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“So,” Steve drags the word out, a wide grin stretching his bearded face. Bright blue eyes glimmering with a heady combination of excitement and anticipation. “You think she’ll like it?”
You tap your finger on your bottom lip and circle the table, eyeing the moving toy with a haughty air.
“Hmm,” you say, not giving anything away.
“Aw cmon.” Steve bounces on his heels, reaching out to tap the button on its back. The cat’s mouth opens and out comes a stilted but adorable Jamie you’re my best friend. “That’s nice right?”
You shrug one shoulder, muttering a nonchalant huh, I guess, concealing your pride as you study the talking cat.
Steve’s head drops back. “You’re killing me.”
The sound of his frustrated groan breaks through your facade and you dissolve into laughter. His eyes snap to your face and he grins, shaking his head. “I knew you liked it.”
Like it, you love it and you’re blown away.
The man built a talking cat from scratch, all because he wants to give his daughter the cat she can’t have. Her allergies make it impossible for her to be in a room with a real one for more than five minutes.
So what does Steve do? Call his friends, a few supply shops and figure out how to build one himself.
You didn’t think you could be more attracted to your boss, but watching him handcraft a toy for his daughter has made you fall for him even more.
“It’s perfect,” you smile at him, unknowingly rendering the 6’3” mechanic silent for a few seconds.
Steve’s still not used to how pretty you are. The way your face lights up whenever you’re happy sends him into a tailspin. You’re hypnotizing him and he can’t stop his gaze from dropping to your lips. “Yeah, perfect.”
Its clear he’s no longer referring to the toy. The air leaves your lungs and you can’t find the strength to take a breath in, your concentration, attention, the few brain cells remaining after his voice deepened all of it, centers on your handsome boss inching closer and closer to you, his fingers trailing across the table, stopping near your wrist. His cologne washes over you and your knees threaten to buckle.
“I uh,” he starts, bending down so slowly you’re think you must be imagining it, but his lips are getting closer and oh god, you can’t take your eyes off them. “I just want to-”
A sharp knock on his office door sends you flying back, your hands smoothing down your shirt in an attempt to hide your nerves. The door swings open a second later and Scott pops his head in. “Hey boss, I need your help with the McCellan account.”
“Yeah, yeah I’ll be out in a second.” Steve says, waving him off.
“I should get back to my desk,” you mumble, stepping back, eyes averting to the ground while heat floods your cheeks.
Steve sees your change in demeanor, his heart sinking. “Wait, we should talk-”
You keep going, shouldering your way past Scott. “The toy looks great,” you toss back as you rush down the hall. “She’s going to love it.”
“Oh man, can I play with it?” Scott voice rings out, strolling to the table with a smirk on his face.
Steve looks over his head, watching you flee to your desk, a sardonic grin on his lips. “Damn it.”
“Oops.” Scott’s chagrined tone is accompanied by the sound of plastic snapping.
Steve closes his eyes, his head lolling back. “Scott?”
“Yes boss?”
“Get out.”
“I don’t even blame you. I’d kick me out too,” Scott rambles. “Hey before I go, what are the chances that the new girl will give me her number?”
Jealousy sweeps across Steve so fast and suddenly he almost chokes on it. He turns, eyes narrowing.
“Yep, I’m going.” Scott laughs, patting Steve on the arm on his way out. “And I knew it.”
Before Steve can ask what he means by that, the door shuts in his face.
Steve looks over at the cat, his tail in two pieces by his back paw and sighs.
He was so close to finding out if your lips are as soft as they are in his dreams.
At least putting Jamie’s gift back together will keep his mind off of you. For a few minutes anyway.
