeout?”

“Only for grown-ups,” Steve said, trying to make you smile.

You let out the tiniest giggle and they both smiled like it was the best sound in the world.

And in that moment, wrapped up in your daddies’ arms, the day finally started to feel a little less heavy. The hurt was still there, sure. But the love you all shared was louder.

[orellazalonia]

Time for You

Summary: You’re hesitant to interrupt Bucky’s work for the third time in a day, but he makes it clear he’d always make time for you. (Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Sweetheart!reader)

Word Count: 600+

A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve updated this series since I’ve done other types of mafia/mob Bucky stuff lately. So, happy reading!!

Main Masterlist | His Sweetheart Masterlist

You tried not to do it often whenever you were home for the day. You really did.

But sometimes when Bucky’s office door was cracked open, when you could hear the quiet clack of his keyboard or the low murmur of his voice on a call, you’d get this little urge to peek in. Just for a second.

And sometimes, you’d go to ask him something you had thought of or show him something funny you saw online. And each time, without fail, you’d step in, realize he was buried in work, and retreat almost instantly with a mumbled, “Sorry– never mind.”

Today, you’d already done it twice. Once to ask if he wanted tea. Once to show him a tiny video of a hedgehog in a hat.

And now… well, now you were hovering in the doorway with a small piece of paper in your hand, second-guessing if it was important enough to bother him for a third time.

“Something wrong?” His voice carried across the room, deep and warm, and your head snapped up. He’d leaned back in his chair, watching you with that look that was somehow both patient and amused.

You stepped inside slowly, holding the paper to your chest. “It’s just–“ You shook your head, smiling sheepishly. “It’s dumb. You’re working.”

He swiveled his chair fully toward you. “Come here.”

You hesitated, glancing at the desk and computer screens full of what looked like spreadsheets and contracts. “I didn’t mean to bother–”

“Sweetheart.” He interrupted gently, but there was no mistaking the edge of command under his words. “Come here.”

You crossed the room, cheeks warm. He caught your wrist the second you got close enough as he tugged you into his lap like you weighed nothing. His arm wrapped around your waist and his chin settled against your shoulder, his body instantly relaxing with you close to him.

“You think I care more about whatever’s on that screen than you?” He asked quietly.

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, staring down. “I just… you’re busy.”

“I’m always busy,” He said, like it was a fact as simple as the weather. “But you, ” He grabbed your hand, squeezing it slightly. “You’re not a bother ever. You could come in here every five minutes and I’d still make time for you.”

Something warm and a little fragile bloomed in your chest. “Even for hedgehogs in hats?”

“Especially for hedgehogs in hats.” He kissed your cheek, slow and deliberate. “Now, what’s on that paper you’ve been hiding?”

You looked down at the paper in your hands, feeling his warmth radiate through his hold on you. It was a little doodle you’d made earlier, a silly sketch of the two of you as cartoon characters, him with his trademark dark clothing and you holding a coffee cup, both smiling ridiculously wide. You’d been too shy to show it until now.

“It’s nothing important,” You spoke softly, but his fingers tightened just a bit, urging you to trust him more.

“Try me,” He whispered against your temple.

Taking a breath, you held it out for him. His eyes softened as he studied the drawing, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“You did this?” He asked, voice warm and a little surprised.

You nodded, cheeks flushing.

He adjusted you closer, resting his forehead gently against yours. “You’re impossible to resist, you know that?”

Your heart fluttered. “I just wanted to remind you… that no matter how busy you get, I’m always here for you.”

His smile deepened. “And I’ll always make time for you. No exceptions.”

You stayed like that for a moment, two quiet souls finding peace amid the chaos of his world. And just like that, you knew this was exactly where you belonged.

Taglist: @hits-different-cause-its-you @muchwita @je-suis-prest-rachel @greatenthusiasttidalwave @the-galaxy-fiend @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @ordelixx @itsmejen @riot-sounds @starrysummitmercenary

[eeveedream]

SOBBING CAUSE THEYRE SO CUUUUTE

[orellazalonia]

I LOVE THEM SO MUCHHH!!! Thank you for reading!!! ♡