barnesdolls

[barnesdolls]

“THIS ISN’T ABOUT SHARON”

(IT’S TOTALLY ABOUT SHARON)

(aka: Bucky Barnes is Jealous, Vol. 87)

(Featuring: Bucky Barnes slowly combusting, Steve Rogers being tragically dumb, Sharon Carter weaponizing charm, and a cat named Alpine with better emotional intelligence than both men combined.)

⸻

It started with Sharon saying, “Wow, Captain, your shoulders look even broader lately.”

And it ended (so far) with Bucky wondering if it was physically possible to flip a conference table without breaking eye contact.

He sat across the room, legs crossed, arms folded tightly, watching Sharon flirt with Steve like she was trying to land an internship in his personal space.

She laughed at everything. Everything.

“Oh, you lead a team of elite soldiers and survived being frozen for seventy years? Haha, you’re so funny, Steve!”

Bucky was going to vomit. Possibly out of spite.

Alpine, curled in Bucky’s lap (yes, he brought his cat to the compound meeting because he’s emotionally supported by a fluffball and that’s valid), sensed his rising blood pressure and softly headbutted his chin.

“Yeah, I know, she’s still talking,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Alpine blinked in slow, feline judgment.

Steve, meanwhile, just stood there with that golden retriever expression, smiling like he had no idea he was being visually undressed by a Carter for the second generation in a row.

“I mean, seriously,” Sharon giggled, brushing nonexistent lint off his chest, “Do you train every day?”

“I try to stick to a routine,” Steve replied, like she had asked if he owned a gym membership and not if he wanted to bench-press her soul.

Bucky’s fingers tightened on Alpine’s fur. The cat let out a single annoyed meow.

“Sorry,” Bucky whispered, giving her an apologetic scratch. “Daddy’s going through some… psychological warfare.”

Steve looked over then, smiling. “Hey, Buck! Sharon was just asking about our training schedule. Maybe you could help coordinate something with her?”

You absolute traitor.

Bucky blinked slowly. “Mmm. No, thanks.”

Steve tilted his head. “Why not?”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re literally sitting with your cat—”

“Exactly.”

Steve turned back to Sharon, utterly lost. “He’s been weird lately.”

“Is it… something I said?” she asked, biting her lip in mock concern.

Bucky made a sound that could only be described as audible scowling.

“Let me guess,” Sharon said with a smirk, “He’s the strong, silent, broody type?”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, he gets that a lot.”

Bucky whispered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “You get a lot of head trauma too, but we don’t talk about that, do we?”

⸻

Later that day, Steve walked into the kitchen to find Bucky glaring at a mug.

“…You okay, pal?”

Bucky didn’t look up. “Fine.”

Steve peered into the mug. “That tea offending you or something?”

“Nope.”

“You’ve been weird since this morning.”

Bucky sipped. “Maybe the room’s weird.”

Steve leaned against the counter. “Is this about the briefing?”

“Nope.”

“Sharon?”

Bucky’s eye twitched. “No. Why would it be?”

Steve frowned. “She said you were upset. Thought maybe I did something.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Wow, a Carter making up narratives about me. Shocking.”

Steve squinted. “Wait, you are mad.”

“No, I’m just cursed with facial expressions.”

“Did she say something wrong?”

“Oh my God, Steve,” Bucky snapped, slamming the mug down. “She flirted with you so hard she might as well have thrown her badge at your face and you just stood there like a giant patriotic tree!”

Steve blinked. “She was flirting?”

“YES, STEVE.”

“…I thought she was being nice.”

Alpine, now lounging on the counter like the queen she was, let out a tired meow of pure disappointment.

Bucky pointed at the cat. “Even she knows.”

Steve looked between Bucky and Alpine. “Okay, but… why does it bother you?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Because. She’s annoying.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Steve stared. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Another pause.

Alpine jumped onto Bucky’s shoulder and licked his cheek in what was either affection or a sarcastic “you’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Do you—do you not like the idea of me with Sharon?”

Bucky’s eye twitched again. “You’d die. She wears heels. You’d fall down the stairs trying to impress her.”

Steve laughed. “I’m not trying to impress her.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky muttered. “I need to go scream into a wall.”

“You wanna spar later?” Steve offered. “You seem tense.”

“I wonder why.”

Steve scratched his head. “Well, whatever it is, I’m here if you wanna talk.”

“Wow. Groundbreaking.”

Steve blinked. “…Did you just quote yourself?”

Bucky stood, Alpine in arms. “I’m taking my daughter and leaving.”

“She’s not—”

“She is now.”

