Reader gets overwhelmed with life—nothing big just work and friends and life—and hides in Bucky. And he just holds her, happy to be her peace.
this was so soft
----------
It wasn’t any one thing. Not a fight. Not a deadline. Not some grand life crisis.
Just a hundred little things pressing at your ribs until it was hard to breathe.
Your inbox had tripled overnight. A friend texted about dinner plans you didn’t have the energy to keep. Your laundry pile looked like it might unionize if ignored any longer. Every voice, every ping, every obligation was suddenly too loud. Too much.
You shut your laptop, leaned back in your chair, and stared at the ceiling. The hum of your apartment felt unbearable. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.
You didn’t cry—not really. But that quiet, trembling ache just sat there in your chest, and the only thing you could think was I can’t do this today.
Your phone buzzed again. A message from Bucky.
hey doll, on my way back from the gym. need anything?
You hesitated. Typed no, I’m fine. Deleted it. Typed maybe just you. Deleted that too.
Then finally:
can you come over? please?
You didn’t need to say more. He didn’t ask.
Twenty minutes later, there was a soft knock. You opened the door, and there he was—sweats, hoodie, hair still damp from the shower. You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until his eyes met yours.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
You didn’t answer. You just stepped forward.
He caught you easily, like he’d been ready for it, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other smoothing up the back of your neck. You buried your face in his chest, in that familiar mix of soap and cedar and something purely him.
For a while, there were no words. Just his steady heartbeat under your ear.
You felt him breathe out against your hair. “Rough day?”
You nodded. The movement made your throat sting.
“Want to talk about it?”
You shook your head.
“Okay,” he murmured, no hesitation, no push. “Then we won’t.”
He guided you backward until you were on the couch, still holding you close. You climbed into his lap without thinking, knees tucked on either side of his hips, arms wrapped around his neck.
Bucky’s metal hand slipped under the hem of your sweater, fingers tracing lazy patterns against your spine. It wasn’t even sexual—just grounding. Solid. Safe.
You stayed like that, the city noise fading somewhere far below the window.
He rubbed slow circles into your back, the low rumble of his voice breaking the silence. “You do that thing again,” he whispered.
“What thing?”
“Where you carry the whole damn world until your shoulders give out.”
You tried to smile, but your lips trembled. “Didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. “You don’t have to explain, sweetheart. You just get tired. It’s okay.”
You felt something in you unspool then. The tension you’d been clinging to like armor. The pretense that you were fine.
“I just—” your voice cracked. “Everything feels… loud. Like even little things are too much.”
“Hey,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “Then we’ll make it quiet for a while.”
He reached behind him for the throw blanket and pulled it over you both. The weight of it made you feel small in the best way—contained. Protected.
He didn’t ask about work or friends or the hundred things stacked in your head. He just shifted until you were lying fully on him, your cheek against his chest. His heart was steady, his body warm, and every breath you took lined up with his.
You traced the seam of his hoodie absently. “You don’t get tired of this?”
“Of what?”
“Me. Falling apart.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “Doll, you think I don’t do the same thing?”
You tilted your head. He was looking at you with that soft, heavy-lidded kind of affection that made your stomach flip. “You do?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just not like this. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the night. Sometimes it’s after a nightmare, or when the grocery store’s too crowded. I just… shut down for a bit.”
“And then what?” you whispered.
“Then I find you.” His hand tightened gently at your waist. “Because you’re my quiet place.”
Something in your chest ached at that. You leaned up just enough to kiss him—slow, sweet, not asking for anything but closeness.
When you pulled back, he smiled against your lips. “See? Not so bad, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly. “You’re such a sap.”
“Only for you,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Always for you.”
The world stayed small for the rest of the night. Just the two of you, the dim glow from the lamp, the sound of rain starting against the window.
At some point he coaxed you into eating—toast and honey, tea in your favorite mug. He rubbed your shoulders while the kettle boiled, kissed the back of your neck, whispered little things like you’re doing good, sweetheart.
You didn’t talk about the pile of emails or the unanswered texts or the dishes still in the sink. You just let him take care of you.
And later, when you were back on the couch, wrapped in his hoodie now instead of your own, you said quietly, “Thank you.”
He looked down at you, brow furrowed like he didn’t understand. “For what?”
“For this.” You gestured vaguely at the two of you. “For not needing me to be okay all the time.”
Bucky’s voice was soft but sure. “That’s not your job, doll. Being okay. You don’t owe the world constant sunshine.”
You felt tears sting your eyes again—but they were gentler this time, like the pressure had finally broken.
He kissed your temple. “You can hide here as long as you need. I’ll always be right here.”
“I know,” you whispered, nestling closer.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I like it when you do.”
By the time the rain stopped, you were half asleep against him, breathing even, fingers curled in the fabric over his chest.
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t dare. He just watched the slow rise and fall of your body, brushed his thumb over your cheek, and smiled—soft and a little sad.
He’d fought his whole life to quiet the noise in his own head. But this—holding you while the world spun too fast outside—this was peace he never thought he’d get to keep.
You mumbled something in your sleep, shifting closer, and his heart clenched.
He pressed a kiss to your hair. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I got you.”
And he did.
For once, neither of you had to be anything but safe.
