summary: you protect bucky. from others, and from yourself. || bucky barnes x reader
warnings: smut (18+ readers only!!!) soft!bucky, angst, detailed descriptions of a panic attack/extreme fear, dark(ish)!reader; there’s a certain...vibe, i guess, from a scene in tfatws that i took and applied to this story. not technically a spoiler, I think, but please be aware all the same.
post endgame, where everyone is alive and (mostly) happy because i said so.
word count: 9.8k (sorry not sorry)
a/n: took a loooong break from tumblr/writing fics. new blog, new me. I hope you enjoy this; if you do and could leave a comment, keysmashing, or a rant in tags, i would be so grateful!
For almost a year now, it seemed like the world was slowly letting out a breath it had been holding since the return of the victims of the Snap, since the death of Thanos. The world - and the galaxy beyond, from what you’ve heard - was too chaotic, too broken, to just go back to the way things were. Those who were gone for five years seemed to feel that they had only been gone for a blink of time, whereas those who had been left behind had grieved those that had been lost. For the two realities to suddenly merge back together again - it was a mess, to say the least. People needed the calm, the quiet. They also needed someone to look to, to ground them so that they knew that this was their reality now. Not surprisingly, eyes once again became focused on the Avengers to provide that feeling of safety.
They did their best. Many of them had been gone themselves - Peter, Wanda, Vision, Bucky, Sam, Shuri. But they stepped back into their roles of leaders and protectors in order to try and bring a sense of peace among the people of Earth. Some took the plight farther. Captain Marvel left shortly after the death of Thanos, as did the Guardians. Thor had decided to accompany the latter, although part of you wondered if he did so solely so he could annoy Peter Quill. Shuri returned to Wakanda. There had been numerous casualties and damage wrought during the initial battle, and with the recent passing of her brother, she had to not only contend with being the new Queen, but taking up the mantle of the Black Panther as well.
The past year was busy, to say the least. Steve had retired, in a way. He passed the torch - rather, the shield - to Sam, and spent most of his time guiding the falcon so that he could be a glorious, walking Star Spangled Banner in his own right. Tony had the Avengers Compound rebuilt quickly, as not having some sort of home base proved to make things more difficult than necessary.
Not that everyone was at the Compound all the time. Tony still had his farm with Pepper and Morgan, but somehow he still seemed to constantly be around. Wanda and Vision had stepped away from the group for some time, but had recently returned and were taking up residence there. Rhodey, like Tony, had his own home elsewhere but any absence was barely noticeable when compared to the amount of time spent at the Compound. Clint and Scott also had personal lives outside of the Avengers, but they were a simple call and a dispatched jet away when needed. Peter was still attending school, but at times you still saw him lurking around during school hours. He had bargained with you a few times about keeping Tony from finding out.
At the moment, the place was rather empty. You were sprawled out on a couch in one of the lounge areas, scrolling through your phone. You had never been at the forefront of the Avengers, instead handling more behind-the-scenes operations and missions that shouldn’t necessarily be published on the front page of the newspaper. What with most of the Avengers being busy with the more public side of things, the missions had mostly fallen to you and Natasha. Apparently, a second chance at life hadn’t really made the various criminal scum around the world choose different careers.
Today had been a lazy day, however. You hadn’t had many obligations to attend to that day, thus your current position. The others weren’t so lucky; the only one currently with you in the lounge was Bucky. He was sitting on the couch across from you, also looking through his phone. His hair was short - he’d gotten it cut recently - and he wore a dark grey henley and black sweats. You caught a glance of black vibranium resting on his thigh, his left hand at rest while he navigated the screen of his phone with his right.
It was a companionable silence, that the two of you shared. You hadn’t known Bucky until after the Snap had been reversed. The two of you hadn’t spoken much since the initial introduction, but it wasn’t because of dislike or anything of that sort (at least, not on your end). Bucky just didn’t seem to be much of a talker. The longest conversations you’d observed him having were with Steve or Sam, although it was more like arguing with the latter. Shyness, mostly, kept you from pushing beyond your normal short, pleasant conversation and shared nods. Still, you didn’t mind. Bucky was quiet, steady. And you found a comfort in that that wasn’t quite comparable to anyone else.
Natasha peered over the edge of the couch, startling you. You shrieked, recognized her, and then snapped your mouth shut. You swallow it down, glowering at her. You weren’t sure, but you thought you saw the edge of Bucky’s mouth twitch.
“Sorry,” Nat said, the playful amusement in her tone hinting she was, in all probability, not sorry. She braced her arms across the back of the couch. “Remember that HYDRA leftover we grabbed a few days ago? I think he’s marinated long enough; I’d like to see if we could get him to spill his guts yet.” Her gaze lifted, focusing across the room. “Kill Bill Sirens, you want to assist with the transfer in case he gets frisky?”
If Bucky had any misgivings about Natasha’s teasing, he didn’t show it. He tucked his phone inside his pants pockets, standing with a low groan. He stretched then, arms above his head, pulling up his shirt to reveal a narrow rim of muscled flesh above the waistband of his sweats.
You sat up as Natasha walked around the couch. You stretched as well, exhaling a small huff. She held out a hand to you, an offer to help you to your feet. Instead of taking it, however, you lean away from her outstretched hand, eyes widening a bit.
She looked confused for a moment, and then realization dawned. “Right. Sorry,” she said, lowering her hand and taking a step back.
You tip forward, snatching a pair of black gloves off of the coffee table. You have your left hand covered and are velcroing the strap around your wrist when a black vibranium hand enters your field of vision. Tilting your head back, you look at the expressionless Bucky and his extended arm. You grab his hand, the cool feel of metal brushing against your skin for a moment as he pulls you into a standing position.
