Summary: As the teammate with invisibility, your powers often result in you disappearing from the Compound when the day becomes too much. However, youâre always seen by one person who has started to sit in silence with you, offering occasional comments and comfort. (Bucky Barnes x invisible!reader)
Disclaimer: Angst (sort of). Hurt/Comfort. Reader has the power of invisibility.
Word Count: 1.3k+
A/N: I had fully intended to just make this a blurb. I like imagining the reader with different powers, but this went over the 500 words I had initially planned lol
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist
The compound was too loud.
Even if no one was yelling, even if no one was fighting, your skin buzzed with the memory of raised voices, flashing lights, hands that werenât kind. Your breathing had gone shallow the moment the door shut behind you. Your hands trembled. Your pulse raced. Your instincts screamed.
So you disappeared. Literally. One blink, one breath, and maybe the world would forget you were there. Invisibility was your gift. When activated, everything fades. Body, clothes, scent; not even heat sensors can detect you. It remains a power you hold to help people from the shadows. Both your shield and your curse.
And right now, you use it to curl up into the corner of your room, legs pulled tight to your chest. Your breathing was quiet now, nearly silent. You liked it that way. Invisible and silent, unnoticed to the world.
But Bucky noticed. He always did. You never told anyone about what it really meant, to vanish. Not in words. Not out loud. But Bucky figured it out anyway.
He paid attention in a way most people didnât. Not the loud kind, not the prying kind. Just quiet observation, patterns, and pauses. He noticed the things others dismissed: the way your fingers twitched when a voice got too sharp. The way your leg bounces nervously when the room turns tense. The way your eyes never quite met anyoneâs after a hard mission.
And most of all, he noticed when you were suddenly gone.
Not physically. Not entirely. Just⊠hushed. Faded. The kind of gone where your seat at the table was still warm, your plate barely touched. The kind of gone where you stopped making eye contact, stopped breathing deep, stopped existing in the room even if you were still in it. The kind where your powers were not needed at all to remove your presence from a space.
Then overtime, he learned the different ways you could vanish. And unlike others, he didnât joke about it. Didnât push or pull or guilt you back. He just waited. A silent and steady presence to turn to.
The first time it happened, he stood in your doorway for ten full minutes, speaking to the air. Not because he thought it would fix anything. But because he knew what it meant to be terrified, voiceless, and unseen, yet still wanting someone to come find you anyway.
After that, it became a kind of rhythm between you. A quiet understanding. Then, the similarities began to show themselves. You werenât touchy, and neither was he. Your voice was soft, never one to stand out in a room full of people. He was quiet, selective who he spoke to as he watched more than he engaged. You didn't open up easily. But you know he also struggled to do so as well. And when the world pressed too close and you disappeared into silence, he was the only one who could sit with it without trying to fix you.
It wasnât romantic, not in the beginning. But it was intimate.
In the moments you let yourself be visible, Bucky saw you in ways no one else did. The slight tilt of your lips when you made a dry joke. The way you tilted your head when you were curious, and the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, even if it wasnât at you. He never made it a big deal. Never made you feel small, insecure, or unworthy. Not even when you couldnât quite express how you felt and never for existing.
He just noticed. And remembered.
So when your door clicked shut, and you didnât speak, didnât eat, didnât check in? He knew. Because this man had memorized both your presence and absence like a shadow. It was what led him behind your door now, knocking three times. Three simple, soft taps. The kind that asked for permission, not attention.
You didnât answer. You couldnât.
âDoll?â His voice was soft, the edge of gravel worn down into silk. âI know youâre in here.â
Still, you stayed quiet. Hidden. Gone.
The door creaked open. He didnât turn the lights on. He didnât need them to know you were there. Sometimes you cursed his super soldier hearing.
âI saw you leave the training room without speaking to anyone. Thatâs not like you.â
There was no accusation in his voice. Just concern. Measured, careful concern. He stepped in further, and you saw the glint of metal catch the moonlight through your window.
âI know what itâs like,â He said after a long pause. âTo want the whole world to stop seeing you. To disappear because itâs safer that way.â
You turned your head slightly, though you werenât sure why. He still couldnât see you. No one could.
âI used to hide,â He continued. âBehind orders. Behind missions. Behind⊠the Soldier.â
The reference hit the air with a dull ache. He sat down on the floor, not too close, but close enough.
âIâm not sure what happened. Maybe I never will. But I know you donât have to be alone.â
You heard a quiet rustle before spotting his hand reaching out, palm up, resting between you both.
âI wonât touch you. I wonât even look, unless you want me to. Just know Iâll be here.â
Your breath hitched. Not because of the panic, but because of him. He stayed yet again. You still canât get used to it, like somehow youâve convinced yourself youâre not worth it.
