Disclosures: I am NOT a professional writer. I am quite literally the opposite. All feedback is welcome, if you can be kind about it! This is a safe space and all requests are welcome, if I am not comfortable with it I won’t write it. I also write as I’m inspired so it might take me a while to get to your requests!
✨fluff 🔥smut ‼️angst ⚠️ trigger warning
dividers by @rmstitanics 💕
@/xreader1989 I do not give permission for my work to be reuploaded, translated, or copied across any platforms.
thunderbolts where you're exhausted to the brim and they're worried
lights out | thunderbolts* x reader ⋆｡°✩
pairing: thunderbolts* x fem!reader (with a slight hint of bucky x reader)
warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, insomnia, reader being kinda strung out lol
word count: 2.1k
note: okay wow. it’s been two years since i actually wrote anything and posted it on here so i’m glad to be back!! i hope u like it <3
It’s been four days since your last mission. Four days since you’ve felt the relieving bliss of a full night’s rest.
96 hours. 5760 minutes. 345,600 seconds.
But it’s not like you’re counting anyway.
Usually you’re fine after an assignment, maybe a little sore or winded— but not this exhausted; mentally and physically.
It’s almost like clockwork now as you lie in bed throughout the night. Your thoughts loud as you listen to your own breathing, and thrumming of your heartbeat beneath your ribs. How the air conditioning kicks on and blows cold air onto your face, causing you to bundle up under the covers.
The only source of light in your dark room is coming from your phone as you scroll through numerous social media apps. Your eyes dancing over the screen, switching between tiktoks and instagram reels as you doom scroll.
And then your eyes begin to flutter shut, hand going limp as your phone drops beside you on the bed. Your body allows you all but twenty minutes of sleep before your heart constricts with anxiety.
You wake up gasping for air, sitting straight up in your king-sized bed. Your oversized pajama shirt is drenched in sweat and stuck to your body as if it’s clinging to the sleep you’ve been so rudely disturbed from.
Your eyes dart around your dark room before following the beam of light coming from your phone. The same video has been playing on repeat, along with a song as someone dances to it on the screen.
With a loud sigh and a deep breath, you reach over to check the time on your phone. In the top corner it reads, ‘2:18’ a.m. With your heart still beating heavily against your ribcage, there’s no way you can try to sleep now. You might as well go watch some tv instead of mindlessly scrolling on your tiny phone screen.
You rub your eyes with your fists, eyes watering desperately as you stifle a yawn. Your feet kick the covers off as your legs swing over the side of your bed. Shuffling your feet into your slippers, you use your phone screen as a flashlight to direct yourself to your door.
Your head peeks out as you slowly open it, looking down the dark hallway. You listen for any movement, any sign of life from your other comrades.
Sometimes you wonder if they can tell you haven’t been getting enough sleep, maybe it’s the dark circles or how you space out more often.
Or maybe it’s that you’ve skipped training five times in the last four days. It wasn’t a rare occurrence to have bouts of sleepless nights, they knew that too— but this has been the longest and most exhausting four days of your life. There’s no way that they haven’t caught on yet.
As you make your way to the living room, your body viscerally shivers from the crispness of the air in the tower. The sweat on your skin cools, and the dampness of your shirt turns chilly. You need warmth, and you know exactly what will suffice. After snatching a blanket off the couch and wrapping it around your shoulders, you shuffle into the kitchen.
Yawning as you pop a pod into your coffee maker and quietly pulling a mug from the cabinet. It reads, ‘I ♡ NYC’, which makes you smile and scoff at the irony of it. The coffee maker splutters and spits out coffee as it brews the liquid gold into your cup.
The aroma almost does the job of energizing you itself. You wrap your hands around the hot mug, hissing from the heat, but you allow it to warm your cold hands as you make your way to the living room.
Tucking yourself into the far corner of the plush couch, you pull your knees close to your body to drape another blanket over your legs. Your hand clicks buttons on the remote as you sip on the hot coffee, humming from the taste and how it warms you from the inside out.
Some late-night sitcom is on, so you resort to watching that for now. Quietly giggling along with the laughter in the background of the show. You don’t even notice soft footsteps padding down the hallway towards you as you stare wide-eyed at the tv screen.
A deep voice calls out your name, making your eyes snap towards the sound. It’s Bucky.
“What are you doing up?” His voice is scratchy from sleep as his half-lidded eyes squint from the brightness of the tv. His hands are on his hips as he stares at you, almost like a disappointed dad.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Your hand grips the remote as you hurriedly turn it down.
His feet drag as he walks into the living room, still standing up as his eyes watch the screen. The light casts over his features as you stare at him from your position on the couch, “No, no, it’s okay. I heard the tv but I just wanted to make sure everything was okay…” He trails off and turns toward you with his eyebrows wrinkled in the middle, “Well, uh… Are you okay?”
Your eyes nervously dart from your coffee in your lap to him, and then back to the tv. Your body shudders, urging you to word vomit about how you haven’t slept in four days and how your stupid mind won’t shut up.
“Y—yeah, Buck. I’m good.” You send a quick, insincere smile his way before looking back down at your steaming mug. You can still feel his eyes on the side of your face, refusing to look up at him. He knows.
The couch dips beside you, making your breath catch slightly as you side-eye him.
“Well, I’m gonna sit out here with you and watch whatever the hell you’re watching.” He almost chuckles, his hand motioning toward the tv.
He looks over at you as his metal arm folds behind his head, the other sprawling out on the back of the couch toward you. Almost like he’s inviting you to move closer to him.
It’s not weird for you and Bucky to cuddle—especially during your low points, but you can’t give in.
“It’s called friends.” You mumble, still staring into the mug.
“Hm?” He hums and adjusts himself so he’s a little closer to you, his head leaning forward so he can hear you clearer.
“The show. It’s called friends.” You speak up, and turn towards him now before taking a sip of your coffee.
Bucky watches you intently, how you bring the mug to your lips, how your bloodshot, purple-rimmed eyes flick to the screen and back to him.
“Is that coffee?” He questions with a raised eyebrow, his hand reaching out for it, and you hand the mug over to him. He takes a sip out of your cup before handing it back to you, settling himself into the couch with a satisfying tsk and an, “Aah.”
“So why haven’t you been sleeping?” He asks with his eyes trained on the tv. You start to fumble over your words, stuttering and wiggling in your spot. “I-uhhh.. wha-?” Your voice trembles.
Why can’t you just admit it?
“We’re all worried about you, ya know. Missing training, showing up to meetings late, stumbling into the kitchen for food… or coffee. You've been hiding in your room for days now.” He tilts his head toward your cup to prove a point.
Tears begin to well up into your eyes, your bottom lip shuddering and your hands trembling. Bucky watches as your walls start to crumble, the exhausted, beaten, and bruised version of you seeping through. “Hey hey. It’s okay, doll.” He sits up now, taking the mug from your hands to set it on the coffee table.
Once the coffee is safely put to the side, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you from your cocoon of blankets. Your face is smushed into his soft cotton tee shirt, tears soaking the fabric as you silently weep into his chest.
“I-I jus-just can’t sl-sleep.” You stutter out, arms still by your side, his strong arms caging you in, “My-my mind, my th-thoughts… I just can’t anymore.”
Bucky shushes you, one of his hands rubbing circles into your back. “I know, I know.” He hums.
Bucky lets you cry into him until it turns into quickened breathing, and then your body starts to go slack. He’s been through this with you so many times, too many times.
Your head moves from his chest, wiggling your way up to fit into the crook of his neck. Your soft breath fans across his warm skin, and your arms hesitantly wrap around his solid waist.
Bucky pulls you closer, his lips pressing a kiss to your temple as you snuggle in close. The sound of footsteps breaks you from your little bubble with Bucky, your watery eyes lifting to see Yelena standing at the edge of the couch.
“Everything okay?” Her usual strong, accented voice is soft as she stares at you with tender, yet tired, eyes.
Bucky pulls back slightly to turn, his flesh arm still holding onto your waist as he looks at Yelena. A small smile plays on his lips before turning back to you, tapping your hip as his grip loosens.