Natasha looked between the two of you before she turned, leading the way down the hall. You’re a step behind her, and you heard Bucky’s heavy footfalls trailing after you. The elevators weren’t far off, and during the walk you covered your other hand with the second glove.
Having powers that were mostly reliant on physical touch, paired with a difficulty to control it, was as much of an annoyance as it was a liability. With a simple touch of skin-on-skin contact, you were capable of emotional manipulation. That part was controllable, more or less. What wasn’t was you could also intercept the emotions any person was feeling. It was useful during interrogations, but a serious fault when it came to simply existing among your peers. Thus, the gloves. They weren’t a complete fail-safe, but they definitely muted whatever feelings your teammates might be projecting and kept you from altering their emotions on accident.
Interrogations usually fell into your and Natasha’s realm of responsibility. The two of you could probably transfer the prisoner from his cell to the interrogation room without too much fuss, but you weren’t going to complain about the extra security of Bucky’s presence, either.
The prisoner in question awaited several floors down from your previous location, where various cells waited. Stark’s technology replaced the old sliding doors and metal bars gimmick. Now, they were translucent, holographic-looking walls. It certainly lacked the appearance of security, but you’d seen enough people touch the walls to know that it wasn’t a wise idea.
Only one of the six cells was currently occupied. The man (who you could only remember by his first name: Petyr) sat in the middle of his cell, posed in a cross-legged position. He appeared to be doing something akin to meditating. Your eyebrow arched.
Natasha was standing in front of a podium, hands waving in short, quick movements as she navigated her way through Stark’s computer system. It was something you had tried to learn before, but most of the time you just cheated and asked FRIDAY to do everything for you.
One of the walls disappeared with a flicker. You and Natasha stood at the threshold of the cell. You could feel Bucky’s presence behind you.
Petyr waited a few moments before opening his eyes. He looked up at the two of you, a slow, maniacal smile spreading across his face. “Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve been visited by you lovely ladies,” he purred. “I was beginning to get lonely.” He carried a sense of courage, a casual bravado, that you wouldn’t normally expect of someone who had been trapped in a cell for three days.
Then again, he had murdered a hundred people over the course of a weekend, so you probably couldn’t attribute rational behaviors with him.
As his gaze shifted between the two of you, it abruptly halted. His attention lifted above your head, looking behind you. And if he had been happy to see the two of you, he appeared absolutely delighted to see Bucky. The wide grin that spread across his face, the flash of excitement sparking in his eyes, caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand up.
“You’ve brought me a gift!” He said, motioning to Bucky with a grandiose wave of his arm. “The Winter Soldier, still living and breathing.”
There was a soft brush against the back of your shoulder, Bucky stepping around you and approaching the man. He had a small tablet in his hand, no larger than the size of a wallet. It glowed a light blue hue, symbolic of Stark’s technology.
“Those days are gone,” Bucky said. He grabbed Petyr’s arms, pulling them so that they were out in front of him. He held the tablet between the prisoner’s wrists, tapping once. The screen brightened, and then two pieces of metal slipped from either side, encasing his wrists. He was so enamored with Bucky, he didn’t seem to even notice.
“Is he, though?” he asked. His voice was airy, light, as if he was in awe. Lifting his bound hands, he extended a finger to press against Bucky’s chest. “He’s still in here, isn’t he?” His grin grew, so unnaturally wide. He moved closer to Bucky, having to stand on the tips of his toes so that they were at eye-level.
Bucky was completely still. His expression was neutral, meeting the man’s gaze without falter. But the wave that hit you caused a small gasp to escape your parted lips. It festered in the pit of your stomach, deep and dark. Roots seemed to spread outward, crawling into your chest cavity, fusing into your ribs. God, it felt so heavy. It pricked at the corner of your eyes, sharp, causing them to burn. Your knees wanted to buckle, to succumb to the weight that had suddenly settled inside you. You clutched at your sternum, fingers curling in a loose fist against the fabric of your shirt.
You looked at Bucky, standing so still, quietly. His impartialness was so meticulously crafted, you almost missed the small slump to his shoulders. The flex of his jaw would have been imperceptible if you were not suddenly attuned to everything he was doing, reacting to the emotions he was unknowingly broadcasting at you.
You moved forward, to do something, but before you could even take a step a strong grip fastened around your forearm. Natasha had grabbed you, but her focus was on the two men. Analytical. Studying. You jerked your arm, but her fingers only tightened.
The prisoner’s hands lifted higher still. He released a small chuckle as he awkwardly patted Bucky’s cheek. Like he was petting a dog. “You’re just serving new masters now,” he told the super soldier, his tone reticent, but gleeful.
Bucky lifted an arm, fastening it on the man’s shoulder and shoving him forward, towards you and Natasha. “Move,” he said.
She released you then, spinning on her heel and walking away. You only dared to hesitate a second, examining Bucky. He still seemed unaffected, mostly, while you were just now beginning to think you might not crumble under the weight of his remorse.
Thankfully, Petyr said nothing else during the walk from his cell to the interrogation room. Natasha held the door open for you all as you filed in. You stepped out of the way as Bucky directed the prisoner past you, pushing him into the room while you and Natasha lingered behind the one way mirror. Bucky forced him into one of the chairs, grabbing a chain fastened to the table and attaching the other end to the manacles. Then, he strode out, back to you and Natasha, and then headed for the exit.
“Barnes, do you know him?” Natasha asked his back.
“No,” Bucky answered, never breaking his stride. He pushed open the door into the hallway, and then he was gone.
Natasha waited until the door closed, and then she turned to face you.
“Why did you let that happen?” you seethed, pointing a finger at the prisoner through the glass.