But minutes passed, maybe an hour or more. Who knows. Bucky had learned the hard way how to sit with silence. How to let it breathe instead of trying to fill it. How sometimes just being there meant more than any words.
But slowly, carefully, you let the invisibility fade. Like dust in sunlight. Your fingers, trembling and pale, reached out and barely brushed his.
His hand didnât move. Instead, you heard his voice, gentle and soft.
âThere you are,â Bucky whispered, a ghost of a smile upon his face.
Something in his chest loosened. Not relief exactly, but⊠a sense of trust. Pride almost. You trusted him enough to come back, to be seen.
Because for the first time all day, you werenât afraid. You werenât alone nor unseen. He had stayed there, grounding you.
Your voice didnât answer him, not out loud. You didnât need to. Instead, you leaned just a little closer, the barest shift of weight, but he felt it. You were still trembling, but you werenât hiding. Not from him.
He turned his palm so his fingers could wrap lightly around yours. Not tight. Just enough to remind you he was there.
âI know the world feels like too much sometimes,â He began quietly. âI donât blame you for disappearing. I used to want to do it all the time. Hell, I did.â
He gave a short, hollow laugh; no humor, just memory.
âWhen I first came here, I kept thinking: If I can just vanish, if I can just keep still enough, no one will look at me like Iâm broken. Like Iâm dangerous. Like Iâm one bad memory away from snapping.â
You shifted. Still silent, but listening. He could feel it.
âI saw that same look in your eyes today. Like you were made of glass and someone was swinging a hammer.â
The grip of your hand tightened slightly.
âYou donât have to tell me what happened. Not now. Not ever, if you donât want. But if you need someone who gets it, you know Iâm here.â
He tilted his head toward you, careful to keep his movements soft.
âNo pressure,â He said quickly, a beat of hesitation filling the space before he added. âJust⊠if you ever wanna disappear, let me be the one who waits with you in the silence.â
A pause. Then, barely above a whisper:
âOkay.â You nodded. It was tiny, fragile; but Bucky felt it like a damn earthquake.
You didnât let go of his hand, and he didnât move an inch.
He doesnât try to fix you. He just stays. Listens. Waits. And somehow, in a world that seems to forget you're there the moment you vanish, you're still seen. Completely, quietly, without question, because of the way he notices.
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I actually caught you when your asks are open this is spectacular
I know you write for Plastic Man, but I don't know about Negative Man? Larry Trainor, comics or show. So you can do this with either one you want.
Male reader who's similar to the invisible man â Not criminal, maybe backstory, but at least was a scientist who turned himslef invisible but a tad more realistic, blind but in the more Matt Murdock way, or just blind, I don't mind either. Hcs or anything else of any kind, but hcs would probably be easier.
I alao don't mind if it's ftm reader or the explicitly of it!! So sorry if this is all over the place. I didn't want it to be longđ
Lawrence âLarryâ Trainor x Male reader
Headcanons
I donât actually know a lot about Larry, so this is based off the wiki. The reader is also somewhat based off the 1933 movie The Invisible Man but with my own spin, since I wasnât sure what else you might have been referring too, hehe. I hope my lack of knowledge still makes this good to read.
I got major Morticia and Gomez vibes from these two as i wrote.
You were no superhero, nor were you a villain. You were just a man who flew too close to the sun and got burnt on the way to discovery. The sun had so much to give, something you knew so many years ago before Superman appeared, and you learned his power source was the sun.
You barely kept track of when you were born nowadays, there was no need too. From what little you could gather, you didnât age, you didnât hunger or thirst, you didnât even need to sleep. But you knew you had been around before radioactivity was discovered.
You had been around before the major superheroes became a thing, it wasnât something that interested you a lot. There were a couple you knew, like Alan Scott, and Jay Garrick, you had even met wonder woman once or twice. But you were no hero.
So, it was no shocker that you didnât know about this so-called doom patrol. How would you. Its not like you owned a tv, and you didnât care much for the news stations on the radio nowadays. It was all ads and dramatic sound effects.
You were never sure what to call yourself. Alan used to call you a scientist, and Jay did too even though he hadnât visited in a long time, at least it felt like a long time. But you had heard he got married and had kids, so of course that was more important. You still sent them both holiday cards though.
As a scientist you had studied radioactivity before it was discovered by anyone else. You had always had a habit of being consumed by your work, so when you climbed out of your pit of research, someone else had already claimed the discovery.
It didnât matter though, as what interested you was the sun and the power you just knew it stored. Of course, it didnât end well. Going invisible, blind, deaf, and losing pretty much every other sense hadnât been on your list of predictions. But thatâs what happened.
You could still see, hear, smell, and so on⊠in your own way. It was impossible to explain, but you didnât truly exist the same way everyone else seemed to do. The radioactivity from the sun had given you other powers too.