Steve watched him go, utterly baffled. “What just happened?”

Alpine turned in Bucky’s arms and gave Steve one last look over Bucky’s shoulder.

It said, very clearly: You’re an idiot. But he loves you anyway.

And then she blinked slowly, like she pitied them both.

⸻

It had been three days.

Three days of bitter silence, passive-aggressive grunting, and Steve trying (and failing) to figure out why Bucky was mad while Bucky pretended not to care at all, except he very obviously did because he started going to the gym at 5:00am to avoid Steve’s golden retriever aura.

Alpine was done with it.

Absolutely sick of it.

She had her routine: nap at 11am, destroy the couch at noon, get worshipped by her emotionally stunted human by 3pm - and this cold war between Bucky and Steve was throwing off her entire emotional support schedule.

So she devised a plan. A plan of chaos. A plan of genius.

Step 1: Manipulate Steve Rogers.

She found him in the common room, sitting with his elbows on his knees, looking like someone who had just been told his best friend hated him and also might be allergic to happiness.

“Hi, Alpine,” he said softly.

She meowed. Loudly. With purpose.

Then she jumped in his lap.

Steve blinked. “You don’t usually sit with me.”

She meowed again, then turned around three times and settled in. She looked up at him meaningfully.

“…Are you trying to tell me something?”

Meow.

“…Is it about Bucky?”

Meeeooow.

Steve squinted. “Did I screw up?”

Alpine blinked. Slowly. Like, glacially slow.

“Okay, okay, alright…message received,” Steve muttered. “But he won’t talk to me. He just keeps glaring and saying ‘I’m fine’ like a damn liar.”

She slapped his knee with her tail.

“Okay, okay! I’ll try again!”

Step 2: Trap them.

Later that evening, Bucky walked into the kitchen to grab a protein bar and found Alpine sitting in the middle of the room, tail wrapped around her dainty paws, looking like a cult leader.

“Hey, baby,” he said, scratching her head. “What are you doin’ in here all dramatic?”

She stood up. Meowed. Then ran off.

Bucky blinked. “Okay…”

He followed. Because obviously.

She led him down the hallway, into the training room, where the lights were already on and—

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Bucky muttered.

Steve was already standing there, arms crossed, like he’d just been lured in by a very bossy cat.

They both looked down at Alpine, who promptly sat in the exact middle of the room and meowed once, loudly, like a judge banging a gavel.

“I think she wants us to talk,” Steve said awkwardly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Bucky muttered.

Steve scratched the back of his neck. “Look. I know I’m bad at reading people. You probably wanted me to pick up on something you weren’t saying and I just… didn’t.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “You think?”

Alpine let out a long, suffering meow like “Tell him you love him, you emotionally constipated winter muffin.”

Steve stepped closer. “I just..- if I made you feel replaced or overlooked, I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t realize Sharon was coming on that strong. I wasn’t trying to flirt. You know that, right?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. I know. You’re just stupid.”

“Wow.”

“No, I mean..- you’re stupid in a way that makes it real hard for people to tell you how they feel without needing a damn PowerPoint.”

Steve laughed under his breath. “You could’ve just said you didn’t like her.”

“I didn’t not like her,” Bucky snapped. “I didn’t like her near you. There’s a difference.”

Steve blinked. “…Oh.”

“Oh,” Bucky mocked. “Wow, it finally clicked.”

“You jealous?” Steve asked, smiling.

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard he could see the previous day. “Not of her. Just… of the idea of someone else knowing you better than I do.”

Steve went quiet.

Alpine meowed. Loudly.

Steve cleared his throat. “I don’t think anyone knows me better than you. Not even me sometimes.”

Bucky’s lip twitched. “You saying I’m your emotional translator?”

“Maybe.”

“Gross.”

Steve stepped forward again. “So we good?”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah. Just don’t make me sit through another Carter monologue about your arms.”

“Deal.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, until Alpine meowed again, like “Are you gonna kiss or just stand there like idiots?”

Steve reached over and ruffled Bucky’s hair. “I missed you, grumpy.”

Bucky smacked his hand away. “Touch me again and I’ll replace your shampoo with mayonnaise.”

“I deserve that.”

“Damn right.”

They both looked down at Alpine, who stretched out like a satisfied villain and purred loudly.

“Smartest one in the room,” Steve muttered.

“Don’t let her hear that, she’ll start charging rent.”

Alpine yawned, victorious.

Love was restored. The Cold War was over.

And Alpine?

She simply returned to her throne (a.k.a. the back of the couch) and plotted her next meddling.

After all, Tony and Bruce were clearly in denial too.