“Because this is an interrogation, Y/N,” she explained. “From the second we come into contact with the subject until the moment we leave. We’re here to extract information. You know that.” Her voice was lecture-like; a teacher speaking to her pupil, which you were, but the dismal weight had dissipated with Bucky’s absence. Now, anger coiled in its place, taut like skin over a drum.
“And what did you learn?” Your voice felt - sounded - like venom. “Other than these former HYDRA shit stains have some group chat where they reminisce over all the fucking lives they ruined?”
The tension around Natasha’s mouth relaxed, and she exhaled a soft sigh. Her expression shifted from affronted to more passive. “We all have sins that we need to atone for,” she said. “To move past. And sometimes, we have to face it.”
You weren’t so quick to relent. “He feels guilty enough,” you said slowly, your voice firm.
“I know, Y/N,” she said. You couldn’t quite identify the tenor in her tone, nor the look on her face as she stared at you. After a moment, she glanced at the prisoner through the glass. “I can handle this. Why don’t you call it a day.”
You didn’t have it in you to argue anymore. Not that you even wanted to. You simply nodded, casting Petyr a final glance before you walked out the door.
That night was restless. No position seemed comfortable enough for you to slip into sleep. So you tossed and turned, until your blankets were tangled in your legs. You had your elbow bent, arm tucked underneath your pillow as you stared into the darkness beyond the edge of your bed.
You hadn’t seen Bucky for the rest of the day. His absence hinted that he must be in his apartment. You wandered by his door a couple of times, pausing outside. Once, you even got so far as to raise your hand to knock, but you didn’t. You chickened out. You worried the flare of protectiveness you exhibited earlier breached the boundaries of your friendship. The two of you were friendly, sure, but why would he want you to comfort him? More so, it was a wonder in itself Bucky wasn’t more wary of you in the first place. Your power, after all, was emotional manipulation. As someone who had spent decades not being in control of his own mind, you doubted he wanted you to be near him when he was feeling vulnerable. Especially when you even knowing that was an invasion in itself.
So, you had left. You were able to slip a word to Steve, though, requesting that he might want to check on his friend. He gave you a curious look, but didn’t ask for further details. He simply agreed to do so. You appreciated that about him.
Shaking the feeling that had lodged in the pit of your stomach wasn’t easy. Bucky’s guilt, his sadness, lingered in the crevices of your mind, haunting you like a bad dream. The anger you felt, however, wasn’t so easy to shake. It had been writhing, coiling into a knot in your stomach like a serpent for hours. You couldn’t forget the look of absolute deranged glee on that man’s face as he talked to Bucky, as he tortured him with calculated words. He took delight in it.
You sat up, freeing your legs from the confines of your blankets before swinging them over the edge of your bed. You stood, grabbing a sweatshirt from a nearby chair and pulling it over your head to cover your black tank top and most of the matching shorts you were wearing. You picked up your phone from your nightstand, squinting as the screen illuminated. 3:51 AM. Everyone should be in bed, but to place a wager on it would be foolish. Nearly half of the Avengers suffered from insomnia, manifesting in one way or another. As such, it wouldn’t be odd to see any of them wandering quiet halls in the dead of night.
Still, you tried to keep your movements hushed as you slipped out of your room. You drew your door closed slowly, turning the knob with careful fingers to ease the latch into its proper place. Damn super soldiers could hear everything.
You went for the elevators farthest from the private quarters, past the lounge you had been in earlier and closer to the main entrance of the Compound. It responded to your call almost immediately, inviting you in with a soft ding. You stepped in, turning toward the large screen that took residence where the buttons normally would be. You pressed your left thumb on the screen. After a second, it chirped in affirmation, and various buttons popped up. You pushed the one that would take you to the basement.
Most of the lights were off down there, aside from the dim night lights that seemed to provide ambiance more than actual illumination. But as you walked, the overhead fluorescents flickered on. FRIDAY almost knowingly lit your path, turning each light on just before you stepped beneath it, leading you all the way to the cells.
Petyr was in the same one he had been in earlier. He was sprawled out on his military-grade cot, hands tucked underneath his head. His eyes were closed, and from the deep, even rise and fall of his chest, you figured he was probably asleep.
You stood outside of his cell for a few moments, watching him. Then you glanced upwards. “FRIDAY, open this cell, please.”
“Of course,” she responded breezily.
The wall came down, and you stepped inside.
He started to rouse, a hand rubbing over his face. He sat up on his cot, blinking groggily as he looked around. His eyes stopped moving when they landed on you, a slow smile spreading across his face. “The pretty woman returns,” he said, pleased.
He stood up, approaching you with an easy, confident swagger. Stopping just in front of you, he grinned as he looked you over lewdly. “Do you have another gift for me, sweetheart?” he asked, raising a hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek.
He stopped before completing the motion, fingers hesitating against your cheekbone. His breath hitched in his throat, as if stuck there. His eyes, narrowed and greedy, closed briefly, and then burst open wide. He lurched backwards, away from you, a small, throaty yell ripping from his throat.
You moved forward as quickly as he did back, your bare hand wrapping around his wrist. His heels caught on the tile floor, causing him to fall back on his ass. Still, you hung on, essentially letting him drag you across the floor as he clamored away, moving back until he was stopped by the frame of his cot. There, he stopped, his chest heaving, eyes wide and searching, bottom lip trembling.
You crouched next to him. You rubbed your index finger over his pulse point, it thrumming frantically. The heaving breaths he took turned into short, stifling sobs. He pushed himself back yet further, the cot frame screeching against the floor until it hit the back wall of his cell, and refused to move any further.
With your free hand, you grabbed his jaw, nails digging into his face none-too-gently as you turned his head so he was facing you. It took a moment, but his eyes eventually focused on you. You saw tears gathering in the corners, and your upper lip lifted into a snarl.