But those powers werenât used a lot. Why would you need to fly, or phase through things, or channel the power of the sun to blast somebody. You were anti-military and anti-government, thatâs why they never supported your research and buried your existence from the history books, so you werenât gonna fight.
When you finally learned about this so-called doom patrol you almost felt a little bashful, or could you say miffed? It was like one of them had stolen your entire look. Well, most of it anyways.
You were both wrapped from head to toe in bandages, though his seemed much thicker and sturdier than yours, like they were inlaid with something. And his clothing were more modern, and looked more practical.
What could you say, you were a sucker for the fashion you grew up with. So, what if your clothing, furniture and everything about you screamed Victorian era. Some of the younglings Jay brought along when he visited said you looked very âantiqueâ and that âold stuff is inâ.
You also didnât wear shades like Mr. negative, Larry, you later learned, did. You were blind as a bat and had no physical eyes anyways, so why wear shades in the first place?
It was hard to explain how your body worked, it had the form of a human when you wrapped it, but it also⊠didnât exist. You always just blamed it on the undiscovered art of radioactivity and science so advanced the world hadnât gotten there yet.
It did look slightly entertaining to see you in your Victorian era dressing robe, in a pair of your best slippers with a glass of brandy you couldnât really taste, beside Larry, who had very clearly seen better days.
Both being wrapped in bandages created a kind of comradery between you two in the beginning. Lary had thought maybe you were like him, especially when you explained how you got where you were, since his accident was based around radioactivity too.
Only for you to shock him, but unwrapping your head and revealing⊠nothing. Literally nothing. You even grabbed his hand and brought it to where your head would be, only for it to pass through it like nothing.
Your body seemed present when you wrapped it, a phenomenon you were still studying to this day. Right now, your results were pointing in the direction of it being mental, but who truly knew at the end of the day.
Larry hadnât been willing to remove his own bandages for very obvious reasons, no matter how many times you told him it wouldnât hurt you, and that it wouldnât matter. You were raised too well to make any demands.
Instead, you pulled out your very old photo album and walked him through your family, happily pointing out pictures of yourself and how you looked, only scowling a little as he laughed at your hairstyle and outfits of the time.
In the end you touched him by accident. There was some accident in your lab that tore some of the bandages on his hand, and without a second thought you took his hand and wrapped it again. Obviously, nothing happened to you, you didnât have a body that could be hurt, but it was still a shock for Larry.
It shouldnât have come as a surprise that Larry was as touch starved as he was. Not having any human contact for so long would drive anybody mad, except you that is, but you also were convinced that that was some mental result of your accident.
So, you didnât turn him away when Larry would start appearing in your giant Victorian era mansion, far out in the mountains, so far away from anything that whatever radioactivity you worked on wouldnât reach.
You also didnât mind that Larry started searching you out for contact. He started small, just sitting closer to you as you had tea together, where it evolved to sitting up against you as you went through your papers, to Larry going as far as laying his bandaged head in your lap as you read aloud from one of your many books.
Larry was so sweet, in his own hesitant way. He even let you study how his own powers worked, but to no surprise you two didnât reach a certain result, but neither of you had expected that.
Hell, Larry even got more comfortable going around in public, as you would hook your arms together and almost strut along, as if the wide eyed and sometimes hateful stares didnât touch you.
That was also how you finally met the justice league. The only one that interested you was Superman, and he wouldnât let you study him as much as you wanted. Your extreme studies of the sun at least caught Batmanâs interest, enough for you two to have very long difficult conversations about science. You later learned you reminded him of his butler, which you took as a compliment since he was spoken so highly of.
The doom patrol wasnât your favorite, you didnât trust that Chief guy, and rightfully so. But who were you to tell Larry who he could and couldnât forgive, you just made it very clear you werenât gonna help that guy.
In the end, the relationship you two shared was strange, but soft in ways that was hard to put into words. Your first kiss took months to happen, as you didnât have lips when you unwrapped your bandages, and Larry needed so long to grow comfortable to pull his off.
Holding hands, or tapping your foot against each otherâs became how you expressed love. That, or giving gifts. You made place in your giant mansion for his many gifts, wanting to show them all off.
And Larry? Larry got a whole new wardrobe as well as many other trinkets he might need. You even dove head first into the tools and armor market, wanting to give Larry something to keep him safe. You couldnât have cared less about the rest of his team, they werenât really your friends, just Larry.
Those items might have gotten your usual Victorian flare to them too, even if they were sleek and modern in their abilities and storage. It was a bit like your way of marking Larry as yours.
It was still difficult for Larry to feel safe without his bandages in your mansion, not just because of how dangerous it was, but also because he found himself so hideous. You didnât find him ugly, not at all. You also knew it would take Larry a long time to believe you, so you didnât force him to accept it, just left the opportunity open.