[barnesdolls]

Steve Rogers and His Unhealthy Obsession with Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers was many things.

Captain America. A national hero. A good friend.

But above all else—

Steve Rogers was a wife guy.

Except he wasn’t even married.

To be clear—Bucky wasn’t his husband.

They were just two idiots in love who refused to admit it and instead chose to ruin the lives of everyone around them.

And Bucky, despite all his grumbling and dramatic sighing, secretly loved every second of it.

—

INCIDENT #1: STEVE, A MENACE TO SOCIETY

The first time Sam realized how deeply Steve had committed to his role as Bucky’s personal hype man, they were all in the common room when Steve casually turned to Natasha and said:

“You know, Buck can kill someone in six different ways with a spoon.”

Bucky, mid-sip of coffee, nearly choked. “Steve—”

“And he never misses with a knife.” Steve beamed proudly. “Seriously, Nat, you’d be impressed. One time in the ‘40s—”

Natasha raised a brow. “Does he cook?”

Steve nodded. “Oh, yeah, and he’s really good at it. You should try his stew—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Natasha cut in.

Sam snorted. “Yeah, does he do anything that doesn’t involve stabbing?”

Steve turned to Bucky. “Do you?”

Bucky sighed into his coffee. “I breathe, Steve.”

“And beautifully, too.”

Bucky muttered a curse under his breath.

Steve, still smiling dreamily, added, “And he’s great at woodworking.”

Natasha leaned back. “Are you gonna tell us about how incredible his battle tactics are next?”

Steve gasped. “Oh my God, YES.”

Bucky groaned. “Oh my God, NO.”

—

INCIDENT #2: STEVE WILL THROW HANDS

It was a casual mission. A simple extraction.

Then some random HYDRA goon had the audacity to say, “The Winter Soldier? Wasn’t he just a brainwashed puppet?”

And Steve, who normally gave his speeches about “being the bigger man”, just decked the guy so hard he left a dent in the wall.

The whole room froze.

Bucky blinked. “Steve?”

Steve turned to him. “Yeah?”

Bucky pointed at the unconscious guy. “Did you just—”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah.”

Sam, who had witnessed everything, crossed his arms. “So, what, you just throw hands now?”

Steve nodded confidently. “If it’s for Bucky, absolutely.”

Natasha muttered, “This is embarrassing.”

Bucky, secretly pleased but refusing to show it, just sighed and said, “Steve, I literally do not care.”

Steve smiled. “I care enough for both of us.”

Bucky buried his face in his hands.

—

INCIDENT #3: STEVE CASUALLY DROPS GAY MARRIAGE INTO CONVERSATION FOR NO REASON

Bucky was minding his own business, sharpening his knife, when Steve just… said it.

“Hey, did you know gay marriage is legal in this century?”

Bucky froze mid-sharpening.

Slowly, he turned to Steve. “…And?”

Steve shrugged. “Just thought you should know.”

Bucky squinted. “…Why?”

Steve cleared his throat. “No reason.”

Bucky just stared at him. “Did you wake up today and decide, ‘Gee, I wonder if Bucky Barnes is up to date on modern marriage laws’?”

Steve looked suspiciously innocent. “I just thought it was interesting.”

Bucky leaned back, arms crossed. “Uh-huh. And this has nothing to do with you calling me your ‘murder husband’ to everyone we meet?”

Steve coughed. “Completely unrelated.”

Bucky didn’t blink. “Steve.”

Steve nodded. “Bucky.”

A long pause.

Then Bucky sighed. “Get out of my room.”

—

INCIDENT #4: “IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO BUCKY, I’M SUING”

During a mission briefing, Tony was explaining the team formations, and Steve—who was normally all about discipline—immediately interrupted.

“Wait, wait, wait. Where’s Bucky in this plan?”

Tony sighed. “Steve, he’s fine. He can handle himself.”

Steve crossed his arms. “That’s not what I asked.”

Tony rubbed his temples. “Steve—”

“Where. Is. Bucky?”

Everyone turned to look at Bucky, who was just sitting there, eating a protein bar.

He waved awkwardly. “Hi.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s on his mission, Cap. You’re not even in the same sector.”

Steve scowled. “Then I object.”

Tony stared. “This isn’t a wedding.”

Steve pointed at Bucky. “Then put me with him.”

“For what reason?”

Steve, without hesitation: “Moral support.”

Bucky groaned. “Jesus Christ, Steve.”

Tony closed his laptop. “I’m done.”

Sam sighed, rubbing his face. “You two are so much.”

Steve turned to Bucky, softly. “You’ll be okay, though, right?”