“I want you to think about this moment,” you said softly, pleasantly. You stared at his terror-stricken face. Sweat had begun to bead on his forehead, a single droplet running from his hairline past his temple. “The constriction in your chest, your inability to catch your breath, the way your heart hammers as it pours adrenaline into your body.” His eyes had begun to dart from side to side again, and you weren’t even certain that he was paying attention to you - if he could even hear you. Still, you continued. “The way your heart rate is right now, it can only keep that up for a very short period of time before it just...gives out.” You rolled your shoulders in a shrug. “Unless you calm down, it’s really only a matter of time. And you won’t - unless I want you to.”
Tears had begun to leak from his eyes, mixing with the sweat now readily dripping down his face. Your nose scrunched as you inhaled the bile scent of urine. You released your grip on his wrist, but kept a hold of his face.
“If you so much as think about Bucky Barnes ever again, I’ll be back. I’ll hold your hand as your heart explodes in your chest.” You released his face with a shove, the back of his head hitting the metal frame of his bed with a clang. You straightened up, stepping around the puddle that had spread across the floor. You listened to the man’s sobs echoing down the hallway as you headed back to the elevators.
You learned that there was a planned bonfire for the team a couple of days later. You also learned that the Guardians were returning to Earth for a short time, thus the cause of the celebration. It was the most amount of people you’d seen in the private quarters of the Compound in over a year. Steve, Sam, and Bucky were even around for it, as was Tony and his family. Of course, he and Pepper made Morgan go to bed around 8, despite her attempts at trying to get out of it.
Creating the bonfire was, apparently, a large production. Everyone - Rocket, Quill, Thor, Tony - had a better idea on the best way to execute its construction, and thus everyone went about their own way to complete it. Honestly, you thought Thor won that particular competition when he simply pulled a tree out of the ground and threw it on the designated space.
It was fun. Despite the constant bickering and arguments, you could feel the relaxed easiness among them. Once it became dark enough, and they were able to get Thor’s tree on fire after considerable effort, the large group had more or less gathered around the flames. Jokes and lighthearted bantering were exchanged, the still night reverberating with laughter and loud conversation.
You loved it, but after a few hours, you drew away from the crowd, sitting on the back hatch of the Guardians’ ship. While physical contact was the easiest and most fault-free way of getting a taste of someone’s emotions, large groups like this tended to project much more strongly. The joy emanating from them was a stark contrast to what you had felt just a couple days ago from one man, but all the same, it could make you weary if you didn’t give yourself a break.
So you retreated, far enough away that you weren’t in the crossfire for the mass projection of emotions, but that you could still pick up on conversation if you strained a bit. You watched them, stories and jokes being exchanged, multiple conversations happening at once. But they were all happy. And it seemed like it had been a long time since that happiness was so glaringly obvious.
Someone sat next to you. You barely turned your head to see Wanda before you felt another presence on your opposite side. Vision. He wore a cashmere sweater and slacks - much too warm for the current weather - but you weren’t sure if temperature or body heat was even something he needed to contend with.
Wanda was more appropriately dressed, wearing an oversized Beatles t-shirt that swallowed her lithe figure and denim shorts. Neither one of them said anything to you, appearing to simply want to share the same space. Both were carefully situated so that they weren’t touching you.
“Mom, Dad, I swear I can explain,” you said after a few more moments of silence.
Both of them chuckled. Wanda drew her knees closer to her chest, wrapping an arm around them. She stared at the fire, the flickering lights dancing across her face. “Can I ask you something?” she inquired, her gaze still fixed ahead.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Why did you do it?” She asked.
You resisted the urge to sigh. No one had spoken to you about that night when you wandered into Petyr’s cell. You weren’t naive enough to think no one had noticed - if surveillance footage in the cell hadn’t been reviewed, you knew FRIDAY would have tattled to Tony. You had been expecting something to come of your questionable life choices, but no one had brought it up. You certainly hadn’t expected Wanda, of all people, to start the conversation.
“Am I grounded?” you asked. You watched the flames rise higher as they consumed the tree, flickers of hot ash rising and winking out of existence.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Vision stated, mannerly as always, “but if you’re worried about punishment, I do believe Mr. Wilson has bigger concerns than you making a serial killer cry and soil himself.”
Your lips twitched. Put like that, it was almost amusing. The memory replayed in your head, not for the first time since it happened. You could feel a glimmer of regret hiding somewhere in the confines of your mind, waiting to be properly acknowledged. Yet as much as you knew you should feel bad for what you had done, should consider the ramifications of manipulating someone’s mind in such a way (serial killer or not), you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel bad about it.
There was silence, again, hanging between the three of you until Wanda broke it again. “Reprisal isn’t normally your style,” she commented.
It wasn’t. And to use your powers in such a reckless way wasn’t like you, either. Normally, you were extremely careful. It’s why you didn’t like to be touched, or to touch others, why you had tan lines around your wrists from constantly wearing gloves and why the gloves in question wore out so quickly. You didn’t want to influence anyone. Over the years you had come to learn that sometimes, through direct physical contact, you could project your own feelings and emotions onto others just as you could receive them. It was helpful in your current line of work, but in general, day-to-day life, it just tended to be exhausting.
You knew Wanda understood. While her powers greatly overshadowed your own, she, too, was burdened with the power of influence. The two of you understood the magnitude of what your powers could cause unchecked. You shared that, and as such, when necessary, would check one another.
You clasped your gloved hands together, arms resting on your upright knees. “Bucky can’t help what happened to him,” you said, “what he did. But he carries the guilt for it all the same. He didn’t need some HYDRA leftover who learned everything about him through a Google search to remind him of it.” A weak excuse? Perhaps, but it was the only justification you had.
Neither one of them said anything.
“So how many of them know?” you asked.
