Come to bed Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, winter solider stuff etc. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 1/3 4600 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Sometimes you go months without this happening, and sometimes it's too cold.
Y/N curls over in the bed, arms reaching out, still half drenched in sleep as she searches for the body that’s usually tightly pressed against her. All she finds is cold sheets- the absence of him jars her awake, eyes blinking in the dark as she shifts over into the empty space.
“Bucky?”
When no reply comes, she finds herself squinting at the bathroom, the door is open a crack, but no light is coming from inside. It’s dark. She turns to her night stand and sees her clock ticking slowly, it’s 3am, it’s winter, and it’s pitch black outside.
Worry bites at her core.
“Bucky?” she tries again, her voice gritty with sleep, “Where-”
Her hands slip down past the edge of the bed, she’s searching for the switch on the wall that might bring some light into the space, but she freezes when she feels a warm body beneath her palm.
“Sweetheart”
The man is kneeling on the ground, back stiff against the mattress, head hanging forwards towards his legs. He doesn’t reply to her voice, or to her touch. He stays still, unmoving and silent, even as she drags her body across the sheets so that she’s closer to him, so that she can run her hands across his arm without stretching.
“Come to bed-” Y/N coos, trying not to startle him “’s too cold to stay down there.”
Cold is an understatement. It’s mid November, and the air is frosty, despite the way the heat has been cranked up all month.
Bucky shifts a little, her calm tone bringing him out of his half-unconscious daze. He doesn’t know why he’s on the floor. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t slipped under the covers, when he’d first come up to their room, 7 hours ago.
“…It’s, it’s too cold.”
Y/N feels her brow furrow at his words. At the way he’s repeating her own, with a voice that’s confused, and cracking, and quiet.
“I know” she agrees, “Come here, Buck- Let’s warm you up”
His head moves slowly, like he’s scared of what he might see when he finally stops staring down at the gap between his thighs.
Soft hands are on his neck, they’re slipping round to his chest, and he can’t help but lean into them, into the heat of them.
“Warm me up?”
That sounds like a question, or a request- It makes her chest ache tightly, especially when he finally starts to move, whole body curling round so that he can face her from his knees.
His eyes are wide, he’s staring at her from behind strands of hair.
She nods, reaching over to stroke his cheek.
Bucky flinches, like he’s expecting a slap, like he’s expecting anything other than his lovers palm providing comfort against his face.
Her heart breaks, as he shivers against her, barely daring to move now that he’s facing her.
“Nobodies going to hurt you, solider” she promises calmly, “do you know where you are?”
His brow tightens again, he squints before shaking his head a fraction.
“I-it happens, sometimes-” Y/N hears him confess, “-I- I can’t remember.”
She nods in the dark, hand dropping to his chest again.
“That’s alright.”
“Do you require a mission report?” his tight voice asks- she can’t help but think he sounds awfully nervous, especially when his gaze flicks down to the ground, again.
“No” He hears her reply, “You’ve done well, I know you have, don’t worry ‘bout that.”
He seems to like that. He relaxes a fraction, he breathes a little more deeply, despite the way he’s still fighting the urge to tremble from the cold.
“Come here” Y/N insists, patting the mattress that’s close to his face, “It’s alright.”
Bucky blinks suspiciously at the covers, it feels like a trick. He’s not supposed to use things like that, but the woman who’s talking to him feels safe. She feels familiar, and she- she must be his handler, she’s the only other person here- he doesn’t want to disobey.
She tilts her head as he shuffles forwards on the ground, pressing his chin against the spot where her hand had been just a few second before.
He looks at her hopefully.
It’s so endearing that she can’t help but smile, even though her heart is breaking in her chest.
It’s like he’s a frightened animal, like he’s a cornered stray that’s torn between running and being well behaved in the hopes of getting fed.
She knows he’s scared, deep down. She knows he’s cold, and more than a little lost.