Bucky muttered something under his breath but nodded.

Steve smiled, content.

Sam whispered, “I swear to God, someone needs to get Steve laid.”

Bucky, mid-bite of his protein bar, choked.

—

INCIDENT #5: “WOW. GROUNDBREAKING.”

Steve was pacing.

And not just regular pacing—he was pacing like a father-to-be in a hospital waiting room, hands on his hips, looking like he was about to deliver the most serious speech of his life.

Bucky, lounging on the couch, beer in hand, just watched him with the energy of a man witnessing a trainwreck in slow motion.

Steve stopped pacing. Took a deep breath. Turned to Bucky with determined blue eyes.

“I have feelings for you.”

Silence.

A long, obnoxiously long silence.

Bucky just blinked.

Then, in the flattest, most sarcastic tone possible, he said:

“Wow. Groundbreaking.”

Steve frowned. “Wait—what?”

Bucky took a slow sip of his beer. “You don’t say, Steve.”

Steve squinted. “Are you being sarcastic?”

Bucky set the beer down. “Me? Sarcastic? No, Stevie, I am just so shocked right now. Truly, this is the most unexpected thing I’ve ever heard.”

Steve sighed deeply. “Bucky—”

Bucky gestured wildly. “I mean, sure, you look at me like I’m the last donut in a police station, and yeah, you literally threw hands with a guy for talking shit about me, and maybe you once told Tony that if anything happens to me you’d ‘file a formal complaint with the universe’—”

Steve groaned. “It was a joke.”

Bucky pointed at him. “No, it was a declaration.”

Sam, passing by with a sandwich, paused mid-bite. “Wait, he said that?”

Bucky nodded. “Oh, he said that.”

Sam whistled. “That’s crazy.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I regret saying anything.”

Bucky smirked. “Oh, no, don’t regret it now, sweetheart. You’ve been in love with me since the Roosevelt administration.”

Steve glared. “I hate you.”

Bucky patted his knee, grinning. “You love me.”

Sam shook his head, muttering, “I need new friends,” before walking away.

[barnesdolls]

Bucky Barnes and the Rapid Onset of Premature Aging

Bucky Barnes was nineteen years old, but he was convinced he would have a full head of white hair before he hit twenty-five.

And it was entirely Steve Rogers’ fault.

Steve, who weighed about as much as a wet paper bag.

Steve, who had the lung capacity of a Victorian orphan.

Steve, who was actively trying to die every single day of his life.

Bucky had one job. One.

Keep Steve alive.

And it was a full-time goddamn job.

—

INCIDENT #1: THE ALLEYWAY MASSACRE (OF Bucky’s Sanity)

Bucky was minding his business, walking down the street, when he heard it.

That dreaded voice.

“I can do this all day!”

Bucky froze. Closed his eyes. Took a deep, deep breath.

Then turned the corner to see exactly what he feared:

Steve. In an alley. Fighting a guy twice his size.

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, Steve.”

Steve turned, panting. “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Again?”

The guy Steve was fighting—who looked mildly annoyed rather than actually threatened—grunted. “Is this your friend?”

“No,” Bucky said flatly.

“Yes,” Steve said at the same time.

Bucky groaned. “Alright, buddy, I got this one. Scram.”

The guy shrugged and left, clearly realizing he had better things to do than fight the human equivalent of a dandelion in a windstorm.

Steve huffed. “I had that under control.”

“Yeah?” Bucky shot back. “You were on the ground, pal.”

Steve scowled. “I almost won.”

Bucky pointed at Steve’s face. “You have no cartilage left in that nose, Steve.”

Steve wiped some blood off his lip. “It builds character.”

“You don’t need more character, you need a doctor.”

Steve just grinned. “But I got spirit.”

Bucky threw his hands up. “I need a drink.”

—

INCIDENT #2: THE MILITARY APPLICATION THAT GAVE BUCKY AN ANEURYSM

Bucky was relaxing. For once.

And then Steve walked in, looking suspiciously smug.

Bucky squinted. “Why do you look like that?”

Steve held up a piece of paper. “I enlisted.”

Bucky dropped his fork. “You what.”

Steve grinned. “I enlisted.”

Bucky stared at him. “You did not.”

“I did.”

Bucky snatched the paper from him. Scanned it. Rubbed his temples.

“Steve,” he started, struggling to stay calm, “you have asthma.”

“Yeah.”

“And rickets.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And a laundry list of other things that make you physically incapable of joining the army.”

Steve shrugged. “They haven’t said no yet.”

Bucky groaned. “Steve. Buddy. Pal. They are going to say no.”