“Oh, just everyone,” Wanda replied. “Apparently, FRIDAY had sent an alert to Stark when the man’s heart rate went through the roof. Almost everyone knew the night it happened.”
Not unexpected, but you still felt a pang of disappointment. You wondered if any of them thought less of you. “Does Bucky know?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Fuck.
You sat there a moment. “Do you think it was wrong?” you asked them. “To do what I did?”
They both seemed to ponder this question, but it was Vision who spoke first. “We will do almost anything to protect those we love.”
You cut him a sharp look, but he didn’t see it, as he was already standing. He reached out a hand for Wanda, which she took, and the two of them strode back towards the others. Wanda looked over her shoulder, giving you a parting wave with her free hand. You could barely make out the smug twist to her lips in the fire light. She laughed at the vulgar gesture you flashed her, turning back around as they immersed themselves back into the group.
You sat there for quite a while afterward. Alone, you took your gloves off, rubbing at the indentation they left on your wrists after extended wear. You watched everyone as they continued their antics, at some point a serious debate arising over the perfect way to roast marshmallows. Quill claimed to be the leading authority on such a process, but his marshmallow lit on fire during the demonstration. You were entranced by it, Quill frantically waving the lit stick around while the others had submerged into hysterical laughter.
That was probably why you didn’t notice Bucky sitting down.. But, in all honesty, he was also extremely quiet. Given his size, you weren’t sure how that was possible. Still, it wasn’t until he was already next to you that he caught you attention. You practically leapt out of your skin when he did.
He watched you, a touch of a smile on his lips.
After a moment, you settled back next to him. Careful, of course, to keep enough distance between the two of you. His vibranium arm was closest to you, however. You didn’t worry so much, then. You couldn’t accidentally read him if you touched his vibranium arm.
You expected him to say something, but he didn’t. He just watched the fire, as you had been. Under normal circumstances, his silence wouldn’t bother you. Most of your time together was spent in similar situations. But knowing that he knew made you uncomfortable. Was he angry with you? Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to you that Bucky might have not wanted you to act the way you did. You just submitted to your own selfish impulses.
As the silence continued to stretch out, the more uncomfortable you became. From the numerous glances you gave Bucky, you couldn’t see any physical signs of distress. His face was relaxed, truly relaxed. He wasn’t holding any tension in his jaw, the wrinkles that normally formed around his eyes and creased his forehead weren’t there. Of course, Bucky was a master of hiding his emotions, as you had experienced first hand the other night. He could be dying inside and no one would ever know.
“If I crossed a line,” you said finally, your voice hitching from nervousness, “I’m sorry.”
He looked at you then, and you felt yourself shrink underneath his gaze. It was a look Natasha often gave during interrogations - analytical, searching, perhaps a bit softer than her, but he was hunting for something. Apparently, he thought he might find the answer in your expression.
“Just surprised, I guess,” he said. He didn’t stop looking at you. The air felt incredibly still, tense. It hurt, almost, to draw breath in, as if it was no longer enough to supplement your lungs.
Bucky was incredibly attractive. There was no way to deny that. Hell, there seemed to be some secret rule that all men involved with the Avengers had to be drool-worthy. But there was something about Bucky, specifically, that entranced you. It could be the slope of his cheekbones, or the cut of his jaw, peppered with stubble. Even underneath the brown leather jacket and denim jeans he wore, he looked like he was cut from marble. A creation an artist would have wept to construct. But you thought, maybe, it was his eyes. Blue like the ice of a glacier, and guarded. Yet every time you locked eyes with him, there was something soft, kind, that lingered there. The fact you could still see it there, sense it, after everything he’s been through, probably surpassed everything else.
You weren’t stupid. You had caught quiet conversations among the others - between Steve and Sam, mostly. They worried about him. About the violence that always seemed to just linger within him, waiting for any opportunity to be released. Yet, you had never been afraid of him. You never could be.
“I got a read on you when he was speaking to you,” you explained. You saw him tense. “I’m sorry, I try so, so hard not to invade your privacy - anyone’s privacy - but when it’s intense emotions like that, they’re just like a projectile and I can’t deflect them.” You felt horrible about it, really. You had tried to control it, to add some kind of barrier so that those certain times when you could read without physical contact, that you wouldn’t. Little, if any, progress had been made in that endeavor.
“I could feel how horrible you felt, your guilt. And then he touched you like - like he owned you,” you went on, your voice lower, almost a growl, influenced by the anger rekindling in your stomach. “And I just - I wanted to make him pay for it.” You looked away from him then. You weren’t strong enough to physically see what reaction he might have. Would he be disgusted with you? Horrified? You didn’t want to know. “I’m so sorry that I invaded your mind, your feelings. But I’m not sorry for what I did to him.” It was difficult, to be that honest. It would be so much easier to just apologize for all of it, to claim you regretted doing it at all. But, you didn’t. And being the silly, infatuated woman you were, you promised yourself you would never lie to Bucky.
More silence. This was the longest you have ever talked to him before, although it was starting to feel you were more so talking at him. Bucky, obviously, was not expressive - verbally or physically. If you were brave enough to look at him, you might be able to pick up something. While your powers could eliminate all questions about someone’s feelings if you used them, you had picked up on the physical tells that usually accompanied those emotions. Natasha had taught you even more.
You stared at the fire, vaguely aware that now there were little fire balls being tossed around. Rocket was cackling, Tony was yelling, and Quill was threatening to murder someone. Probably Rocket. You sat back, hands bracing on the floor of the jet, watching the scene unfold. You half-expected Bucky to just get up and leave you, which honestly would be the least painful of possibilities.
Cool metal brushed against the side of your hand.