Her hands snake out slowly, so he won’t mistake her as a threat.
He tenses as her fingers card his hair back, away from his face. He bends with the movement, until his whole cheek is flush against the bed, his eyes still trained on hers.
“You’re very cold” Y/N muses quietly, “You’re not dressed, you should come to bed.”
Bucky stays silent. He is cold. He’s very cold, and he is undressed. Scars throb across the surface of his skin, the usually soft carpet is harsh against his knees.
He doesn’t know why he’s wearing what he is. He doesn’t know how long he’s been poised on the ground anymore.
It’s not his concern. He does what he’s told. That’s all he knows for sure.
Y/N pulls back the sheets, knowing he needs something firmer than a suggestion.
“Come on” she tells him softly, “Lie down here for me.”
That’s an order.
His joints scream as he finally unfolds, as he stands in the dark.
Y/N looks up at the looming silhouette, before she moves over to give him enough space to sit down beside her.
“Here?”
He’s glancing at the bed like it’s dangerous. Like it’s going to harm him somehow.
“Mhmm” she hums calmly, “Here.”
Bucky is terrified as he obeys. As he lets himself lie flat on the soft, padded surface.
He’s stiff, it’s unnatural, and his back is aching from the sudden change in position.
Heavy fabric sheets cover his front, they’re warm, and they smell like lavender, they smell good, even though he can’t place why.
It’s all very strange.
He swallows bile as he tries his best to not shake- the tension is starting to leave his body, he can feel his muscles twitching, it reminds him of being de-thawed post cryo- it reminds him of waking up in agony, alone and afraid and awaiting instructions.
“Are you comfortable?” Y/N asks carefully, not knowing how else to phrase the question, “do you need anything?”
“I…” The soldier hears himself start to reply, “I don’t need anything.”
His voice is soft, it’s breathy and unstable.
Y/N turns over to face him, she can barely make out his features, with the way he’s looking up at the ceiling, but she knows his eyes are open, she knows his brow is tight.
“Are you comfortable?” she asks again, “speak freely, solider.”
Bucky inhales before he tenses, again.
“No, ma’am” he whispers, “I’m in pain.”
Her heart shatters. Her chest is tight, tears sting behind her eyes.
“Where?” she asks him gently, “where are you in pain?”
He’s nervous. He knows he has no choice but to answer, and answer honestly, but it’s dangerous. People who ask him about his physical condition, about his injuries, or how he’s feeling usually do so with bad intentions. With mockery or the desire to worsen his situation, somehow.
“… Everywhere.”
Oh, god.
Y/N takes a second to reign herself back in, too push back against the hollow sickness that’s settled in her core.
“Come here?” she murmurs, “Come closer, please.”
Panic rushes over Bucky’s chest. His metal arm tenses, the plates sliding down to lock together with a dull mechanical thud.
It’s going to happen. They’re going to hurt him, again. He shouldn’t have said anything, he shouldn’t have moved.
Disobedience has never been worth the risk, though, and he knows better than to question things. He knows that makes it worse.
He locks his jaw, he readies himself for, well, anything really.
Y/N watches him roll onto his side to face her. His eyes are screwed shut. He’s cradling his own chest in a way that is totally protective.
“Look at me” she requests quietly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I’m not going to hurt you.
He’s heard that before. He’s heard it being said to him, with malice and venom more often than he can count. But this is different.
Blue eyes blink open, and even in the dark she can see the remnants of something traumatised behind them, she can see something caged and frightened hiding in his gaze, and even with the way he’s gritting his teeth, she can see the way he’s trying not to ask for mercy.
“I’m not going to hurt you” he hears her repeat, with the same earnest kindness as before, “I promise.”
Bucky’s nostrils are flaring as he fights to inhale and exhale.
I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you.
The air is icy in his lungs. It’s burning the back of his throat. His skin is still throbbing.