“Yeah, she’s good now. Can’t sleep.” Bucky yawns at the end of his sentence and covers his mouth with the back of his hand. You move back slightly, still pressed against his side but not in an embrace.
“Good. We were worried about you.” Yelena comments, which makes you snort. Both of them turn towards you, looking confused.
“Bucky said that earlier.” You poke at him jokingly, and he swats at your hand. Yelena lets out a raspy laugh and plops down on the chaise lounge, kicking her feet up as she looks at the tv. “Friends, really?” She rolls her eyes and motions for the remote with her hand.
You toss the remote to her, and she catches with ease—not even looking as it flew toward her. She flips through the channels as Bucky pulls you closer, your head gravitating towards his lap. You keep telling yourself this is a normal thing for you and Bucky to do; he helps you. But this time, it just feels different.
You lay on your side, head on his thigh as you curl up into yourself. His hand instantly goes into your long flowing hair to play with it before he pulls a blanket over your body. You can feel yourself relax, your chest warming up as your nervous system resets itself.
You can feel yourself growing sleepier by the second as Bucky’s hand cards through your hair. Yelena and Bucky’s quiet conversation is slowly drowned out as your ears start to ring, blinking slowly as you try to fight the weight pulling down your eyelids.
The tv in front of you blurs out of view as your eyes shut, finally succumbing to the sleep your body has been begging for.
-
You wake up to a bright room around you, sunshine illuminating the walls shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You can feel wetness around your mouth, almost as if you’ve been drooling.
Wait, where are you? And what is that delicious smell?
Your eyes fully open and you suck in a deep breath of fresh air. It smells of breakfast, like bacon and maple syrup. You’re surprisingly still in the living room, but the tv’s volume is lowered and Bucky isn’t under you anymore. Your coffee cup has been cleaned up, and you’re still covered in a blanket or two.
As you sit up, you groan, muscles aching from sleeping in a weird position on the couch. You move your neck side to side, yawning as you stretch your arms above your head.
“Ah! Sleeping beauty is awake!” Yelena’s voice shouts, making you jump as you spin around to face her.
Bob is sitting at the kitchen island alongside Bucky, while John is at the stove cooking. Yelena is sitting on the counter, laughing at something Bob said as she bites into a piece of bacon she has in her hand.
The sound of something sizzling catches your ears, and suddenly your stomach grumbles. Bucky swivels on his chair to turn toward you, his face beaming when he sees you’re awake.
Your lips twitch upwards into a smile, sliding off the couch to shuffle over to him. His arm wraps around your waist from his seated position, “How ya feel?” He asks, looking up at you.
“Pretty good, still tired but much better.” You sigh happily, smiling around at your teammates who return the same expression.
John sneakily eyes Bucky’s hand sitting comfortably on your waist, winking at you which makes you blush.
You know you’ll start to feel better, slowly but surely. Especially with everyone around you being so supportive. They’ll make you feel more like yourself again, and you know you’ll be back to a regular sleep schedule soon. Hopefully with Bucky’s help again.
C's corner: Another song inspired fic! This one by the song Mayhem by Halestorm. I really need to stop letting new ideas pop into my head and finish my other fic... I will, eventually....
SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes has fought wars, outsmarted Hydra, and survived alien invasions, but nothing prepared him for you: the walking embodiment of mayhem with a smile that makes every disaster worth it.
Bucky had a ritual.
Two sugars, one cream, silence.
That was his peace before the day's chaos, before Yelena's sarcasm, before John's chest-thumping, before Val's "debriefings."
He liked silence.
Unfortunately, silence packed its bags and left the building the morning you arrived.
The elevator doors opened with a cheerful ding that already sounded too loud for Bucky's taste. Out stepped you, half-awake, wearing mismatched socks, humming something suspiciously aggressive, and holding what looked like a dismantled toaster in your arms.
"Morning," you said brightly, even though it was clearly a threat. "Do you know if the sockets here are European-compatible? I kinda... borrowed this from the safehouse in Prague."
Bucky blinked. "You... brought a toaster from another country?"
"It makes the bread crunchy on the inside and soft on the outside," you replied like it was obvious. "It's a masterpiece."
He stared. You smiled wider. That should've been his first warning.
Within minutes, the "masterpiece" short-circuited half the kitchen. The espresso machine sputtered, sparks flew, and Bucky's mug of coffee died a tragic, caffeinated death on the floor.
He exhaled through his nose. "You know, some people just use... normal toasters."
"Normal's boring," you said, leaning down to inspect the smoldering plug. "Besides, chaos builds character."
"Chaos builds migraines," he muttered.
You straightened, brushing a smudge of soot off your cheek. "I'll make it up to you."
"You'll... make up for ruining my coffee?"
"Yep. I'll make pancakes."
The last person who'd offered to cook for the team was Alexei, and it took two days for the med bay to clear the fumes.
Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but you were already humming again, flipping a pan onto the stove and talking a mile a minute about "creative culinary redemption."
Ten minutes later, the kitchen smelled like heaven and slight panic. Flour dusted your hair, syrup dripped down your wrist, and somehow Bucky found himself smiling despite himself.
He didn't want to smile. He really didn't. But there it was, curling at the corners of his mouth like it had been waiting years for an excuse.
You slid a plate in front of him. "See? Mayhem with a side of maple."
He looked down at the lopsided stack. "This is gonna kill me, isn't it?"
"Probably," you said, beaming. "But at least it'll taste good."
When he finally took a bite, and it did taste good, he heard Yelena walk in and mutter, "What in god's name happened here?"
Bucky didn't answer. He was too busy watching the way you laughed, the way your chaos filled every quiet corner of the room. And for the first time in a long time, the quiet didn't feel like peace anymore. It felt like something was missing.
Maybe it sounded crazy, but Bucky suspected that something was you.
The fire alarm goes off at 7:43 a.m.
That's how Bucky Barnes knows you're awake.
He doesn't even flinch anymore. He just exhales through his nose, flips the page of his book, and waits for the inevitable sound of...
"Bucky! Don't freak out!"
He doesn't even look up. "You only yell that when I should freak out."
"I didn't mean to start a fire, it just... happened!"
He closes the book. "That's not better."
When he finally enters the kitchen, the sight isn't half as bad as it could be, which, in your defense, is saying something.
A pan smokes on the stove, there's flour in your hair, and you're standing on the counter trying to kill the smoke detector with a spatula.
"Why are you on my counter?"
"Technically our counter. And I'm testing gravity."
"Stop testing it before it wins."
He grabs the cereal box from the top shelf, sets it down, and mutters, "You're gonna be the death of me."
"Nah," you say with a grin. "You'd miss me too much."
You're chaos personified.
Where Bucky folds laundry with sniper precision, you leave your socks on the couch and claim it's "strategic placement."
Where he moves through missions with calm control, you improvise, turning firefights into artful messes that somehow, always work.
You're his opposite in every measurable way. And yet, he can't remember the last time the Tower felt alive before you.
Later that afternoon, he's polishing his arm in the lounge when you appear again, hair still slightly damp from a shower, wearing a hoodie that might be his. You lean on the back of the couch upside down, head dangling toward him.
"You ever get tired of being so serious?"
He glances at you. "I like quiet."
"You like boring."
"Quiet," he repeats, unbothered.
You hum thoughtfully. "You should try letting go sometime."
"Letting go gets people killed."
You tilt your head. "You think everything's life or death?"
"Most things are."
"Not this." You motion vaguely between you. "This is just existing. Which, by the way, you could be better at."
His lips twitch despite himself. "You trying to teach me how to live, doll?"
"Someone has to." You grin at him, bright, reckless, unstoppable, and before he can stop you, you plop down next to him and start braiding the end of his hair.
He stiffens instantly. "What are you doing?"
"Enhancing your vibe."
"My vibe?"
"Yeah, you're like, mysterious brooding guy number four in every movie. I'm just trying to make you number one."
He's not sure what's more absurd, the words or the fact that he's letting you do it. "You're insane."
"You like me that way."
He doesn't answer, but his silence is telling.