Slowly, so slowly, vibranium fingers slipped underneath your palm. Despite the chilled feel of the metal, warmth bloomed across your hand where he touched you. In your stomach. In your chest. It spread, warm and thick, throughout your entire body. Your heart was beating quickly, harshly, against your chest and you were convinced he could hear it.
You didn’t dare look, you could barely even breathe, as his fingers grazed against your skin. He moved them over the expanse of your palm, drifting up toward your first knuckles. He stretched the length of his fingers against yours before interlocking them. He applied gentle, but firm pressure, no mistaking the action as anything other than completely deliberate.
At some point, you gathered the courage to look at your hands. The fire light flickered against the black and gold vibranium, and small shadows danced over the back of your hand. His fingers were wrapped securely in between yours. You exhaled a stuttered breath, raising your gaze to meet Bucky’s.
He was examining you again. Looking at you like you weren’t real - a figment of his imagination. He didn’t look away from you as he shifted closer. You couldn’t, either. You were transfixed, stuck until he released you.
He lifted his other hand, bringing his fingers to brush against your cheekbone. Then his entire palm was resting against your face, thumb stroking lightly under your eye. He was pleasantly warm, the calluses on his hands scratching against your skin gently. You could feel his adoration for you, along with his desire. It felt much like your own, hanging between the two of you, threatening to snap.
Does he feel this way, or did you plant it?
The voice was sly, quiet. But it was the only full forming thought that echoed softly in your mind; everything else had been muddled by Bucky’s proximity, his emotions. It was enough to make your jerk away, out of his grasp. You stood up, smoothing your clothes, looking anywhere but his face. “I’m sorry,” you said. It seemed to be the only thing you could say. “I just - my powers…I don’t want to hurt you.” You gave up on trying to explain it, instead turning and using every ounce of restraint you had left to not just run back inside. Did anyone else see you go? You weren’t sure. You didn’t care.
Everyone still seemed to be outside at the bonfire, which made the building blessedly empty as you went back to your apartment. You shoved your door open, turning your lights on with a little more force than necessary as you walked into your living room. Sniffling, fighting the threat of tears, you took off your jacket and tossed it on the couch. You rubbed your temples, swearing you could feel a light prickle of pleasure where Bucky’s hand had touched your face.
Your door banged, and you whirled around. Bucky walked in, striding toward you with such determination you started backing away from him, until your back met the far wall of your living room. He didn’t stop moving toward you, even when he was so close. You held your hands up, as if in surrender. “Bucky, I-”
“Shut up, Y/N,” he said, exasperated. His body pushed against yours, pinning you firmly against the wall. Both hands framed your face. “I know what I want.” Then he kissed you. Hard.
His mouth moved almost bruisingly against yours. When you didn’t respond immediately, he bit your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from you. He took advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth, rubbing his against yours. His flesh hand slid from your face down to your jaw, thumb pressing underneath your chin to tilt your head back so he could claim more of your mouth.
Warning bells were ringing like sirens, the what ifs circling in your mind. But Bucky had sounded so sure, so firm in his conviction that you didn’t think you could question it again. One of your hands threaded into his hair, fingers dragging from the nape of his neck up the back of his head. Your other hand was pressed against his chest, fingers skimming his collar bone.
Eventually, the hardness of his mouth against yours faded some. He still kissed you, but much more softly than before. His frustrations had fizzled some, resulting in lighter touches, more exploratory than possessive. You wriggled some against him, your lungs beginning to burn from the lack of air. His hand was still holding your jaw, keeping you in place, and he responded to your thrashing by tightening his grip. A quick moment, a reminder, and then he let go.
You turned your head away from him, gasping desperately for air. Your chest heaved against his, and even though you knew he was panting also, his mouth painted a hot trail down the side of your neck. Bucky had a talented mouth. He sucked at your neck with a lazy confidence, using his teeth and tongue to work at making a mark near the base of your throat. You groaned against him, leaning your head back against the wall behind you.
When he was happy with it, he shifted backward, ever so slightly. At some point, he had gotten rid of his leather jacket. He reached behind him, pulling at the scruff of his black henley, removing it in one fluid movement and then tossing it somewhere in the room. He was back on you after that, his bare torso pressing against your clothed one as his hands settled on your hips. His fingers snagged in the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you closer.
“I want you to do the thing,” he said, his eyes fixed on yours. You could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth as he talked, his nose brushing against yours.
Your brows knit together in confusion. “What thing?”
He grabbed one of your hands, metal fingers clasping around your wrist as he lifted it. “Your power thing. Touch me.”
Your heart lurched. You realized, now, in that entire time Bucky was kissing you, you never got a read off of him. Not that you needed it, as he had been very clearly showing what he was feeling with his body. His mouth, which at this point you decided was just downright sinful, had distracted you quite well. But now, with the intention set, you balked.
Recognizing your hesitance, Bucky pulled your arm forward a bit, turning his head to press a kiss against the palm of your hand. You felt it, then, the desire that radiated off his lips and spread across your skin. Another kiss to the inside of your wrist. You sensed his reverence for you, his admiration. And a jolt of lust so strong it made you go weak in the knees. If Bucky didn’t already have you pinned against the wall, there was a definite possibility you would have just fallen to the floor.
“I’ve felt this way about you for a long time, babe. Before we were even properly introduced, before we shook hands for the first time. All of this, the way you make me feel -” he paused to press another kiss to the inside of your forearm. “- was seeded before you even thought you might have had something to do with planting it.”
A new burst of warmth radiated through your chest. You stared at him, almost helplessly. It was helpless. You were helplessly enraptured with the man. Putting your weight in the balls of your feet, you pushed yourself up so your lips could meet his again. His right hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, encouraging you.
“Can I show you how I feel?” You asked. Your voice sounded thick.