You two made a strange but surprisingly strong couple, when you finally visited the outside world. Those few times were either to have tea with Batmanâs very smart butler, or to blast somebody with the power of the sun for hurting your dear love. No matter what though, you always left an impression, not that you cared. All you cared about was leaving one with Larry.
Hellooo! Something a little shorter since this has been updated recently, but I didnât wanna leave you hanging. Thank you for your enthusiasm and request! Happy reading!!!
The Way He Helps
Summary: After a tough mission, you hide your injury and vanish. However, as usual, Bucky notices, quietly offering comfort without pressure and gently tending to your wound. (Bucky Barnes x invisible!reader)
Disclaimer: Hurt/Comfort. Reader has the power of invisibility. Original fic: The Way He Notices.
Word Count: 800+
Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist
Missions with Bucky werenât easy.
Not because he was difficult, he wasnât. He was dependable. Efficient. Quiet, like you. He never questioned your hesitations or the way you took corners slower than most. He never asked why you didnât check in unless it was critical. Never once asked why youâd blink out of sight the moment the dust settled.
But he noticed. That was the hard part.
He noticed every time your breathing hitched after a close call. He noticed how youâd sit, turned slightly away from the team, like facing too much of the world would crush you. He noticed when you smiled faintly behind your mug in the mornings, only to fade from sight the moment someone called your name too loudly.
And today, he noticed when you limped.
You didnât mean to. Youâd taken the blast mostly off your side, right where the armor was weakest. You thought you hid it well by slowing your pace so it wouldnât jerk, gripping your side only when others werenât looking. You were invisible before anyone else even made it back to the jet.
But he knew.
Even as you sat in the far corner of the quinjet, half-phased from view, you could feel his eyes flick toward the space you occupied. You could feel the weight of his awareness, soft but steady, like a hand held out between you, not quite touching, but not leaving either.
You didnât show your pain though. You couldnât. Showing it meant giving them something to use. Something to doubt.
So you curled inward, legs drawn up, and body flickering faintly like you hadnât quite decided if you belonged to the world or not. And Bucky, he just sat across from you, arms crossed, and head tilted like he was deep in thought.
He didnât ask you if you were okay. He didnât ask why you disappeared mid-mission.
He just said, quietly, âYour left legâs going numb.â
You didnât respond but didnât fade in either. However, you stopped gripping your side.
He leaned forward a little. Not enough to spook you. Not enough to corner. Just enough to offer.
âYou always vanish after you get hurt,â He added, his voice calm. No judgment. Just⊠observant. âNot to hide from the enemy. From us.â
Still nothing. And then, more softly, âYou know Iâm not âus,â right?â
That made something flicker in your chest. Something that always seemed to beat a little faster whenever he was around. But you didnât reply. Not even when he gently passed a canteen across the empty space between you. Just a slow movement of his hand offering water, like it wasnât a peace treaty. Like it wasnât a test.
You didnât touch it yet. He didnât retract it either.
Later, once the quinjet landed and the others scattered, you stayed put.
Your side throbbed. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving the kind of ache that reached into your lungs and spine like ice. You didnât realize you were still half-invisible until Bucky came back into the space alone, holding a med kit.
He didnât speak right away. He didnât look for you, exactly. Already knowing you hadnât moved from your spot.
He just said, âIâm not gonna ask you to reappear.â
Then he crouched down near you, opened the kit, and started laying out gauze and antiseptic like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. You hadnât told him where you were hit, but his hand hovered near your side, close, not touching and he added, almost like a whisper:
âYou donât have to say anything. But know Iâm not going anywhere.â
You donât remember choosing to become visible. You just⊠were. Leg still drawn up, shoulder curled in. You expected him to smirk, or make a crack about finally listening. But he didnât. He just met your eyes, held them, and reached slowly for the hem of your shirt.
He paused, waiting a moment for you to stop him. And when you didnât, he said quietly, âTell me if this is too much.â
You nodded, breath held so tightly it hurt.
His hands were gentle. Cool fingers, metal and flesh, moving with practiced stillness. He cleaned the wound, kept his touch light. Even when you hissed, even when you flinched, he didnât falter. Didnât crowd.
And then, without thinking, without meaning to, you reached out. Just for a second. Your hand, settling against his wrist as he pressed gauze to your side. You didnât even realize what youâd done until he stilled.
His eyes flicked to yours, wide, surprised, and soft.
But more surprisingly, you didnât vanish. Not this time. And he didnât move. Just looked at your hand on his, like it was the first real contact he'd had in a long time. Because in a way, it was the first time you reached out first.
Then, gently, he turned his palm over and held your hand back. Not tightly. Not possessively. Just enough to feel you were there.
âThanks for staying,â He spoke softly.
You didnât have the words to answer, but you didnât let go either. And neither did he.