“Can you show me?” Y/N whispers carefully, reaching out to where his metal hand is locked around his own rib cage, “can you show me where it hurts the most?”
He can’t ignore her. He can’t pull his eyes away from hers- there’s something about her face he likes, there’s something about her that he trusts, despite every instinct he has imploring him to not.
Slowly, his arm moves, vibranium fingers hover by her hand, and they stay there, until she bringers her palm over and above them.
He guides their hands down, first, to his knees.
They’re on fire. The skin is red-raw and grazed from the time he’s spent like a statue on the floor.
“It’ll heal soon” he offers helpfully, not wanting to earn a punishment for having injured himself, “I don’t stay damaged for long.”
Those words aren’t his own. Y/N knows he’s parroting things he’s heard others saying about him, but she nods anyway, so that he knows that she’s listening, so that he might gain the courage to speak more confidently.
His arm groans as he moves it upwards, leading her hand over to his chest.
There’s a deep set gash there, it’s long healed, now. It’s been decades, since he’d received it, from a punishment somewhere in Siberia.
But it’s pulsing from the cold, every beat of his heart making the pain splinter out from it, cramping the muscles beneath.
He doesn’t linger there long nor does he comment on the nature of the wound- he doesn’t want to explain what he did to earn it, he’s not totally sure he remembers the original transgression anyway, he just knows what the officers he belonged to did, in order to ensure he’d never do it again.
Y/N sighs as he silently reaches over to the scar that is tight against his shoulder.
“Is this the worst?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
Bucky nods, silently.
Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.
He’s panicking, despite the way he’s still. His thoughts are frantic and desperate, and even though he knows better than to ask for leniency out-loud, he can’t help but plead for compassion in his head.
Her hand falls to the tender flesh, and he withdraws his arm with a final, grating whirl.
He cradles his waist again, he braces himself to feel something terrible.
“Oh, sweetheart” Y/N can’t help but sigh, “we need to figure somethin’ out, you’ve gotta’ start sleepin’ with it covered, at least whilst it’s so cold out.”
Bucky feels his brow furrow. He doesn’t know what she means, but he feels like they’ve had this discussion before.
No. He scolds internally. He doesn’t have discussions. He does what he’s told.
“I… I don’t want to?” Y/N hears him ask, voice laced with fear and confusion, “I-I should do what I’m told- I… I should do what you tell me.”
She shakes her head as she flattens her palm out, over the edges of his scar.
He whimpers at her touch. At the heat of her skin against the thin band of skin which is stinging against cold metal plates.
The sound horrifies him. He tightens his jaw, despite the burn it causes. He braces for a slap, he feels his stomach clenching in poorly concealed terror.
“Shhh” Y/N soothes, knowing he’s already regretting the audible expression of pain, “nothings going to hurt you, Bucky, It’s okay.”
He feels a cry trying to erupt past his lips as the woman who’s now close under the covers, presses down against his skin.
All that she hears is a barely there groan, but she can’t help but apologise anyway.
Her fingers are soothing the area with fleeting points of pressure- Her touch is hot, it’s soft and gentle and he can tell from the tentativeness of her movements that she’s not trying to harm him.
It doesn’t make any sense.
He exists to be hurt, to be trained and used and stored.
Why is she being gentle? Why is she being careful? Why is she hushing him so sweetly?
Why? Why? Why?
“You don’t hurt me” Y/N hears him realise, “You… You take care of me?”
She beams at him in the dark. She lets her body inch towards his, again.
Bucky hisses in a breath, the heat from her is nice. It’s tempting, it’s so tempting for him to relax into her hand but he can’t- He can’t let himself move an inch.
“I do” She tells him softly, “and you take care of me.”
The solider feels his head starting to throb, but he’s unsure if it’s just because the pain in his body is fading, leaving room for that to capture his attention.
“I take care of you” Bucky murmurs, looking over at her for the first time since her hand had met his scar, “I take care of you.”