Bucky liked training days. They were predictable. Routine. There were mats, weights, a schedule, and an unspoken rule that no one interrupted him mid-set.
Then you joined the team. And suddenly, routine became a relic of a simpler, quieter time.
The morning began innocently enough. Bucky was stretching in the corner, earbuds in, zoning out to something instrumental and broody, because of course he was, when you burst into the gym like a tiny hurricane with a towel around your neck and a grin that spelled trouble.
"Morning, Buck!" you called cheerfully.
He grunted in reply. That was his version of a warm greeting.
You dropped your duffel beside him, ignoring the eyebrow he raised. "I heard we're sparring partners today."
His eyebrow climbed higher. "We are?"
"Yep. I swapped with John."
"You what?"
You shrugged, already wrapping your hands. "He said he didn't mind. Said something about preferring an opponent who doesn't giggle while punching."
"That's... fair," Bucky muttered.
"Anyway," you said, bouncing on your toes, "let's see if the Winter Soldier can handle a little mayhem."
There it was again, mayhem. That word followed you like a theme song. Bucky sighed, adjusting his gloves. "Just don't break anything this time."
"No promises."
The first five minutes went about as well as anyone could expect.
You were quick, unpredictable, and absolutely refused to follow any known combat form. One second you were dodging neatly, the next you were using a forward roll that somehow ended in you kicking off the wall like an acrobat.
"Is that even a real move?" Bucky asked, blocking your next hit.
"It is now!"
You grinned mid-punch, and he made the fatal mistake of looking at that grin instead of your fist. Your glove clipped his jaw, not hard, but enough to make his head turn.
"Oh my god," you gasped, freezing. "Did I just... did I just punch you?"
He rubbed his jaw. "You did."
You blinked. "Do I get an award or...?"
Before you could finish, Bucky swept your leg with one smooth motion, sending you flat on your back.
You blinked up at him, dazed but still grinning. "Okay. That's fair."
He offered a hand. You took it, and for a split second, something shifted. The room got quieter. Your fingers were warm, your smile was a little too bright, and Bucky's pulse betrayed him.
He let go quickly, pretending to adjust his gloves. "You're unpredictable."
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
By the time Yelena wandered in, the two of you had managed to destroy half the obstacle setup. Foam barriers toppled like dominoes. One of the treadmills was still running from when you tripped over it.
Yelena leaned against the doorframe, chewing gum. "So this is training or foreplay?"
You immediately tripped over a mat. Bucky turned scarlet.
"It's training," he said tightly.
"Sure," Yelena drawled, smirking. "Whatever you say, comrade calm."
She sauntered out before either of you could respond.
You looked up from the floor, laughing breathlessly. "Comrade calm, huh?"
"Don't," Bucky warned.
"Oh, I'm definitely using that later."
When the session finally ended, Bucky found himself doing something strange, waiting for your laughter to echo off the walls again. The room felt too quiet when you left to grab water.
Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the insanity of living in this tower.
But when you came back, hair sticking to your forehead, smiling like chaos incarnate, he caught himself smiling back.
And this time, he didn't even try to hide it.
Valentina's voice was smooth as ever, but the words hit Bucky like a thrown knife. His eyes flicked up from the mission file just in time to see your face light up like it was Christmas morning.
"Bucky and me?" you asked, visibly delighted.
Val just smirked. "Yes, you. Two-person recon. Simple grab-and-go, no civilian contact, no explosions, no..." she glanced directly at you "...improvisation."
You saluted. "You have my word."
Yelena snorted audibly from her seat. "That's worth exactly nothing."
Bucky closed his eyes and muttered, "Why me?"
Val's lips curved in amusement. "Because you're calm, Barnes. And she's… not. I need balance."
He wasn't sure if he should feel flattered or doomed.
Two hours later, you were both crouched behind a rusting van in an abandoned shipping yard. Rain drizzled down from an overcast sky, slicking the ground and muting every sound except your occasional whisper.
"Okay, the target is in the third warehouse," you said, squinting through the binoculars. "Two guards, minimal patrol. I can distract them."
Bucky shook his head. "No distractions. We go in, grab the drive, and go. Quietly."
You grinned. "Define quietly."
He gave you a flat stare. "Without chaos."
You mimed zipping your lips. "Got it. Quiet as a mouse."
Thirty seconds later, there was a crash, a yelp, and the sound of metal clattering as you tripped over a loose pipe.
Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're kidding me."
"Shh!" you hissed, sprawled on the ground. "You'll blow my cover!"
"You don't have cover!"
But somehow, your accident worked. The guards rushed over to investigate the noise on the opposite side, leaving a clean path straight to the warehouse.
Bucky blinked. "You actually… helped?"
You dusted yourself off, whispering proudly, "Told you I'm good at improvisation."
Inside the warehouse, it went mostly according to plan, until it didn't.
You found the data drive easily enough, but then the floor creaked. Someone shouted. And suddenly, Bucky's calm, perfect infiltration turned into a mad dash for the exit, bullets ricocheting off metal as you laughed breathlessly beside him.
"This wasn't in the plan!" he yelled over the gunfire.
You ducked behind a crate, cheeks flushed. "Plans are overrated!"
"You're overrated!"
"Harsh!"
He dragged you up and out through a side door, the two of you sprinting across puddles toward the van. You jumped in first, slamming the door shut as he dove behind the wheel.
When the engine coughed and died, you looked at him sheepishly. "I might've… borrowed the keys from Yelena. They're shaped like a cat, I thought they were cute..."
"Unbelievable," he groaned, reaching under the dash and hotwiring it in seconds.
The van roared to life. Tires screeched. You whooped, leaning out the window as rain hit your face. "See? We did it!"
"Barely," Bucky muttered.
But he couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. The adrenaline, the chaos, the sound of your laugh cutting through the storm, it was intoxicating in a way he didn't want to name.
When you finally got back to the tower, dripping wet and triumphant, Val was waiting.
You raised your hand cheerfully. "We didn't blow anything up!"
"That's progress," she said dryly. "Dismissed."
Later that night, Bucky sat in his room, towel-drying his hair. He could still hear your laugh echoing in his head. He told himself it was just adrenaline. That's all.
But then he caught himself smiling at nothing, and sighed.
He'd survived Hydra, wars, and alien invasions, but you? You were going to be the death of him.
And the worst part? He wasn't sure he minded.
For most of the team, midnight meant rest. For you, it meant projects.
Bucky had learned that the hard way. Every strange noise in the dead of night, the clank of a wrench, the faint hum of wires, the occasional crack followed by an "oops" usually traced back to you.
Tonight was no exception.
He'd gone down to the kitchen for tea, not expecting to find you crouched on the counter, hair tied up, wearing one of the tower hoodies three sizes too big for you. A halo of scattered tools surrounded you.
The object of your affection: the poor, overworked toaster you'd electrocuted on your first day.
He paused in the doorway, watching. You were muttering under your breath like a scientist on the brink of madness. "Okay, red to white… no, that's wrong. Red to metal thingy... no, wait..."
"That's how people lose eyebrows," Bucky said finally.
You nearly fell off the counter. "Jesus, Barnes! Don't sneak up like that!"
He smirked, stepping closer. "Didn't sneak. You just don't listen."
"I listen selectively," you shot back. "It's a skill."
He leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed. "You're really fixing that thing again?"
"It deserves redemption." You gestured at the toaster solemnly. "I wronged it. I feel responsible."
"Pretty sure that's not how appliances work."
"Tell that to the coffee maker. It growls at me now."
Bucky exhaled a small laugh, barely there, but real. You caught it and grinned, victorious. "Was that a laugh, Sergeant Barnes?"
He shook his head. "Don't push your luck."
"Admit it. You like having me around."
That made him pause. You hadn't meant it to sound vulnerable, but it did. The words hung there, soft and unguarded.
He looked down at you, eyes catching the faint glow from the toaster light, and said quietly, "You make things... interesting."
You smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."
Minutes passed in companionable chaos. You fiddled with wires while Bucky handed you tools, occasionally giving unhelpful commentary.
"That's a screwdriver, not a soldering iron."
"I knew that," you lied.