“You never know.”

“I do know.”

Steve just smiled. “I got spirit, Buck.”

Bucky screamed internally.

—

INCIDENT #3: THE FINAL STRAW

Bucky had accepted many things in life.

That Steve was determined to fight guys who looked like professional boxers.

That Steve would absolutely keep trying to enlist even though he was, medically speaking, held together by sheer stubbornness and spite.

That Bucky was never going to get a single moment of peace.

But what he didn’t expect—what he refused to accept—was walking into Steve’s apartment at six in the goddamn morning and seeing his best friend standing on top of a rickety-ass chair, trying to hang a punching bag from the ceiling.

Bucky froze.

Steve turned. “Oh, hey Buck—”

And the chair wobbled.

Bucky lunged. “NO—”

But it was too late.

The chair gave out.

Steve plummeted like a sack of potatoes.

Bucky barely caught him before he hit the floor.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then Bucky slowly set Steve down, stood up, and took a deep, calming breath.

Steve, flat on his back, blinked up at him. “That could’ve gone better.”

Bucky clenched his fists. “I swear to God, Steve—”

“You know, if I was in the army, I’d probably have training for stuff like—”

Bucky screamed into his hands.

Steve patted his knee. “There, there, grandpa.”

And Bucky, fully grayed by age nineteen, muttered:

“I need so many drinks.”

—

INCIDENT #4: THE DOUBLE DATE FROM HELL

Bucky had made a critical mistake.

That mistake was thinking that maybe—just maybe—Steve could handle a normal night out without starting some kind of incident.

He was so wrong.

Because now, here they were, sitting at a booth in a diner, on what was supposed to be a double date.

Bucky had set it all up: two nice girls, a cozy booth, food on the way—a perfect setup.

And then Steve, bless his little disaster heart, decided to start an argument.

With a waiter.

About government corruption.

“I’m just saying,” Steve was in the middle of passionately debating, “if people don’t push back, nothing changes.”

The poor waiter, who just wanted to refill their drinks, blinked. “Uh—”

Steve turned to Bucky’s date. “You get it, right?”

Bucky physically cringed.

His date, looking deeply uncomfortable, cleared her throat. “I, uh, don’t really keep up with—”

Steve pointed at her. “And that’s the problem!”

Bucky threw his head back in agony.

The other girl—Steve’s date, who looked like she was seconds away from crawling out the window—let out an awkward laugh. “Um. So. Who’s up for dessert?”

Bucky, desperate to salvage this date, quickly raised his hand. “Me! I love dessert! Let’s talk about dessert!”

Steve, meanwhile, leaned forward. “You ever think about how—”

“NO.” Bucky slammed a hand over Steve’s mouth. “WE DON’T THINK ABOUT ANYTHING.”

The waiter, fully done, just set down their food and walked away.

Steve peeled Bucky’s hand off his face. “You’re being dramatic.”

Bucky turned to his date, hoping to fix whatever just happened, only to find that both girls were already standing up.

“We’re gonna go,” one of them said.

Bucky’s heart shattered. “No, wait, I—”

“Nice meeting you,” the other added.

Then, like ghosts, they vanished out the door.

Bucky slowly turned back to Steve.

Who was casually eating a fry.

“You ruined everything,” Bucky muttered.

Steve shrugged. “Eh. They weren’t the one, anyway.”

Bucky stared at him. “You have to stop talking.”

Steve popped another fry into his mouth. “I got spirit, Buck.”

Bucky groaned into his hands.

—

INCIDENT #5: THE FINAL TRANSFORMATION

Bucky was tired.

That was nothing new.

Steve had been running him into the ground for years.

So when Steve finally vanished—off to some government experiment or something—Bucky had never felt such peace.

For one day.

And then Steve came back.

And Bucky… lost his entire goddamn mind.

Because the Steve that left? Five-foot-nothing, could be knocked over by a strong breeze, constantly wheezing like an asthmatic chihuahua.

The Steve that returned?

A walking Greek statue.

Bucky had been chilling, just hanging out at the base, when suddenly—

“Hey, Buck.”

And there he was.

Steve.

But not Steve.

Because this man was tall.

This man had biceps.

This man had shoulders that could break a doorframe.

Bucky blinked. “The hell is this?”

Steve shifted, a little awkward. “Uh… they, uh, did the procedure. Worked pretty well.”

Bucky squinted. “You’re taller than me.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Bucky walked up to him. Poked him. “Where’s the wheezing?”

Steve sighed. “Gone.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Where’s the asthma?”

“Also gone.”

Bucky grabbed his arm and shook it aggressively. “What the hell are you made of now?”