Recognition flickers across his face. It’s uncertain, it’s buried deep, but it’s there.
He looks a fraction less afraid, he lets his teeth unlock, and he allows a gasp to leave his lips as she rubs a particularly tender area at the back of his arm.
Lavender. Bucky thinks he can smell it again, it’s not just on the sheets- it’s in the air around him, it’s, it’s nice- he, he likes it.
“I Like you.” He announces suddenly, eyes trained in on her face.
Y/N feels her chest flutter at his words. She eases up on her massage and lets her free hand roll up, to stroke his cheek.
He’s anxious, but as her palm softens on his face he relaxes into the contact.
It’s for stability, rather than punishment. It’s familiar, and safe and kind.
“I like you, too”
She watches him blink, confused.
“…me?”
“Yeah” he hears her chuckle, quietly, “Yeah, Bucky- You.”
“Bucky?”
“It’s your name, sweetheart.”
The soldier squints, memories prodding at his vision, it sounds right. It is his name. Or it, it was his name, a long time ago.
“It’s my name, now?” He checks, unsurely.
Y/N nods, stroking the deep set bruise under his eye.
“It’s always been your name-” she tells him calmly, “-but, yes, it’s your name now, we're allowed to use it”
He’s unconvinced, but he finds himself leaning into her touch a little more openly. He’s not as afraid of correction anymore, he doesn’t know why, but, he no longer believes that she’d harm him.
“…you like me?” Y/N hears him ask, “…why?”
“because…” she murmurs, leaning across to peck against his brow “you’re lovely.”
He gasps again, this time it’s relieved, it’s light and anxious, and as his eyes drop shut at the affectionate gesture, he can’t help but let his hips move out towards her.
“Do you feel any better?” she wonders, feeling the way that his body is slowly starting to warm up beside her own.
“… ‘m still cold…”
Even Bucky is surprised that he’s been so bold in his admission. It feels dangerously like he’s complaining, like he’s asking for his condition to be worsened in order for him to learn a lesson about gratitude, but before he can worry too much, the woman before him speaks,
“Still?” she whispers, concerned.
He hums gently, barely daring to say anything else. He knows he’s pushing his luck, already.
“Come’ere”
Her hands move across to his back, she guides him in towards her front.
Bucky doesn’t fight, he moves willingly into her arms, he feels his muscles unfurling as she helps him lower his cheek to her chest.
His knees are still stinging, and his scar is angry and throbbing, but as the rest of body gives a pathetic shiver, he can’t help but feel pleased with the way their bodies are now touching, underneath piles of covers.
“…Th-Thank you”
Y/N shakes her head, feeling him reaching out to hold her waist.
They fit together like puzzle pieces. The arrangement is practiced, it’s natural, and Bucky releases that the way his limbs are moving, entangling themselves with her, is almost utterly involuntary.
“It’s alright, sweetheart” she soothes, “You’ll feel better soon, just breathe.”
He nods. He already feels less rigid, less like an object and more like a person, that makes it either for him to obey, to suck deep lungfuls of air in past his lips, before expelling it though his nose.
“This is why” he mumbles, “This is why I don’t want to wear clothes in bed?”
Y/N chuckles silently, she nods, and kisses his head again.
“This is why” she agrees, “But, it’s too cold, Bucky- especially if you’re not always’ gonna be in the bed”
He doesn’t understand.
“Why… why was I out of bed?”
“I don’t know” Y/N tells him honestly, “You were going to follow me in, I guess you fell asleep on the couch.”
“I wasn’t on the couch” He whispers, remembering the way he’d been frozen and still on the floor, “…did, did I do something wrong?”
He’s not even close to being back to himself yet. She knows he’s still teetering on the edge of a strange half-state, and she’s seen him like this before. It’s not really a stretch for her to think, that he might be worried about having been in trouble, especially when she notices the way his back is taught again, shoulder blades pulling together.