“Please,” he responded, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
You shifted against him a bit, barely having enough room to move at all, but you managed to get your hands in between the two of you. You traced your fingers against his chiseled torso, running them upward as you explored every plane, ridge, and scar. He stood still as you did this, certain muscles contracting under your touch. Your fingers over the scarring around his left shoulder, where skin met the dark metal. He didn’t pull away from your touch, and you pressed your mouth to the scars, your lips following its way up his shoulder.
You inhaled a deep breath, slightly shaky, and wrapped your arms around Bucky, fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders. You pressed your lips against his collar bone, and it was then you released the feelings humming inside your chest. How comfortable you had always been sharing his presence. You thought of the longing looks you had given him when he wasn’t watching, of the way you watched him whenever he stretched, of how you admired the roll of his adam’s apple in his throat as he swallowed. You remembered the anger you felt, watching that man touch him, how Natasha had grabbed your arm to keep you from intervening. And how you thought your heart would simply burst when he had held your hand.
Bucky made a deep, primal noise, one that came from low in his chest. It sent a hot wave straight to your core. His arm was around you then, hauling you off the ground while his other tangled in your hair, dragging your mouth back to his. He kept kissing you until he brought you into your bedroom, and all but threw you on the bed.
You landed on your back, bouncing lightly on the mattress. As he moved toward you, knees bracing on the edge of your bed, you started to slide yourself up toward the headboard. But his hand wrapped around your ankle, yanking you back.
He lowered himself on you, his weight on his forearms, which rested on either side of your head. He kissed you again, and you opened your mouth to him when he licked your bottom lip. Then he dipped his tongue between your lips, drawing a soft moan from your throat.
Your hands and mouths explored one another, finding spots that made you gasp, or better yet, moan. Bucky rid you of your shirt and bra, instantly mapping your newly revealed flesh with his lips, teeth, and tongue. Your back arched off the bed, one of your hands clasping the back of his head while the other grasped the bed sheets, the smooth fabric fisting in your fingers.
His mouth focused on your chest, tongue laving over your right nipple while he palmed your other breast with his vibranium hand. Despite all the power you knew his vibranium arm to have, his touch was surprisingly gentle and nimble. He squeezed your breast before rolling your nipple between cool fingers, tugging at it. His mouth worked love marks into your chest as he did so. You grabbed a fistful of hair, tugging on it to pull him back to your mouth.
He obliged, but his hand left your chest. You whined against him, and he responded with a throaty chuckle. He continued to kiss you while his hands tugged down your pants, shoving them until they rested around your thighs. Then his metal arm was between your legs, and you cried out as his fingers rubbed against your clothed core.
You bucked your hips, inhaling a sharp breath as he nipped and kissed along your jaw. He groaned at your soaked panties, his fingers brushing against the delicate fabric. Then, he dipped his fingers underneath, cupping your sex.
“Bucky, please,” you said, breathless. You rolled your hips against his hand, trying to convince him to just fucking touch you.
He smiled, pressing a light kiss beneath your ear. He seemed to be operating on his own timeline, however. Rubbing the heel of his palm against your clit just long enough to make you moan, he then draws his hand away.
“Bucky,” you hissed at him, and he laughed.
“Patience, love.”
You were about out of patience, frustrated by his aversion to touch you where you needed him to, and his obvious amusement about the whole thing. You shoved his shoulder, aiming to push him back on the bed. Of course, it gets you absolutely nowhere. Bucky’s brow arches, a sinful smirk tugging at his mouth as he stays on top of you. You scowled at him.
Fine.
You keep your eyes on his as you reach down between you. You don’t even bother to unbutton his jeans before you slip your hand down his front. You can feel his hot, hard member underneath his boxers. You rub him gently, smiling as Bucky’s composure slips.
His head hangs forward a bit, swallowing thickly. You pressed a soft, sweet kiss against his throat. Dragging your nails gently along the length of his shaft, your smile grows as he rolls his hips against your hand.
Then you pulled your hand away.
He lifts his head up, narrowing his eyes at you.
“Patience, love.”
He hummed, biting your earlobe and tugging gently. “Feeling spiteful?” he asked, an innocent tenor to his tone.
You watched him, suspicious, as he pressed a chaste kiss to your mouth before he slid down your body. He pressed kisses against your skin in his wake, working his way down to your navel. He lingered there a moment, nipping and sucking at the curve of your hips as he hooked his thumbs in the sides of your panties, pulling them down. He got rid of your underwear and pants, freeing your legs of both. Then his hands slipped between your thighs, encouraging them to fall open. He moved your legs so that they rested on his shoulders, turning his head to brush his stubble against the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh.
Your hips lifted of their own accord, seeking more contact. Bucky accommodated that request, kissing your skin, which was already blooming a red, irritated rash from his beard. He acquainted himself with you for the next couple of minutes. Curious fingers, brushing against you, sliding against and probing your hot sex. He was a thorough student; when he discovered a spot, or a motion, that made you moan, he lingered there, exploring further. When he finally - finally - touched you with his mouth, you all but cried at the feeling of it.
Where he found your most sensitive areas with his hands, he continued his assault with his mouth. Breathy praises fell from your lips as he tasted you, tongue sliding between your slick folds. He worked his way to your clit, his head moving from side to side as he pressed his tongue against your sensitive nerves.
If the world would have exploded around you, you never would have noticed. Your world now only consisted of you and Bucky. The more familiar he became with you, the more relentless he was. In a matter of minutes he had you writhing, your hips rolling in a desperate attempt to fuck his mouth as he worked you toward your orgasm. His tongue flicked over your clit while he submerged two fingers into your heat, pumping them in a fast, steady pace. He would curl them every so often, brushing against a delicious spot. Your back came off the bed, head thrust back into the mattress as you pulled on his hair desperately. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to continue or if you were trying to push him away, your body quickly becoming overstimulated.