When the toaster finally sparked back to life with a triumphant ding, you gasped and threw your arms in the air. "It's alive!"
"Should I be worried?"
"Yes, but in a fun way."
You hopped down from the counter, only for your sock to slip on the tile. Before gravity could claim you, Bucky caught your arm. Instinct. Fast. Precise.
You froze, half in his arms, half in disbelief.
"Gotcha," he murmured.
Your heart skipped. His metal hand was cool against your wrist, his flesh hand warm at your waist. For a man who prided himself on calm, his pulse was doing a poor job of cooperating.
You cleared your throat, smiling nervously. "Wow. You catch people and fix toasters. Truly a man of many talents."
He let go, pretending to focus on the toaster. "Don't flatter me."
"Too late."
When you finally called it a night, Bucky lingered. You were halfway to the door when he called out, voice softer than he meant it to be.
"Hey."
You turned.
"Next time you decide to fix something," he said, "wake me up first. You shouldn't be here alone."
You blinked, taken aback by the quiet protectiveness under his words. "You offering to be my midnight sidekick?"
"Something like that," he said.
You smiled, genuine, sleepy, touched. "Careful, Barnes. I might get used to that."
He watched you leave, your footsteps fading down the hall. The toaster gleamed faintly in the dark, and for reasons he couldn't explain, it made him smile.
That night, Bucky lay awake longer than usual. He told himself it was the caffeine. Or maybe the hum of the tower.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
You were in his head, loud, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.
And for once in his long, quiet life, he didn't mind the noise.
It was supposed to be a routine mission. Simple recon. Quiet extraction. No improvisation.
So, naturally, it all went to hell the moment you were involved.
"Stay close," Bucky muttered, crouching behind a stack of metal crates.
"I am close," you whispered back. "If I get any closer, we'll be sharing an oxygen supply."
"Good," he said without thinking, then froze when he realized it.
You raised a brow. "Was that flirting, Sergeant Barnes?"
He grumbled, "Focus."
The plan was simple: infiltrate, secure the data, exfil.
You'd both done harder missions before. But the warehouse was crawling with more guards than expected, and when you tripped an alarm, by "accidentally" leaning against a motion sensor you swore wasn't active, everything erupted.
Within minutes, lights blared, radios screamed, and chaos became the soundtrack of your life again.
"Move!" Bucky shouted, grabbing your wrist as you ran through the narrow hall. "We're improvising."
"See?" you said breathlessly. "You do like mayhem."
He gave you a look somewhere between exasperation and affection. "You're gonna kill me one day."
"Yeah," you grinned, ducking under a pipe, "but you'll die smiling."
By the time you made it back to the tower, covered in grime and triumph, Val was waiting. Again. Arms crossed, expression unimpressed.
"You two have a very creative definition of 'quiet recon'."
You and Bucky exchanged a glance.
He started, "We got the data."
You added brightly, "And no one died!"
Val sighed, massaging her temples. "Barnes, how do you tolerate this?"
He glanced at you, still smiling, eyes gleaming despite exhaustion and said, before he could stop himself, "I don't tolerate it. I... adjust to it."
You blinked, a slow smile spreading. Val groaned and walked off muttering something about "HR paperwork for inter-team relationships."
The tower was quiet again.
Too quiet.
You found Bucky on the rooftop, sitting against the railing, watching the city lights flicker like fireflies below.
"You hiding from me?" you teased softly, stepping closer.
He didn't look up. "Trying to think."
"Dangerous habit," you said, sitting beside him. "What's on your mind?"
He hesitated. The silence stretched long enough that you almost filled it with a joke, until he finally said, voice low:
"You make it hard to stay calm."
You blinked. "Is that... a compliment or a complaint?"
He turned to you, eyes steady even in the dim light. "I've spent years trying to keep things quiet. Control every move, every thought. Then you came along."
You tilted your head, listening.
"And suddenly there's noise again," he continued, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. "And for the first time, it doesn't scare me. You don't scare me."
Your chest tightened. "That's the sweetest confession disguised as a panic attack I've ever heard."
He huffed out a laugh. "You're mayhem. I shouldn't want that. But I do."
"You sure it's not just Stockholm syndrome?" you teased gently, trying to hide how much your heart was hammering.
He leaned in, eyes soft but certain. "Pretty sure it's not."
You smiled. "Then maybe you should stop fighting it."
When he kissed you, it wasn't hesitant, it was inevitable. The kind of kiss that felt like static electricity finally grounding itself, all chaos and calm colliding in perfect balance.
You tasted like adrenaline and laughter. He tasted like peace and trouble.
When you finally pulled back, you whispered, "So... does this mean you're officially embracing the mayhem?"
He smirked faintly. "Guess so."
"Good," you said, resting your head against his shoulder. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
Down below, the tower lights flickered. Somewhere, Yelena yelled, "I TOLD YOU THEY WERE FLIRTING!"
Bucky groaned. You laughed.
And in the middle of all that chaos, he smiled.
Because maybe calm was overrated.
Maybe you were exactly the kind of mayhem he needed.
If someone had told Bucky Barnes a few years ago that he'd one day live peacefully in a tower filled with mercenaries, assassins, and an unrelenting ball of chaos who stole his hoodies and broke appliances for fun, he would've laughed.
Now he was living it. And somehow, it felt right.
It started with a crash.
Not the "building's under attack" kind. More like the "you tripped over something that definitely wasn't supposed to be there" kind.
Bucky sighed, rolling out of bed. "Please tell me that wasn't the toaster again."
From down the hall, your voice called brightly, "Nope! Different appliance!"
He groaned. "That's not better."
When he stepped into the kitchen, you were standing on a chair with a wrench in one hand and a determined look on your face. The coffee maker was half-disassembled, surrounded by a mess of wires, coffee grounds, and your latest "experiment."
Bucky blinked. "What did the coffee maker ever do to you?"
"It made a weird noise. I'm improving it."
"Improving it how?"
"By giving it personality," you said matter-of-factly. "Right now it's shy, but by the end of the day, it'll say good morning when it brews!"
He ran a hand over his face. "That's not personality... that's AI."
"Semantics," you said cheerfully, still tinkering.
When Yelena wandered in, she stopped dead. "Why does it look like a robot crime scene in here?"
"Science," you replied.
Bucky took a sip of tea. "Mad science."
Yelena smirked. "You two are disgustingly domestic."
You beamed. "He complains, but he secretly loves it."
Bucky didn't answer fast enough, and that was all the confirmation Yelena needed.
She smirked and backed out of the kitchen. "Good luck with your little... coffee Frankenstein."
When she left, you looked over at Bucky. "You do secretly love it, right?"
He stared at the mess for a moment, then at you, hair messy, sleeves rolled up, smiling like chaos itself.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I do."
By the time night fell, the "experiment" was a success, depending on your definition of success.
The coffee maker now greeted anyone who touched it with a chipper, "HELLO, HUMAN! WOULD YOU LIKE CAFFEINE?" in an unsettlingly cheerful tone.
Yelena and Bob screamed the first time they heard it. John refused to go near it. Ava threatened to dismantle it herself.
And Bucky?
He just leaned against the counter, watching you try not to laugh.
"You're trouble," he said, smiling.
"I'm your trouble," you corrected.
"Yeah," he said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. "You are."
You looked up at him, teasing, "So, do I finally count as part of your peace?"
He pressed his forehead against yours, his grin small but honest. "No. You are my peace. Even when you're breaking everything."
"Especially when I'm breaking everything?"
He chuckled. "Especially then."
If Bucky had learned anything over the past few weeks, it was this: peace never lasted long around here. Especially not when the team got ideas.
He'd just settled on the couch beside you, book in hand, your feet on his lap, when Yelena entered, dragging a bewildered Alexei and an all-too-gleeful John behind her.
"Intervention time!" Yelena announced, smacking a clipboard on the coffee table.
You frowned. "Intervention for what?"
"For this," she said, pointing between you and Bucky like a lawyer presenting evidence. "Your... situationship."
Bucky blinked. "Our what?"
John crossed his arms, looking far too entertained. "You two have been acting all domestic and it's making everyone uncomfortable. It's like watching a married couple who also handle live grenades."