“No-” She promises, “You did great, don’t worry”
That settles him a little. He nods, before letting his eyes close, again.
Y/N works at soothing him further, she hugs him, letting her palms snake up to his back, she can feel the pulsing his scars as she traces them, she can feel the pounding of his heart when she stills her palm on his spine.
“what’s your name?” she hears him murmur, voice tainted with self doubt and fear, “do… do you have one?”
He’s asking if he should call her ma’am. Y/N knows he is, she knows he’s risking the consequences, to find out how much liberty he’s allowed to take when addressing her, and that alone makes her hold him tighter to her front.
“Y/N” she whispers, “My name’s Y/N, but you usually call me, doll.”
Doll.
Flashes of her face flicker behind his eyelids. She’s beautiful- She’s smiling- She’s laughing and talking to him- God, his head hurts- it’s throbbing and splintering as he’s bombarded by images of different lifetimes. He sees friends, and a plane, he feels fingers in his hair, and they’re soft and kind, but then suddenly, they’re harsh and they’re tugging him across hard, dirt ground. He’s falling- He’s running- he’s dancing.
He clings to her tighter.
Y/N notices the way he’s starting to pant, she feels the way he’s tensing again as he tries to bury himself into her chest.
Guilt claws at her core, she knows she has to be careful with him when he’s like this. She knows it’s easy to throw him off, when he’s so glaringly vulnerable, and he’s clearly too close to the edge.
“Don’t worry about that” she tells him calmly, “Just get some rest”
Bucky barely hears her.
He’s pining, he’s grasping at memories that are sepia and drenched in loss .
His reality is suddenly malleable, it’s not solid, or definite and he’s terrified.
He doesn’t know where he is, or when, he is or, god, he doesn’t know what he is, anymore.
Being a weapon, seems the most likely, it’s the answer that has had the most enforcement over the years- he’s an asset, a solider, a killer- but, he’s awake, he’s clutched up against Y/N’s chest, she’s hushing him, she’s asking how he’s feeling, and that doesn’t seem right at all.
“I… I’m unstable” he says, “I.. I need to be wiped.”
Y/N screws her eyes shut, she shakes her head and strokes his back, again.
She knows those words aren’t his own, she knows he’s gone back to echoing lines he’s heard being said about himself, but that doesn’t make it any less tragic.
“You need to sleep”
“I…” he grumbles, “…sleep?”
“Yes” Y/N coos, “Bucky, you’re tired, you need to sleep.”
His brow creases, he’s less cold now, his body is flush against hers, and he can feel the way she’s stroking his skin. It’s nice. He feels like maybe he stands a chance at being safe, for a while.
“I was sleeping” he realises slowly, memories of himself, sprawled out on a soft surface, tucked under a thin blanket snaking out into his consciousness, “I- I was on the couch.”
“That’s fine” Y/N is quick to assure him, “You can sleep where you want”
“I… I woke up” she hears him continue, “I… I had a bad dream”
It’s suddenly very clear. Bucky remembers being thrown out onto the snow covered ground. He remembers the feeling of boots colliding with his jaw, with his ribs, and his chest and his throat. He remembers crying, and begging, but no sound leaving his lips, until he was suddenly sat upright and sweating alone in a dark room.
Was it a dream? He hopes it was, or is this the dream?
He shakes his head, he huffs out a breath and tries to assure himself that he’s okay, that he’s not going to wake up and find himself locked in a room, or strapped to a chair with his mouth wired shut to stop him from making a sound.
“Sweetheart” Y/N coos, unable to hold back the sympathy in her voice at the thought of the man she loves waking up alone and afraid in the adjacent room, “It’s okay, you’re home now-”
“Home?-” he questions, as quiet as a breath, “-I-I have a home?”
Her mouth opens to answer him, but the words die in her throat. She can’t bring herself to try and explain to him that he’s forgotten about the life they’ve built, she can’t stomach the thought of him not believing that it’ll all come back to him soon.