“I shouldn’t like to punish anyone, even if they’d done me wrong.” —George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss (1860)
“A person can’t help their birth.” —William Thackeray, Vanity Fair (1848)
“But to expose the former faults of any person, without knowing what their present feelings were, seemed unjustifiable.” —Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (1813)
“Every Fool can do as they’re bid.” —Jonathan Swift, Polite Conversation (1738)
“So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses.” —King James Bible, Matthew 18:35 (transl. 1611)
“God send every one their heart’s desire!” —William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing (~1600)
“Now this king did keepe a great house, that euerie body might come and take their meat freely.” —Sir Philip Sidney, the Arcadia (1580)
“If … a psalme scape any person, or a lesson, or els yt they omyt one verse or twayne…” —William Bonde, The Pylgrimage of Perfection (1526)
“And whoso fyndeth hym out of swich blame, / They wol come up and offre a Goddés name” —Geoffrey Chaucer, The Pardoner’s Tale (~1380)
“þan hastely hiȝed eche wiȝt on hors & on fote, / huntyng wiȝt houndes alle heie wodes, / til þei neyȝþed so neiȝh to nymphe þe soþe [Then hastily hied each person on horse and on foot / hunting with hounds all the high woods / ‘til they came so near, to tell the truth]” —William and the Werwolf (transl. ~1350-1375)
“Bath ware made sun and mon, / Aiþer wit þer ouen light [Both were made sun and moon / Either with their own light]” —Cursor Mundi (~1325)
We’ve been using they/them/their pronouns to indicate a person with unspecified gender for a long ass fucking time. The only reason it’s become a big issue lately is because it can be used as a semi-respectful term for trans and non-binary folks and we can’t have that can we
These fucks are literally trying to change our language to hurt trans/nb folks, and claiming that’s just the way its always been
summary: When Bucky is drugged into a coma plagued with nightmares and his heart rate has risen to dangerous levels within his sleep, you are the last resort to wake him before his heart gives out. But you must enter his mind to do so; enter... his nightmares.
pairing: bucky x psychic!reader
word count: 11.4k
warnings: canon level violence, a fun little memory lane down Bucky's trauma, mutual pining dummies in love
a/n: the title for this fic comes from the song Ease My Mind by Ben Platt ✨
Help me leave these lonely thoughts behind
When they pull me under, and I can feel my sanity start to unwind
Darling, only you can ease my mind
The universe must have a sick sense of humor, Bucky decided. Cruel and vindictive and almost certainly biased against him. It was the only explanation for why he was currently strapped to a cold, unforgiving table at the heart of a Hydra base; arms restrained to his sides, bars pressed down over his chest, shackles on his ankles. Old, rusted metal cutting into his skin.
A faceless scientist casually slipped around the room, carrying a clipboard in hand as if he didn’t have the Winter Soldier himself rendered helpless on a table no different than the one Hydra had used to force the super soldier serum into his veins decades earlier.
An IV was embedded in Bucky’s right forearm, the tube slithering up a silver pole where a bag of pale blue dripped an unknown substance into his bloodstream. Bucky tried to stretch the aching pinch on the left of his neck from where the scientist sedated him, but found no relief. His eyes were growing heavier with every breath. His body working against him. Urging him to the comfort, the destruction, of his own mind.
“Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes,” the scientist hissed. He leaned over the edge of the table, intrigued by Bucky’s fight against his desperate need to slip to the unconscious. The mask over the man’s face gave no indicator of what lied beneath – whether his grin curved up as sinister and unnerving as the men who had ripped Bucky’s body to shreds and bore the scars on his shoulder that would never heal – but he could sense the evil lying in wait.
Where the hell is Steve? Bucky thought desperately, his gaze flickering to the open hallway. Begging for a shadow, a scuffle of footsteps, anything, but all that remained was silence. Cold, mocking silence.
“No one is coming for you,” the man snickered, catching Bucky’s hopeful glance at the door. “And I have such wonderful plans in store.”
The last remnants of hope fading from Bucky’s grip as the door sealed shut; locking him inside the room as his body betrayed him once again, as his mind sank deeper into the dark embrace of the unknown. As the scientist inched closer to him, holding a syringe high in the air while Bucky was helpless in its path.
Helpless. Helpless. Always so fucking helpless.
He didn’t even remember how he got caught. Didn’t remember the blow to the back of the head that knocked him out or the needle that sedated him long enough to be strapped to the hard press of a metal table. But he could feel the matted mess of blood at the nape of his neck, could feel the dull ache of a sedative in his bloodstream.
He knew Steve would come for him. The reckless kid from Brooklyn and Captain America himself – he'd come for his friend. Eventually. Bucky only hoped it wasn’t long after his body had grown cold and silent.
Because for once, Bucky had something he was hoping to get back to. A reason to come home. A cause to fight for each sunrise, to get through each tough day in search of a better one, to shut out the demons as they dug their claws into his chest in an attempt to drag him back to the shadows.
But his eyes were too heavy, the scientist snickering under his breath, and Bucky knew the second he gave in, he’d be done for. This man held no affection for the Winter Soldier. No interest in using Hydra’s greatest asset for his own gain. No – he sought to punish the man behind the soldier, to destroy what little was left of what Bucky had become in the wake of Hydra’s downfall. Bucky didn’t know whether it was vengeance or jealousy that motivated the scientist, but he knew it would spell his end.