You gasped dramatically. "We are adorable!"
Alexei nodded solemnly. "Da. Like bear and raccoon. Small chaos, big scowl."
Bucky looked personally offended. "Did you just call me a bear?"
Alexei patted his shoulder. "Grumpy but huggable. Yes."
You grinned. "That's actually perfect."
Yelena flipped her clipboard open with theatrical flair. "Exhibit A: the kitchen incident. You two created a talking coffee maker. It now greets me at six in morning with cheer and judgment."
"It's polite," you protested.
"It yells at me to hydrate!" Yelena shot back.
"...Still polite," you said under your breath.
"Exhibit B," John said, smirking. "The training room. You two vanished for an hour yesterday after 'stretching.' I don't buy that."
You raised a brow. "You want to see the footage?"
John blinked. "...No."
"Good," Bucky muttered, glaring.
Yelena snorted. "Please, we all know Barnes blushes if she breathes near him. Very scandalous."
Bucky turned pink instantly, confirming her point.
Alexei cleared his throat, taking the floor with mock seriousness. "I, as elder of this family, have one request."
You both turned toward him.
He spread his arms. "Invite me to wedding. I bring gift. Big toaster."
You burst out laughing. Bucky buried his face in his hands.
"Dad," Yelena groaned, "they're not getting married, they're annoying."
"Love and annoyance, same thing," he said proudly.
By now, the entire "intervention" had devolved into chaos: Yelena arguing about boundaries, John pretending to mediate while clearly instigating, Alexei making speeches about true love and Soviet romance, and you egging them all on with popcorn.
Through it all, Bucky just sat there, silent, until finally he said, "Are we done?"
Yelena sighed. "For now."
He stood, grabbed your hand, and started toward the door.
"Where are you two going?" John called.
Bucky didn't stop walking. "Somewhere quiet. Somewhere without witnesses."
"Suspicious!" Yelena yelled after him.
You just winked over your shoulder. "You'll live."
In the quiet of his room, away from the chaos, Bucky looked at you and shook his head. "They're never gonna stop teasing us."
You smiled, leaning in close. "Let them. You know what they say, if they're talking about us, it means they're jealous."
He smirked. "Of what?"
"Of this."
You kissed him, slow and certain, the noise of the tower fading behind you.
When you pulled away, you whispered, "Besides, you secretly love the chaos."
He sighed, but his arm tightened around your waist. "Yeah. I really do."
From somewhere down the hall came the muffled sound of the coffee maker's chipper voice:
"HELLO, HUMAN! WOULD YOU LIKE CAFFEINE AND RELATIONSHIP ADVICE?"
You laughed against his chest. Bucky groaned into your hair.
And as he held you, Bucky realized something simple and undeniable...
Summary: Bucky Barnes/Thunderbolts* x fe!Reader -> You're not exactly yourself when you finish a mission with your team.
Disclaimer: This is more of a Thunderbolts* tower fic with Bucky/Reader addition. Swearing, family vibes, platonic!john, platonic!yelena, hurt/comfort, Bucky gets reader to talk, a hint of Ava x John, slight spoilers for Thunderbolts*.
You just had to keep breathing.
If you kept breathing, you could keep going. Just a couple more hours and then you could forget work and life even existed and just sleep. You needed to sleep. Your body needed sleep.
You’d already snapped your way through the three routine meetings after the mission, yelled at the storage supplies when the shelf collapsed as you opened the door and yelled at Yelena to “back off”, which you never ever did.
“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on, or am I gonna have to guess?”
You jumped, lowering your hand from your face. “John. What the fuck are you-”
“Answer my question.”
You sighed. “I’ve answered enough questions today.”
“Please,” he added. Though there wasn’t the soft edge to his voice like there was with Alexi.
John was, and had always been, a soldier. It carried him through life and work. Sometimes manners slipped out of him like orders.
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“John.”
He stood. “Bull. Shit.”
Glaring at him as he got closer, your hands landed on your hips. “You know, you can be a real asshole.”
“No more than you’ve been today.”
“Fuck you.”
“What happened?”
You practically growled. You already told him you were sick of answering questions. “What do you mean what happened?”
John pointed towards the door as he practically squared up to you. Though, you didn’t exactly feel threatened. It was in his nature. And no matter how much of an asshole you knew you had been today, Ava would still kick John’s ass for you if you asked her.
Even if you didn’t ask her.
It was practically a sport for them.
“You’ve just yelled at Yelena. Even Ava knows not to do that,” John said. “You nearly bit Bucky’s head off in the meeting today, for no goddamn reason I could find. You’re stomping everywhere you go and I saw the way you looked at Bob before.”
“And how did I look at him?”
“Like you were ready to throw him out of the window for sitting in the squeaky chair.”
You let out a heavy sigh, willing your facial expression not to drop. “Yeah, well…maybe I’m just an asshole.”
John nodded. “Maybe. But not usually. So, for the third and final time, what the fuck happened?”
“Nothing!”
“Bullshit! Something happened! I know it did!”
Another sigh left you as you paced, cleaning up things in the common room; folding blankets, punching pillows to fluff them.
“It’s been a long day, John.” You could feel the fight leaving you.
Watching that fire dim inside of you had him turning his own flame down. “Y/n-”
“I said I’m-”
A sharp pain came so fast and hard to your head, you felt your knees buckle from beneath you. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear John shout your name before the smell of his fresh laundry blocked your senses.
With a painful cry, although John’s ears didn’t miss the confused edge, he let you go long enough to get a clear look of you.
“Let me see, show me your face. Show me,” he repeated as he cradled your head in his hands. “Open your eyes.”
“No, it hurts.”
“Well,” he wanted to argue but knowing you were in pain was shutting down the ‘friend’ part he held for you. “I’ve gotta see what’s wrong.”
“Fuck off, John.”
“No.” He moved your hair from your face. “Show me.”
You listened and tried to open your eyes, but you were only met with more sharp pain. “Ow, okay, no.” You hissed, bringing the heel of your hand to your head. “No. Eyes are staying shut. Forever.”
“Forever’s a very long time,” John told you. “Did you see the medic when you came back?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Dar…someone. I don’t know. I didn't read their name badge.”
With a huff, John stood and pulled you with him. “I’m taking you to med-bay.”
“John, I’m fine-”
“You’ve just collapsed and you’re being nice to me.”
You huffed yourself. “I told you to fuck off.”
“See, exactly. Nice.”
You groaned as you heard his chuckle, but you did hold onto him a little tighter as he led you down the hallways and towards the medical wing.
“Told you something was wrong,” you heard John say as he stood by your bedside.
The doctors had given you some pain medication, an ice pack for your head and strict orders to not fall asleep but remain in a dark room for at least twelve hours.
“I thought I told you to fuck off.”
John smiled. “I’ve brought some board games."
“Why?”
You didn’t mean to sound so disgusted when you asked him, “Why?”, but the last you checked John wasn’t one for playing Scrabble.
He perched himself on the edge of your bed before pulling the table in between you both. “Because you need to stay awake and Ava had already told me to stay clear of the training room. I’ve already had my ass handed to me once today.”
You smiled. “You admitting she’d beat you?”
John grumbled. “Yeah, well, don’t tell her.”
“Is something going on between you two?” You asked as you counted your scrabble pieces.
“Who?” John asked. “Me and Ava?”
You nodded.
“No.” You watched as he shook his head but turned beat-red. “No. Never.”
“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“I’m not a lady!”
You stared at him blankly for a moment. “That is the argument you want to make. Not that you’re not lying directly to my face about you and Ava.”
“How do you know I’m lying?”
You rolled your eyes. “God, how the hell were you a mercenary? I saw you sneaking out of her room last week.”
“You did?”
You nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m the only one who knows.”
“How?”
“Because if Bob knew, then Yelena would know and Yelena would tell me. Even if Bob didn’t know and Yelena did, she would still tell me. And, well, if Alexi knew then we’d all know.”
“What about Bucky?”
“I think he’s too preoccupied with Sam to notice.”
John laid down his first word. “You know, they were good friends before all of this Valentina shit happened.”