She nods, silently, and kisses the top of his head, inhaling the smell of his shampoo, as she urges herself to stay calm, to remember that this isn’t even close to the first time his memory has slipped like this.
“I’ve upset you?” He asks suddenly, his head pulling back a little so that he can see her face, “Doll”
She doesn’t try and stop him from staring at her face, she just tilts her head as he brings flesh fingers up to cup her cheek.
Affection and recognition surge through his body, the second his skin meets hers. He gasps quietly, as understanding mixes with the aforementioned emotions leaving his head reeling as he fights to piece together the events of the night. Nothing fits together properly, yet, but at least now he knows that it will. He’s been through this before, and every time he has, the fact that the woman he loves has been holding him when he comes round is unchanged.
He can’t help but think she looks sad, and that breaks his heart.
“No… No, Bucky, Don’t worry about that, I’m not upset, it’s okay-”
Her voice is quiet, but stable. He’s still watching her, fingers tracing the outline of her face in the darkness of the room.
“…Did… Did I forget you, doll?”
Y/N blinks, surprised and watches him chew his lower lip whilst he waits for her response.
“I don’t know” she tells him honestly, “I don’t think so, not, not completely.”
He nods, lowering his hand to her neck.
“I remember you now” Bucky promises, “I love you.”
Y/N smiles, she exhales long and slow and reaches over to guide his head back down to her body.
“I love you too” she mumbles, when he finally relaxes back into position, a mild tremor wracking his chest at the adjustment “Are you still cold?”
“a little”
That confession makes her brow crease unhappily, she knows how fragile his mind can be, she knows how hard he’s trying.
“We need to let Tony look at the plumbin’” she murmurs, reaching out of the cocoon of their blankets to pull them closer towards his neck, “we’ve got the only suite in the tower that stays this cold in the winter- it's because we're so high up.”
“I- I don’t wanna’ bother him” he murmurs, even though he’s not totally certain of why, “I- I don’t want to ask him to look?”
He’s asking, now. Y/N knows he’s unsure. So she nods, reaching down to touch his skin again. “You don’t have to” she says, “I’m going to ask.”
“Now?” he bursts, clearly concerned, “please don’t go—“
“No, sweetheart. Tomorrow.”
Bucky gulps at that, at the kind woman’s assurance, and the renewed feeling of her fingers tracing lines across his spine.
“Well-” Y/N amends, “-Later today.”
The man that she’s cradling stays silent for a while after that. He’s still, too, and he seems content with his position, until he shifts a little, nose bumping against her collar bones as he tries to gain her attention,
“you okay?-” she asks, voice groggy from the way she’d almost slipped back down into sleep, “-you need somethin’?”
Bucky makes himself inhale. He tries to draw strength from the certainty he has in regards to his feelings for her, as he readies himself to speak.
“… Do, Do I have permission to stay here?”
“Bucky” Y/N coos, “Of course you do”
He sniffs, he nods, and stays still. The confidence in her answer is strange to him, but he’s grateful all the same. He’s grateful to be allowed to remain in her arms, for as long as he can.
“You know you don’t have to ask me for permission, right?”
Bucky’s eyes screw shut, he shakes his head a little, he doesn’t know, he realises, he doesn’t know that at all.
“‘m sorry” he croaks, “I-I don’t, I- I don’t know anythin’ other than you, I- I know I love you, Y/N- I remember you, and- and - I- I”
She hushes him softly, drawing him back down into her embrace.
“Okay” he hears her whisper, breath warm against his brow, “That’s okay.”
“It-It, I- I’m not sure ‘bout anythin”
Y/N nods at his admission, she knows how jarring this must be.
“‘bout anythin’ other than you”
“Well” she coos, “that’s alright, because ‘m not goin’ anywhere, and we’ll sort the rest out once you’ve gotten some rest.”
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