Steve sighed again. “Mostly muscle.”

Bucky stepped back, took a deep breath, and ran a hand down his face.

Then he looked back up at Steve and muttered:

“I swear to God, if you’re taller than me in every single one of our photos now, I will commit a crime.”

Steve grinned. “You sound jealous.”

Bucky pointed at him. “Listen here, you absolute brick house—”

And then a bunch of military officers walked in, and Bucky had to pretend he wasn’t in the middle of having a crisis.

But deep down, deep, deep down, he knew:

Steve was never going to let this go.

Because one thing Steve always had, was spirit.

[barnesdolls]

Steve Rogers and the Increasing Urge to Retire

Steve Rogers had seen a lot in his time. He had fought Nazis. Punched aliens. Time-traveled. He had literally been to space.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for Bucky Barnes in the modern age.

Bucky Barnes, who had been a highly trained assassin, was now a highly trained menace to society.

And Steve? Steve was one incident away from handing in his Avenger’s card and checking into a retirement home.

—

INCIDENT #1: THE GREAT ESCALATOR WAR

It had started as a simple mission.

Go to the mall. Get in. Get out. No shenanigans.

Which is why Steve, like a fool, thought it was okay to take Bucky and you with him.

His first mistake.

“Alright,” Steve sighed, rubbing his temples, “let’s just—”

But you had already skipped ahead, dragging Bucky toward the escalator.

And that’s when Steve heard it.

The sentence that nearly made him walk into the ocean and never return.

“Steve, look!” Bucky called. “Metal stairs! That move!”

Steve turned just in time to see Bucky, a fully grown adult man, hesitate at the base of the escalator like it was some forbidden dark magic.

“…Bucky, please,” Steve begged.

“I dunno, man,” Bucky muttered, eyeing the steps with suspicion. “Seems dangerous.”

You were wheezing. “Come on, Grandpa. I believe in you.”

Bucky took a deep breath. Stepped forward—

And immediately started moving.

“OH SHIT,” Bucky shouted, grabbing the railing like his life depended on it.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “God give me strength.”

“I’M NOT BUILT FOR THIS,” Bucky yelled, clutching the railing as he slowly ascended.

You, crying from laughter, stepped on behind him effortlessly. “Oh my God, I can’t breathe—”

Bucky turned, eyes wild. “DOLL, HELP ME—”

And then he reached the top.

Which meant the escalator ended.

Which meant Bucky had to step off.

Which meant—

“WHAT DO I DO.”

“Step off, you idiot!”

“I CAN’T.”

Steve watched in horror as Bucky flung himself off the escalator, hit the floor dramatically, and just laid there like he had been defeated by technology.

A mall employee walked by. Took one look at the grown man face-down on the tile. Kept walking.

Steve sighed. “I hate my life.”

—

INCIDENT #2: BUCKY VS. THE AUTOMATIC DOOR

Steve was so close to leaving Bucky at the mall.

It had been ten minutes since the escalator disaster, and now they were heading toward the exit.

Which should have been easy.

Except Bucky stopped walking.

“Wait,” Bucky muttered, staring at the automatic sliding doors. “What the hell is that.”

Steve followed his gaze.

“It’s a door,” Steve said flatly.

Bucky frowned. “But it knows we’re here.”

“That’s how automatic doors work, Buck.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. Stepped forward—

The door slid open.

Bucky immediately jumped back.

Steve aged ten years.

You, fully invested in the drama, gasped. “It senses your presence, Buck! It’s alive!”

“I AM NOT OKAY WITH THIS,” Bucky announced, pointing at the door like it had personally offended him.

Steve inhaled deeply. “Bucky, for the love of God—”

But Bucky wasn’t listening.

Bucky, instead, was testing the door like a cat trying to figure out a new toy.

He stepped forward. The door opened.

He stepped back. The door closed.

Forward. Open.

Back. Closed.

You, absolutely encouraging this, were recording on your phone.

“Doll, this is black magic,” Bucky muttered.

You nodded. “It knows all, Buck.”

Steve, having an existential crisis, just walked straight through the door and kept going.

“STEVE, NO!” Bucky shouted after him. “YOU’RE GONNA GET TRAPPED IN THERE.”

Steve kept walking.

Steve did not look back.

If he looked back, he might actually throw himself into traffic.

—

INCIDENT #3: BUCKY VS. THE SMART SPEAKER

Steve entered the living room with the quiet dread of a man who knew he was about to witness something deeply stupid.

And he was right.

Because there was Bucky.

Sitting on the couch, glaring at the smart speaker like it had personally insulted his entire bloodline.