“Think they’ll ever get back to that point?”
John shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe. For our sake, I hope so. And, yeah, I guess kinda for their sake, too.”
“Aww,” you teased. “Is someone getting soft in their old age?”
“Fuck off.”
“No, it’s okay,” you assured him. “It’s common in those over fifty.”
“Fuck off, I’m not fifty.”
“So sixty then.”
John sighed. “Just make your word already.”
After an hour of playing and reading almost every page in the dictionary, John motioned to you. “How’s your head?”
“Better. Pain meds have kicked in.”
“You’re gonna have to apologise to Yelena, you know.”
You nodded. “I know.”
“What happened?”
“John.”
“Oh, come on,” he practically whined. “You’re gonna have to tell someone eventually.”
It took you a minute, but with a heavy sigh, you finally opened up. “I don’t know. And, for the record, that’s not me trying to bullshit my way through all of this. I just…really don’t know. Stress from work, maybe. And life. I just…”
Once again, you let out a heavy sigh.
“I think I’m having a tough day.”
John nodded after a moment. “I get it. Hell, we all get it. Just…next time you’re having a tough day…maybe tell one of us. You know, so, we don’t think you’re a complete asshole all day.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
When you were finally discharged from the medical wing, you went in search of Yelena.
And it wasn’t long until you finally found her.
All you had to do was follow the sound of the lyrics to American Pie.
“Hey,” you said, quietly.
Yelena jumped a little, laying her hand over her chest dramatically. “Y/n, you scared me.”
You glared at her, a little playfully. “No I didn’t.”
Yelena let her hand drop from her chest. “You’re right. You didn’t. I heard you the minute the elevator opened. You’ve been stomping around the place all day.”
Walking in slowly, you sat on her bed just behind the clean and folded laundry pile she was building. Doing normal, domestic things had a tendency to calm Yelena after a mission.
“I know. And I wanted to say sorry for yelling at you before.”
Yelena paused as she looked at you. “It wasn’t very nice.”
You nodded, the guilt weighing on you. “I know, and I shouldn’t have done it. There is no excuse to pardon me from my actions.” Yelena glared a little more at you. “What I’m trying to say is I acted like an asshole and you didn’t deserve that.”
Her expression relaxed. “Thank you. Hearing you call yourself an asshole makes me feel a lot better.”
You smiled a little. “I’m glad.”
“And,” Yelena drawled. “What would make me feel so much better would be if you helped me with this laundry.”
You stood, taking a few items from the basket. “You usually just throw it at me to let me know you want help.”
Yelena shrugged. “You were busy calling yourself an asshole. Now help me with this thing.”
Yelena held up the king size fitted sheet as she tried to fold it.
After five minutes and three different variations of the question, “Why don’t they provide a manual?”, you both decided the best cause of action was to bundle it up and throw it into the linen cupboard.
“Can I come in? Or, are you going to try and bite my head off again?”
After everyone went their separate ways for dinner, needing some personal down time, you’d tried to force yourself to stay awake. So, midnight baking it was.
“Can I come in?” Bucky asked, slowly approaching from the door. “Or are you gonna try and bite my head off again?”
You gave him a tired, but knowing smile. “You can come in, Bucky.”
He entered. “Just wanted to ask. You know, in case I was about to lose another limb today. What are you doing up?”
“Doctor’s orders to stay awake. At least until my headache goes away.”
“Told you you had a concussion.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you laid the mixing bowl down. “I get it. You’ve had enough injuries to spot one.”
Bucky chuckled hearing the humor in your voice.
“What about you? Figured you’d be asleep by now.”
He nodded as he took a seat, swiping his finger into the leftover mixture. “Not tired yet. Besides, I took a nap on the plane.”
“I don’t know how you can sleep straight after a mission.”
Bucky just shrugged. “Practice.”
“Practice,” you mocked, deepening your voice.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
Bucky just looked at you. “You know what.”
Staring back at him, you took a breath. Sometimes you wished he was an asshole like John. Maybe that way you’d be able to fight him more. But then again, a small part of you felt lighter when Bucky asked.
Because he knew.
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“It’s either me or a therapist. And, well, you don’t exactly have to pay me.”
A chuckle left you but it quickly faded.
“Come on, Y/n. Talk to me,” Bucky reached over and laid his hand over yours. “Please.”
Falling into the chair beside you, you finally let your body slump down from the weight you’d been carrying and you talked.
You talked through everything with Bucky. The mission, your feelings, your headspace. You asked him questions and he answered every single one as best as he could. He even gave you enough learned wisdom to help settle those voices in your head.
And when the pain became too much for your body to handle and the tears started to burn behind your eyes, Bucky stood and held you into his chest.
You weren’t a crier. Not very often. Sometimes it felt like your body stored up all your tears and when the dam got too full, it would just collapse.
Bucky’s arms wrapped around you, his right hand resting against your temple and forehead. The heat of his palm was enough to help relax the pain at the front of your head.
For a little while, at least.
“How’s your head?” Bucky asked you, twenty quiet minutes after the oven timer had gone off and the tears had stopped falling.
“Better,” you answered quietly. “Less pressure.”
“You should try and get some sleep,” he told you, his words mumbling into your hair.
“But Doc-”
“Screw Doctor’s Orders. Right now, you need sleep.” Bucky was gentle as he smoothed down your hair. “I’ll watch over you. Make sure you’re alright.”
“You need sleep, too, Bucky.”
“Then we’ll sleep together. Come on.”
Placing the cover over your cake, Bucky took your hand and led you down the hallway and towards his room. Within thirty seconds of your head hitting one of his pillows and his arms folding over you, you were fast asleep.
Bucky can't seem to keep his wardrobe full, so begins his laundry room mystery. His empty wardrobe is the clear victim, but who's the perp?
Warnings: Language and nonsense.
Notes: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AASpring Bingo - "Stop stealing my clothes!" Divider by @saradika-graphics ⚡ I was thinking about a ship while I wrote this but it didn't feel like enough to justify putting it in the description. Will probably write for it in the future, let me know what you think
Masterlist | Bucky Barnes | Spring Bingo
Bucky closed and then opened his wardrobe doors, half hoping the rail would magically fill itself with black t-shirts and jeans if he just wished hard enough.
But they were still starkly empty.
He'd been wearing the same t-shirt for two days, despite putting a load of laundry on, it just never seemed to make it back to his wardrobe before it disappeared. Almost everything was gone, t-shirts, jeans and combat trousers, most of his hoodies, even his socks and boxer briefs had gone!
He continued his search out into the corridor, hoping he'd perhaps just dropped the basket somewhere and forgotten about it during a call, but it was as empty as his wardrobe, still in the same white paint and tiled floor the contractors had chosen.
"Oh, hi Bucky, have you lost something?"
Bucky looked round to find Ava stood, leaning against the wall. There was something familiar about her jeans — he squinted at them, really really familiar.
"Just looking for my laundry." He looked towards the end of the corridor too, just the window out onto the New York skyline, but no laundry.
"I think I saw some of your things in the laundry room." Ava shrugged and turned to go back into her room. There, on the back pocket, was a frayed rip. Those were his jeans!
"Hey wait!"
"See you later, Bucky." He can't stop her phasing through the wall and her bedroom door remains firmly closed as well.
"God damn it." He sighed, he's torn between hating Ava for being able to run away so easily, and being consumed with jealousy that he can't just disappear through walls sometimes.
At least he has some sort of clue, maybe he had just left everything in the laundry room this time. He strode his way through the living room towards the elevator, coming to a stop when he spots his hoodie on the sofa tangled up with a pile of blankets and throw cushions. As he reached down to pick it up the pile moved, revealling a sleeping Bob underneath.
"Hey," Bucky stage whispered, he didn't really have the heart to wake the man. "Hey," he tries again, but Bob just rolled over, snuggling deeper into the neckline and Bucky gave up.
Laundry room, there must be something in the laundry room.