There would be no mercy for the Winter Soldier. No forgiveness. No kindness in his death.
So, he held on as long as he could.
He held onto the memory of your face, of sunlight dancing over your features and the bright lines by your eyes while you smiled; to the gentle sweep of your hair over your nose and the slight huffed of an annoyed breath as you blew it away.
He clung to the first glimpse of a tender touch on his forearm, patient, asking, and how easily he’d accepted it, craved it, when it was your hand lingering so sweetly over him. Unafraid of the horrors his hands had caused, unafraid of him.
He drew on the comfort, the wash of relief, for each night he crept into your bedroom in the dead of night and you had simply pulled the covers down for him. No questions of the cold sweat on his skin or the skittish terror in his veins. You had allowed him to crawl in beside you without so much as a word and he’d count your breaths until sleep took him again. Safe. Always safe when he was with you.
He imagined a world where he might have told you how much he ached for you, how badly his heart beat when you walked in a room. He hoped that you might smile at him, that you might throw yourself to his arms and he might kiss you the way he’d so often dreamt of.
He held onto you as long as he could.
And then, Bucky fell prey to his nightmares.
***
You woke with a sharp breath – violent, painful, like the air had been ripped from your lungs. Sheets pooled around your waist, the cool touch of the air conditioner chilling the line of sweat on your skin. You set a shaking hand over your heart, nestling against the rapid pulsing underneath. Thunderous, aching beats. It was a struggle to draw in a full breath.
It hadn’t been this bad in a long time, not since Bucky had started seeing the therapist Sam had begged him to talk to, not since he’d learned to lean on his friends and the people who cared for him, not since he learned to sleep through the night from the comfort of your bed. Close enough to feel the dip of the mattress, but still – out of your reach.
You hadn’t even felt a glimmer of his nightmares in months, much less anything like this. It was like were on the verge of a panic attack, something worse than terror projecting under your skin. Not even in the early days of Bucky’s recovery before he’d learned to put up mental shields to spare you as much as he could from the demons in his sleep did they slither this deep into your psyche, grabbing such a vicious hold you could hardly tell the difference between his fear and your own.
But Bucky was supposed to be on a mission with Steve across the Atlantic. The lingering aftermath of his nightmares shouldn’t be able to reach you here. It shouldn’t be able to cross an ocean to you. Your power wasn’t strong enough for that.
It could always be someone else in the tower, you considered. Natasha, maybe. She always held such stoic grace in the face of her trauma, no one would be the wiser if she was plagued with nightmares when she slept.
But you could feel Bucky’s imprint in each shallow breath, could feel his presence in every shattered heartbeat. Too familiar. Too aching; infested with a terrible, devastating acceptance. Acknowledgement that this fear and this torture was deserved. This panic was his.
You’d spent enough nights restless with his nightmares, woken only by the stuttering pounding of your own heartbeat, to recognize Bucky’s pain when you felt it. You’d never managed a glimpse inside the horrors that plagued him, unwilling to cross a boundary he was not eager for you to witness. But you felt his fear within the dead of night worse than anyone else within the tower. Perhaps because he’d endured more than anyone else you knew. Or perhaps, because your connection to him ran deeper than either of you allowed yourselves to consider.
You swung your legs off the side of the mattress. If Bucky couldn’t find his way to you on his own, you’d go to him. All it would take would be a gentle coax of your hand along his spine, a glimmer of golden reflection under your palm to soothe the burden in his mind. Never seeking more than to ease the symptoms of the nightmare, to draw him into a gentle, dreamless sleep.
Just as your feet hit the ground, your bedroom door creaked open.
Steve appeared in the framing, a painstaking lack of surprise on his features to find you awake with the sheen of cold sweat on your skin and a trembling in your hands. Steve – with his pale blue eyes coated in ghosts of shame and remorse, with moonlight dripping over the lines of exposed muscle and open wounds where his tac suit had been shredded in combat. The aching question lingering within his silence.
“What happened?” you dared to ask, hands clutching to the edge of the bed. The thin straps of your nightgown slipped over your shoulders as your heart began to cleave in two. Blood dripped from the open cuts on Steve’s chest. “Where is he?”
“Here,” Steve was quick to respond, though it did nothing to lessen the panic rustling through your veins. There was no need to clarify who you spoke of. There was only one man who could cause such tremors in your grip, the slight waver of fear in your own that was entirely your own.