Steve closed his eyes. Breathed. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Bucky grumbled.

You, sitting next to him, cackled. “Oh, he absolutely did something.”

Bucky shot you a look before turning back to the speaker. “Listen, I just asked it a question.”

Steve already had a headache. “And?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “And it was rude.”

Steve sighed. “What did you ask?”

Bucky crossed his arms. “I asked it if it feared me.”

Steve stared at him. “And what did it say?”

Bucky’s eye twitched.

It was you who answered, barely holding in laughter. “It said: ‘I don’t have emotions, but I appreciate your curiosity, James.’”

Steve wheeze-laughed. “It government named you?”

Bucky pointed aggressively at the speaker. “It’s a fed, Steve. It knows my name.”

Steve shook his head. “You registered your name when you set it up, you idiot.”

“I DID NO SUCH THING.”

“You literally did.”

“I TRUSTED IT, STEVE.”

“WHY WOULD YOU TRUST IT?”

Bucky, now fully losing it, stood up and pointed dramatically. “I challenge it to single combat.”

You clapped your hands in delight. “Oh my God, fight the smart speaker. Punch it. I wanna see.”

Steve threw his hands up. “You can’t fight a smart speaker, Buck!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Not with that attitude.”

And then—before Steve could stop him—Bucky picked up the speaker, held it at arm’s length, and whispered menacingly:

“You listen here, you little shit.”

Steve turned on his heel and left the room.

And from behind him, he heard the speaker cheerfully respond:

“That’s not very nice, James.”

[barnesdolls]

Bucky, Lemme Smash

It started, as most disasters did, with Sam Wilson being an absolute menace to society.

Bucky had been minding his own business—well, mostly. He had maybe been sulking in the kitchen, arms crossed, staring into his coffee like it held the answers to the universe. It didn’t. It was just really bad coffee because Tony had replaced all the good beans with decaf as a “prank.”

And that’s when Sam walked in. With a plan. And a Bluetooth speaker.

The first thing Bucky heard was:

“Lemme smash.”

Bucky’s eyebrows twitched. He looked up slowly. “What.”

Sam grinned. “Nothing, man. Just thought you’d appreciate a little—”

The speaker continued.

“No, Ron. Go find Becky.”

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck is this.”

Sam clicked the volume up. “Lemme smash. Please.”

Bucky immediately lunged for the speaker. Sam dodged, laughing. “Aw, come on, man! It’s a classic!”

“I will end you,” Bucky growled, swiping again.

But Sam was fast. Too fast. He darted around the kitchen island, keeping just out of Bucky’s reach. The audio played again.

“Ron, your tail is small.”

“YOU’RE GONNA HAVE A SMALL TAIL WHEN I—”

And then Steve walked in.

He took one look at the chaos—the Bluetooth speaker blasting “Lemme smash” at full volume, Bucky looking like he was about to commit several war crimes, and Sam cackling like a madman—and sighed so hard he nearly deflated.

“I don’t wanna know,” Steve muttered, pouring himself a cup of terrible decaf coffee.

Sam wheezed. “Oh no, Cap. You need to hear this.”

And before Steve could escape, Sam restarted the whole audio.

Bucky deadpanned. “I swear on everything, I will throw you out that window.”

Sam just grinned. “Joke’s on you, I can fly.”

Steve, on the verge of resigning from life, took a long sip of coffee and muttered, “Why do I even try.” A hand passing roughly over his face.

—

Later that night, Bucky got his revenge.

Sam walked into his room, tired from training, ready to pass out—

Only to find a sticky note on his pillow.

It read:

“Ron, your tail is small.”

And that was the moment Sam knew.

He was doomed.

—

It had been three days since Sam Wilson declared psychological warfare on Bucky Barnes with the “Lemme smash” audio.

Three days of torment.

Three days of randomly hearing “Lemme smash” echoing through the Avengers Tower halls at ungodly hours.

Three days of Sam sending Bucky pictures of blue and yellow objects with captions like “I got you blue.” “I got you yellow.”

Bucky was suffering.

And worst of all? You had joined in.

“You were supposed to be on my side,” Bucky grumbled, arms crossed as he sat on the couch next to you.

“I am,” you said, patting his metal arm. “But watching you lose your mind is hilarious.”

Just then, the living room speakers crackled to life, a new audio.

���Becky, lemme smash.”

Bucky’s eye twitched.

You tried to hold in your laugh, but it escaped—a little snort, and that was enough to make Bucky whip his head toward you, betrayed.

“You think this is funny?” he accused.

You wiped a tear from your eye. “It’s a little funny.”