The elevator dinged open far too quickly, revealling a very warm and ruffled looking Yelena in her favourite oversized workout shirt and little black shorts
"Bucky," she smiled looking at his own compression shirt and the sweat pants he wears in the evening, the only clothes he had left in his wardrobe. "You are going to the gym? I could go another round." She laughs and Bucky smiles too, it's nice having Yelena here, someone who reflects some of the darker parts of his own history but with a dry wit and a newfound enjoyment for life.
"Not today, 'Lena, looking for my clean laundry."
"Ahh…" she looked around knowingly and then sniffs, a tell, he's noticed. She knows something.
"Would you know anything about it?"
Yelena shrugged and they danced around each other as she leaves the elevator and he steps inside. "Not a clue, Bucky." She smiles one last time, then lifts a corner of her shirt to wipe sweat from her brow and — for christ's sake those are his boxer briefs. His underwear.
"Yelena you can't just take —"
"Byeee Bucky!" She shouts and the doors click shut, whooshing down to the laundry room.
There's nothing in the laundry room.
Not his clothes. Not anyones clothes, which is somewhat concerning when he thinks about how many people live in the tower now and how much laundry they must surely generate.
With a resigned sigh he stepped back into the elevator, scrolling his phone to order some new clothes. It'll bankrupt him, at this rate, maybe he can bulk by those t-shirts he likes from the supplier.
The living space is busier when he returns, everyone's sat around on the couches, even Bob's awake and gives him a little wave, hands half covered by Bucky's hoody.
"Ahhh Mr Winter, returned from…" Alexei pauses, trying to figure out where Bucky might have been in his mismatched outfit.
"The laundry room." Yelena supplies and John snorts a laugh.
"It's not funny, Walker, I know Ava and Yelena have been stealing my clothes." Bucky puts his hands on his hips, attempting his scariest stare in an effort to retrieve his jeans and underwear.
"Not guilty," Ava says, waving a hand in the air.
"I know you're lying." He glares back and she simply sticks her middle finger up and goes back to her flipping through a magazine.
"I would never take your things, Bucky." Yelena said very seriously despite the fact it was quite clear her little shorts are actually underwear.
"That's gross, Belova."
"Bite me, Walker."
"Wait a minute." Bucky looks John over again. "That's my t-shirt isn't it?" He scrunches his face up and covers it with both hands to stop himself from leaping over the coffee table and wrestling the shirt back. "I don't know which of you is worse!"
"Pretty sure this is mine." John doesn't even look, just leans back and sips from his mug. Bucky could hit him, but his ridiculous banter is making Bob and Yelena laugh.
"Mr Winter, this is very disrespectful, what are you going to do?"
From between his fingers Bucky sighs again, "Nothing, Alexei, what the fuck am I supposed to do?"
"Forget it, join us." Alexei's voice was loud, but welcoming, and Bucky really can't be bothered internet shopping right now when he could be lazing around and reading his new book with a hot coffee instead. Alexei's buoyant company keeping them from falling into a real argument.
"Only if everyone promises to stop stealing my clothes and return them all by this evening."
The team go quiet, but eventually everyone nods in agreement.
"Good, then I'll join you."
Alexei shifts up, kicking his boots off and planting his feet on the coffee table as the volume starts to rise from everyone talking at once.
Bucky looks from Alexei's beaming face to his socks, one has a little Captain America shield, the other Joaquin's new Falcon logo.
~Bucky is a total dad, but in a grandfatherly way. Like, he reminds everyone of their jobs and appointments but in a 'just do it-that's too dang bad-I'm so tired' way. He falls asleep on the couch during weekly movie night for sure.
~Yelena is always bringing stray animals in, but Bob is the one who ends up taking care of them most of the time- except for one cat that has only taken a liking to Bucky(even though Bucky's allergic)
~if Val wants a new promo for the team, she had better run it by Alexei first- that man LIVES for the spotlight and commercialism
~Alexei is always ready to rally the team even on the worst days...and even at the worst times. Like the time he was cheering for John as he tried to apologize to his wife.
~John and Ava have a constant rivalry going on for everything. Who can train longest, who can eat fastest, who looks better in the new suits Bob designed? Always a competition.
~Bob is actually very artistic- as mentioned before, he designed new suits for the team- drew them with colored pencils in a sketchbook that he found lying around. Once the team saw his work, they all contributed to Bob's art supplies- bringing him whatever they found at the store on one of their grocery runs.
~Alexei does most of the food shopping because he has the least to do around the tower and because he likes seeing his face on the Wheaties boxes. Also because if Bob went grocery shopping they wouldn't get everything they needed. (Not because Bob isn't competent, but he would get easily overwhelmed)
~Ava actually knows the tower the best out of all the team- she got into the ducts a few months back and discovered a whole lot of dusty arrow tips and what looked like an abandoned card game. But seriously, don't play hide and seek with her because she will win.
~John is weird because he can either be the most efficient or the most lazy member of the team depending on the day or occasion. Tactical mission briefing? He's an hour early. Taking out the trash? He'll delay a week until Bob finally does it for him.
~Yelena is the one who does the most cooking out of the team not because everyone else is either too lazy or incompetent, but because cooking reminds her of the only real home she had
~Bob is spoiled by the team- he's their little guy! (who also could probably end the world) Ava goes out shopping? She comes back with 2 drinks in hand- one for herself and one for Bob. Alexei tries to build confidence within Bob by helping him with social cues (although no one is sure Alexei should be teaching that) John randomly gives him cucumbers as a joke- though nobody thinks it's funny. (The cucumbers also scare the cat- which annoys Bucky bc he secretly likes the cat) Yelena always checks in on Bob if he gets really quiet- just to let him know that he's not alone.
A/N~ these are just some quick HCs I whipped up- there might be a part 2 in the future and if so, I'll link it here.
You’re just trying to get from the kitchen to your room—quick shadowstep, a shortcut through the dark crease behind the refrigerator and up the hallway wall. A normal, quiet exit. What you don’t expect is to phase directly into the corner of the common room at the exact moment John Walker’s walking out of the bathroom, humming to himself like he owns the place.
He screams.
Loud. Like a real, full-body ghastly banshee kind of scream. One hand goes flailing in the air, the other clutches his chest. And you—standing there halfway through the shadows, eyes glowing just enough to look inhuman—freeze.
“…Jesus Christ,” John breathes out, bending over, wheezing.
You blink. Then tilt your head.
“…Hi?” you offer, the word slow and unsure.
“Don’t—do that,” he pants, pointing an accusing finger at you. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
You step fully out of the shadows, mildly offended. “I live here?”
He stomps off, muttering something about you being a walking jumpscare with no spatial awareness.
You forget about it by the time you make it back to your room.
Bob does not.
Later that night, after dinner, you catch him chuckling quietly to himself while loading dishes into the washer. You narrow your eyes. “What.”
He grins over his shoulder. “You scared the soul outta John earlier. He’s been jumpy all evening. I think he thinks you’re haunting him.”
You stifle a laugh. “It was an accident.”
Bob’s smile is wicked and boyish. “What if we made more accidents?”
The next day, it’s not an accident.
You don’t even say anything this time. You just step out of the ceiling corner in the living room—slow, silent, deliberate. You’re aiming for dramatic effect, letting the shadows drip off your form like smoke.
John rounds the corner with a cup of coffee.
He drops it. Again, a scream.
“FOR THE LOVE OF—”
Bob, from the kitchen, bites down on his knuckle to keep from laughing.
You vanish back into the darkness like a phantom.
.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
Later that evening, you’re curled up on the couch watching something dumb on TV. Bob’s beside you, still chuckling every few minutes at the memory.
You nudge him with your knee. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“You’re enjoying it too,” he grins.
You glance sideways at him. “Maybe.”
He gives a mock-serious nod. “Y’know, you’re a menace.”
“Says the guy who told me to hide in the pantry and whisper ‘I see you’ when he reached for cereal.”
He shrugs. “He deserved it.”
You don’t disagree.
It’s silly. Stupid, even. But the laughter is real. The shared looks. The secret planning. The way he nudges you with his shoulder when you make him laugh too hard to breathe. You don’t remember the last time you laughed like this. Or felt this light.
It’s the first inside joke you’ve ever really had.
And somehow, that makes it sacred.