“He’s alive,” Steve added, brushing a tired hand through the short strands of unkempt blonde hair. There was no relief in his reassurance. His gaze fell to the damp stains of sweat on your gown, the sweat beaded on your forehead. “I know you can feel him, Y/n. The nightmares. I... I found him like this in Berlin. They put something in his blood; something to... induce it. He won’t wake up.”
Dread coiled deep into your stomach. “How long?”
“Hours. He should have woken up by now. His heart...” Steve exhaled a tense breath and whatever restraint, whatever energy held you paralyzed to stone upon your bed, shattered.
You lunged for your robe, wasting no time as you sprinted out into the hallway. Bare feet scrambling over the cold, hardwood floors as you raced to the med wing. You barely registered Steve following closely behind if not for the reflection of the shield still strapped to his back catching the florescent lights in the empty hallway. His shadow appeared on the wall beside yours.
When you got close enough to hear the faint echo of a whimper around the bend of the hallway, you nearly stumbled over your own feet. You caught yourself against the wall, devastation rattling deep into your bones. You’d nearly forgotten the sound – the cry that slipped past Bucky’s lips with nothing but the comfort of darkness surrounding him. It was worse than you remembered.
Steve set a hand on your shoulder, urging you to slow down, but your adrenaline was racing too much for that. You could hardly tell whether it was Bucky’s or your own.
You skidded to a stop in front of the only occupied room in the medical floor, hands catching on the hinges of the door.
Bucky was laid under the thin cover of cotton sheets, the fabric bunching around his waist with every movement. His hands were curled to fists, trembling. His legs shifting under the sheets, as if the stillness physically pained him. Muffled whimpers escaped his lips. The features that often rendered him years younger in his sleep were contorted – lower lip quivering, brows pinched tight, eyes squeezed shut. He tossed and turned; his breaths so shallow you were surprised he was able to draw in any air at all.
Your legs might have given out at the sight if you let them.
“We’ve tried everything.” You jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, not having noticed him standing in the corner of the room, still dressed in his pajama pants and a faded white t-shirt. His arms were folded tight over his chest, his jaw clenched tight. He didn’t tear his eyes away from his friend as he spoke. “Super soldier or not, his heart’s gonna give out if he keeps going like this.”
It was a struggle to suffocate the lump building in your throat, to swallow back the stone that threatened nothing but tears and agony. Your fingertips grazed over Bucky’s hand, trying to relax his grip. He wouldn’t budge. Still, you let yourself slid a hand along his arm in long, soothing strokes. Gentle as you could manage.
“I’ve never seen him like this before,” you said, though it was barely a whisper. You glanced up to the heart monitor hanging over Bucky’s head, the frequent peaks of each beat pinched close together on the screen. You turned back to Steve. “I’ll do what I can.”
A warm, ambered glow lit under your palm as you eased your hand along Bucky’s tense muscles. It sank down deep into his body, soothed every piece of him from rapid course of adrenaline in his bloodstream to the restlessness in his limbs. Gentle and kind and soft in its path. It usually took a few seconds before the murmuring stopped, before his breathing evened out again, and he stilled into a dreamless sleep. Just a few seconds.
But those few seconds turned into a minute. And then two. Three, as Bucky shifted franticly under your touch, his shaking only worsening with each passing moment. You concentrated the energy around his chest, both hands pressed above his heart, desperately willing his mind to release the hold it had over his body, to allow him just a moment of rest. Just rest. An ounce of peace. Please.
A tear slipped down Bucky’s cheek and your heart lurched at the sight of it, trailing over flushed skin, dampening into the sweat in his pillow. The amber light faded from your palms and you brushed your fingertips along his cheek – so impossibly soft he would not have awoken even if he were able. The ends of your fingers were wet when you curled your hand back against your chest.
“I don’t understand...” you murmured, voice trembling. There hadn’t once been a time you were not able to draw him gently away from his demons, to ease him back to sleep. It was the gift of your power – the kinder side of a psychic ability you never asked for. This ability to soothe such dangerous emotion.
“Whatever they injected him with must be keeping him trapped inside his head,” Steve said, the heaviness laced in his tone sinking with confirmation he’d been hoping to avoid. “I brought Dr. Cho a sample of it when we returned, but it could take hours – days, even – to break it down enough to find a stabilizing agent. Bucky won’t last that long.”
Your gaze shifted to the heart monitor and the mountainous peaks inching closer and closer together. That terrible, bright green line pulsing across the pitch-black screen – mocking you. You were grateful only for the beeping to be silenced. Sam must have turned it off before you arrived. It would have been relentless.