“No, Mike.”

Bucky screamed. Not a manly scream. No. It was the sound of a man who had been pushed to his absolute limit.

“THAT’S IT,” Bucky yelled, jumping up. “I’M ENDING THIS.”

“Oh, this I gotta see,” you muttered, following him as he stormed toward Sam’s room like a man on a mission.

The door? Kicked open.

Sam? Lounging in bed, eating chips like this was just another Tuesday.

“Sup, Becky,” Sam greeted, grinning like he had been waiting for this moment.

“STOP CALLING ME THAT.”

Sam sat up, chewing thoughtfully. “You know, you’re kinda acting like Becky right now.”

Bucky frowned.

“Like a frigid bit-“

Bucky lunged.

Sam screamed and dove off the bed, dodging at the last second as Bucky tried to grab him. “Y/N, CONTROL YOUR MAN!”

“Oh no,” you said, sipping your drink. “This is his battle now.”

Bucky tackled Sam.

Sam squawked. “GET OFF ME, YOU MENACE—”

But then, the speakers crackled one last time.

“Becky, lemme smash. Please.”

There was silence.

Then:

“I’m going to KILL YOU,” Bucky growled, tightening his grip.

“JOKES ON YOU,” Sam wheezed, “I’M INTO THAT.”

You nearly choked on your drink, while Bucky stared at Sam in disbelief, while Sam smirked.

Steve walked in.

Took one look at Sam and Bucky wrestling on the floor.

Took one look at you, cackling.

And just turned around and walked out.

Not. His. Circus. Not. His. Monkeys.

[barnesdolls]

My Tummy Hurts (And So Does My Soul)

Bucky Barnes was drunk. Like, really drunk. And that was saying something, considering only Asgardian liquor could get him this way. It was not unusual for him to look for something to numb the pain that he constantly felt in his left shoulder, or that would knock him right out so he could get a night of sleep, without nightmares.

But here he was, slumped over the bar, glaring at Thor, who was laughing like this was the best entertainment since Ragnarok.

“I feel… invincible,” Bucky slurred, raising his glass in a toast to literally no one.

“You’re very much not invincible,” you pointed out, sitting beside him. You had witnessed the descent into drunken chaos and had wisely decided to record it for future blackmail material.

Bucky turned to you, blinking slowly. “You’re beautiful.”

“I know.”

Thor clapped Bucky on the back—hard enough to nearly send him face-first into the counter. “Barnes! You are a mighty drinker! You remind me of Lady Sif when she—”

“Don’t care,” Bucky interrupted, waving him off dramatically. “Another round!”

Thor shrugged and poured more of the glowing blue liquor, while you sighed, already dreading the consequences of this decision.

—

The Next Morning

Bucky woke up with what could only be described as the worst hangover in the history of super soldiers. His skull felt like someone had used Mjolnir on it (which, to be fair, had happened once), and his stomach was in open rebellion.

But the worst part? The damn shirt.

Somewhere in his drunken state, he had acquired a white t-shirt that read “MY TUMMY HURTS” in colorful child-like letters.

He had no recollection of putting it on. None. But here he was, lying in bed, looking down at it like it personally betrayed him.

The door slammed open.

“BARNES.”

Bucky groaned. “Steve, please, my head hurts.”

Steve, radiating pure I’m so done with you energy, crossed his arms. “You are a grown man.”

Bucky made a vague motion. “That’s debatable.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were drunk off your ass on Asgardian liquor. Again.”

Bucky sat up slightly, regretted it immediately, and flopped back down. “I was going through something.”

“You drank an entire keg.”

“Yeah, well, I had a lot of somethings to go through.”

Steve threw his hands up. “You can’t keep doing this! You need to take responsibility for your actions!”

Bucky, eyes still closed, muttered, “Most of the time I’m not even responsible for my own actions.”

Steve looked like he was about to explode. “What if you stop drinking?”

Bucky cracked one eye open and glared at Steve. Pfft, as if. “Yeah, what if?” He mocked.

Steve took a deep breath, muttered something about “needing a vacation,” and left before he actually committed murder.

You peeked into the room, holding a cup of coffee. “You look awful.”

Bucky groaned. “I feel awful.”

You held up your phone, showing him a video of himself dancing on a table, dramatically lip-syncing to “I Will Survive.”

He stared.

“…Is that Thor playing air guitar in the background?”

“Oh yeah.”

Bucky closed his eyes again. “I need stronger liquor.”

“You need therapy.”

“Potato, po-tah-to.”

He mumbled, rolling on his tummy on the bed, his face buried in the pillow.