.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
At first, it’s just you and Bob.
This is the closest thing to joy you’ve had in weeks.
Bob starts helping. He distracts John while you sneak into improbable places—the pantry, the inside of the coat closet, the top of the fridge. One time, you just sit completely still in a shadowed chair until John notices you’re there. He flinches so hard he spills Gatorade down the front of his shirt.
“Stop doing that!” he shouts, for the third time that week.
And then Yelena catches wind of it.
It’s the pantry incident that draws her in.
You’d just slithered up the wall and curled into the darkest top corner above the shelves, silent and still. Bob was stationed by the hallway, ready to give the signal. It was perfect.
Except Yelena entered the kitchen first.
You freeze.
She freezes.
You blink.
She blinks.
Her face breaks into a grin like she’s just found her new religion.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses, eyes gleaming.
“Waiting.”
“For who?”
You don’t even get to answer. John stomps into the kitchen, muttering about someone leaving crumbs on the counter again.
Bob gives a thumbs up from the hallway.
You descend from the shadows like an eight-legged cryptid. Whisper, “You left the cabinet open, John.”
He howls. Yelena wheezes. Bob collapses against the wall, cackling.
It’s over. You’ve created a monster.
.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
The next day, Yelena joins in.
She brings props.
You walk into the common room to find her crouched under the couch, a skeleton Halloween mask poking out just far enough to be visible. She gives you a sharp shush before pointing toward the door. You get the hint immediately and melt into the wall beside the entrance.
John enters. Sees the mask. Stiffens. Turns slowly.
And that’s when you drop from the ceiling behind him.
“JOHN.”
He shrieks so hard he throws a remote at Yelena. Misses.
Yelena rolls out laughing. You can’t breathe. Bob walks in sipping a smoothie like he hasn’t been in on this the whole time.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” John pants, hands on his knees.
Yelena claps you on the back. “This is what team bonding looks like.”
Bob gives a solemn nod. “It’s called morale-boosting.”
.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
The three of you try to recruit Ava—her name is Ghost, for god’s sake—but she absolutely wants no part in ‘scaring a man into oblivion,’ even if you insist it’s just harmless fun.
“Hey, where’s John? Valentina needs a word with him and Bucky for some mission,” she asks one day as you and Yelena lounge on the couch watching mindless reality TV.
“Did you check under his covers?” you say, poking playful fun at his scaredy-cat nature.
“Maybe he’s hiding from shadow monsters,” Yelena snorts.
“I heard if you say his name three times in the dark, he files a noise complaint.”
Ava rolls her eyes. “He’s going to punch you one of these days.”
“Worth it,” you and Yelena say in perfect unison..
.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
But what surprises you most isn’t how far Yelena takes it, or how competitive she and Bob get about “who got the best scare.”
It’s how easily you laugh.
How often Bob’s shoulder brushes yours.
How he tosses you glances that say we did that, or your turn, or this is the most fun I’ve had in ages.
How Yelena leans into your side when she’s breathless with laughter, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You feel lighter. Real. Like you’re allowed to be silly, allowed to be the wrong kind of scary on purpose. Not monstrous, but mischievous.
Like a sibling.
Like a person.
.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
Eventually, John has enough.
Revenge Attempt #1: The Shadow Decoy.
John cuts out a silhouette of you in black construction paper and tapes it to the shower wall.
Yelena screams so loud it sets off the Tower’s intruder alert system.
Unfortunately for John, Bob had snuck in earlier and replaced it with a life-size printout of him instead. Flexing.
Yelena finds both. You have to carry her out because she’s laughing too hard to breathe.
John stomps through the hallway. “IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY PRANK!”
“Buddy,” Bob says, clapping him on the shoulder, “you gotta know your limits.”
Revenge attempt # 2: Night time scream
John has been waiting.
He knows your schedule. You always shadow-step into the kitchen around 2 a.m., barefoot and bleary, to make tea or just stand in the fridge light like some sort of haunted cryptid. He has the perfect plan: a speaker hidden behind the cereal box. One press of a button and it’ll blast a blood-curdling scream. Classic. Timeless. Foolproof.
He hides around the corner, suppressing a giggle. You step in—yawning, hoodie sleeves draped over your hands.
Click.
The scream is loud.
You jolt.
And then something happens.
Your form blurs. Warps. Shadows writhe up your spine. Your shape stretches, flickering too fast to follow. All at once, you’re two feet taller. Your mouth doesn’t move but something grins. Your eyes split into more eyes. Too many.
John goes rigid, frozen mid-smirk.
You lean just slightly in the direction of the scream speaker—no expression—and it melts into slag.
You hear John take a step back and your head turns too quickly and at an impossible rotation.
John drops the remote.
You tilt your head at him.
He makes a sound like a frightened squirrel and bolts down the hall.
By the time Bob wanders in rubbing his eyes, you’re standing there calmly, sipping tea.
“Did you hear a scream?” he asks.
You nod. “Yeah. Just John.”
Bob opens the fridge, unfazed. “He really needs to stop doing that.”
.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
Revenge attempt #3: The Smoothie Switcheroo
Bob has a routine.
Every morning: protein smoothie, oat milk, banana, peanut butter, chia seeds. Yelena calls it “sad brown sludge,” but it keeps him steady. John, naturally, sees this as a golden opportunity.
He gets up early.
Swaps the banana with pickled herring. Replaces the oat milk with sour yogurt. Chia seeds with sesame’s seeds. Tosses in a spoonful of ghost pepper sauce for good measure.
He waits.
Bob strolls in like it’s any other morning, gives a sleepy nod, blends the concoction. You enter next, arms crossed, clocking John’s barely concealed anticipation.
Bob takes a sip.
Pauses.
John leans forward eagerly.
“…Huh,” Bob says. “That’s… different.”
John steps out laughing “Ha how’s that taste Bobby?!”
Bob pauses then takes another long drink, thoughtful
“….actually really good.”
You blink.
“What,” John says flatly.
“It’s spicy. Like a pre-workout. And I think there’s fish? Kinda briny. Bold. Complex.”
“What.”
“Did you do something different?” Bob asks John, earnestly.
John stares, mouth slightly open. “That was supposed to ruin your morning.”
Bob holds up the blender. “Do you want some?”
John turns slowly to you. “What is he.”
You shrug. “A creature of muscle and chaos. Also a Florida man so you never had a chance.”
Bob’s already scribbling new smoothie ideas in a notebook. “I should try this with pickled eggs tomorrow…”
John makes a strangled noise and walks into the wall by accident.
.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
You’re all watching a movie—well, pretending to. The three of you are barely holding in laughter over the speaker in the kitchen playing your pre-recorded whispers-from-the-void track.
John bursts into the room like a man possessed. Points at the three of you dramatically.
“I swear to God, if one more creepy whisper, one more shadow stunt, one more fake scream comes from any of you—”
Yelena’s phone goes off. The scream sound effect.
John turns beet red.
Bob starts laughing first. Then you. Then Yelena. It’s uncontrollable.
John groans so loudly it might actually summon demons. “I’m requesting a transfer.”
“Denied,” you say.
He storms off.
Yelena collapses onto the couch, eyes wet from laughter. “I think we broke him.”
“Worth it,” Bob says, nudging your side.
You lean into him without thinking. His arm comes around your shoulder, natural and warm and safe.
You’re still chuckling, and Yelena’s pulling out her phone to start planning the next ambush. But for a second, you close your eyes and soak it in.
A/N: so this was actually the first thing I ever wrote with Seven in mind haha. I was going to wait to post it but it’s been sitting in my drafts and I just can’t wait anymore! A small Drabble of our chaos trio and a grumpy victim of said chaos. I plan on doing some little drabbles like this and some shorter one shots before starting series 2.
Thanks for reading and if there are any suggestions or even prompts you would like me to write for seven and Bob or the others feel free to shoot me a message!
Bucky’s the one that cooks in the Thunderbolts tower, because he’s the only one that remembers what everyone likes for breakfast and how they take their coffees and teas (they all like it a little different.)
Plus he likes it cause it gives him a chance to be good to people and satisfy them.