It was too much. His fingers, his mouth, the lewd sounds of him suckling at your clit. Then he thrust his fingers into you, stronger than before, purposefully pressing them against that spot. His mouth fastened on your clit and he sucked.
You screamed, white hot warmth bursting from your core and sweeping over you. Wave after wave wrecked your body. Bucky rested his arm across your hips in an attempt to hold you still as he worked you through your orgasm. When you could finally breathe again, your back returning to the mattress, you ran trembling hands over your face. “God, you’re good at that.”
Bucky made a low noise, nuzzling your thigh.
You jerked, your heartbeat beginning to pick up again. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. Sly, blue eyes met your own. He shifted, pressing a kiss to your mound.
“I don’t think you’re done yet, Doll.”
With that, he returned his mouth to your aching clit, the sharp stab of pleasure making you gasp. You’d barely recovered from your first orgasm. It was too much, too soon, as he continued to work you toward another. You tried to scramble away from him, but his arm simply pressed on your hips, trapping you.
You exhaled in a sob as Bucky administered the most savage pleasure ever inflicted upon your body. Your heels dug into the hot skin of his back. Praises and curses fell from your lips in equal measure as he put your aching, hypersensitive body through a second orgasm. You thought your heart might erupt out of your chest, euphoria coursing through you a second time. Bucky watched as your eyes rolled into the back of your head.
When you became aware of your surroundings, your body, again, you felt wet kisses against your abdomen. Bucky glanced up at you as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on your sternum, his mouth twitching into a satisfied smirk.
You lay there, lack limbed, as he continued to kiss your sweat-slick skin. He worked his way back up to you, and when your lips met you could still taste yourself on him. Your hands moved in his hair, tugging at the tresses. You felt his bare thigh between both of yours, and you realized he must have divested himself of his clothing while you had still been trapped in your post-orgasmic haze. His cock pressed against the inside of your thigh, and you whimpered.
“You still feeling spiteful?” he asked, “Or did I fuck it out of you?”
“Technically, you haven’t actually fucked me yet,” you retorted, short gasps coming between your words. A bit overconfident, perhaps, considering he completely wrecked you with just his mouth. Still, you reached down, your fingers circling around his shaft and stroking him.
The cocksure look on his face faltered, eyes fluttering shut. You drew a low groan from his chest as you guided him to your entrance. He ground his hips against yours, rubbing his cock against your slick, swollen pussy. He entered you, then, slowly pushing himself forward until he was fully seated. You were already moaning, your hands grabbing his shoulders for purchase.
Once he thought you had enough time to adjust, he snapped his hips forward. You tilted your head back, but Bucky grabbed your chin. “No,” he said, his voice low and rough, “I want you to look at me.”
The thought occurred to you that Bucky made an awful lot of demands. You considered telling him as much, but he twisted his hips in such a way that every single thought just disappeared from your mind. He set a slow pace, hips rolling against yours as he attached his mouth to your neck. You went back to learning one another. Bucky found out embarrassingly quickly that your throat was especially sensitive. He drew several gasps and moans as he marked you. When you dragged your nails down his back, his hips stuttered mid thrust, and he said your name like a desperate prayer.
The build was slow, but you both became increasingly desperate for release. You were wrapped around him, arms and legs latched to him as his hips slammed into yours. He had reduced you to nothing but throaty moans. Somehow, he had that pleasure building in your core again, increasing with each thrust. But he’d already pushed you over the edge twice; you wanted to watch him fall apart.
Panting, you lifted yourself up a bit, so your mouth was next to his ear. “Please, Bucky,” you whispered.. “I want to feel you come inside me.” You could see his body shiver, and he looked down at you, pupils blown wide. “I want to be yours.”
That seemed to do it. His thrusts were hard, but sloppy, increasingly so as the pressure building seemed to overtake him. He shuddered, hips grinding desperately into yours, and then you felt his release, coating your walls as you clenched around him. He screamed your name, and that was enough to trigger your release as well.
Bucky collapsed onto you, though you noted he held himself up with his vibranium arm so as to not completely crush you. He kissed you, gentle and loving, before he pulled out of you and laid at your side. You turned to face him, brushing away some beads of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. He grabbed your hand, kissing your palm. You smiled, and then giggled.
He raised his eyebrows, looking at you. “What?”
“Didn’t really realize I had a crush on a sex god this entire time. I really lucked out.”
Bucky laughed. A deep, pleasant sound, and one that you didn’t hear often enough. You snuggled closer to him, lips brushing against his shoulder as you draped your leg over his waist. You thought about the events that had unfolded the past few days. This is certainly not where you thought you were going to end up when you terrified Petyr within an inch of his life.
Resting your cheek on his shoulder, you stared at the planes of his chest, tracing small circles over his skin. He was content, happy even. Your hand stopped, and you shifted away from him.
“Whoa, whoa.” An arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to him. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I was just, um, backing up a little.” You bit your lip, looking at him helplessly. “Now that I’m not being fucked into oblivion, I’m getting reads from you again,” you explained quietly. Your own pleasure, and perhaps that of Bucky’s, had kept your powers from getting intrusive. But now, in the quiet, they were beginning to return.
Bucky yanked you back against him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Good,” he said, yawning. He shifted a bit, settling himself in your bed.
“Good?” you repeated, confused.
He yawned again, his eyes closing. He turned his head towards you slightly, and your eyes focused on his lips when he talked. “From what it sounds like, you’re just going to have constant reminders that I like you, that you make me happy,” he said. “And, if I can guess, I can just touch you and you’ll know when I’m ready to fuck you senseless.” He opened his eyes, grinning. “We’re gonna have fun with this, Doll.”
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