“Y/n,” Steve called, an aching plea in his voice.
You turned to him, to Sam. They were both watching you, barely able to meet your eye. Guilt sank into their features, tugged into the lines on Steve’s forehead, wrung as Sam’s hands as he shoved them into his pockets.
You knew what they were asking – the silent desperation behind it.
“No,” you managed to choke out, wiping tears from your eyes. “I can’t. I—I promised him.”
Steve swallowed, giving a short nod as he looked to his friend. He chewed at the edge of his lips, rendering them a raw and swollen pink. “I don’t think we have a choice.”
“He’ll never forgive me,” you whispered, tears slipping over your jawline, spilling onto the edge of the mattress. You gripped at Bucky's wrist, unable to open his fist to hold his hand. This simple gesture of comfort and you could not even offer him that.
It would be a violation beyond trust – to enter Bucky’s mind like this. At his most vulnerable, plagued by the very nightmares he’d spent years shielding you from to keep his demons from spilling out from behind the shadows and stealing him from the light – unwilling to allow his burdens to touch the little good he’d managed to hold onto. It was unforgiveable to bear witness to his greatest fears, to expose the darkest parts of him.
“Maybe,” Sam sighed, “but he’ll be alive.”
It was all that mattered to you – that he was safe. You wondered if Bucky would feel the same way.
“Okay.”
Steve pulled the simple folding chair up along the side of Bucky’s bed and gently ushered you to take a seat. You gave him a graceful smile, one that did little to hide the guilt quickly seeping into your pores. Steve barely returned it at all.
Bucky whined in his sleep, his lower lip trembling with every hollow breath he was able to draw in. His hands shook against the thin sheets, sweat beading on his forehead. Shivering and burning warm. You leaned forward, gently laying your right hand along the side of his face. Your thumb centered on his temple, his ear in your palm. The ends of your fingertips brushed into the short strands of hair behind his head and between the pillow.
“I’ve got you,” you whispered quiet enough only he might be able to hear you, if he even could.
With a deep breath, you allowed the warm amber glow to circulate through your veins – brightening the lines under your skin as it traveled from your heart to the ends of your fingertips. Spider-lines sprang from where your thumb met Bucky’s temple. Golden webs glistened under his skin. You glanced briefly at Sam, who only settled himself into the chair at the edge of the room, waiting, and then to Steve, who stood with one hand rested on his hip, the other on the edge of the desk, his body tense.
Then, you closed your eyes and gave into the pull of Bucky’s nightmare. You followed the rush of adrenaline, the panic. You walked the pathways lined in fear and distress. They led you closer to him, deeper into his subconscious until slow, a picture began to form. The endless comfort of darkness molding into something new.
Voices echoed from the abyss in a language you did not speak. When you looked around the darkness had subsided in favor of a long stretch of hallway with beige wallpaper peeling from the corners and cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.
It had been years since you dared to step foot in someone else’s dreams. You didn’t care to use this side of your power for a reason – it was disorienting, unnerving. Because the hallway led to nowhere but the crushing cold void, the only other space within existence was the room to your left. A room, you noticed with horrific realization, held a long metal table and operating tools.
The voices were getting closer. Their quiet mumbling in what you believed to be German grew louder with every step. But there was a low, dragging sound at their feet you couldn’t place. It was only as the first of the men came into view – the short, round face of a scientist you'd seen a dozen times in the federal archives – that your stomach began to drop.
Arnim Zola led the soldiers behind him with a clipboard in hand and terribly smug look upon his face. He adjusted the brim of his glasses as he turned past you without so much as a glance. He couldn’t see you, couldn’t even acknowledge your existence. He was only a figment of Bucky’s memory, of his own imagination. It would have to be Bucky’s attention you gained and his only in order to wake him up.
The soldiers filed in line into the room, but the dragging sound remained. You knew – deep down – what it was. The only thing that could make that terrible sound and the low, pained sounds that followed. Tears were already in your eyes before you saw him.
Barely conscious, his head lulled to the side as two soldiers dragged him by the straps of his jacket along the floor, a Bucky decades-younger than the one you knew left a trail of blood in his wake. His arm was freshly severed from the fall, his skin still blue from the snow. Blood soaked into his jacket, his pants, and left behind an awful stream of glistening red. Thick and oozing. You could smell the metallic sheen from where you stood.
“Bucky,” you whimpered his name, hardly able to use your voice at all.
The soldiers dragged him into the operating room, giving little kindness to his body as his right shoulder caught on the doorframe. They yanked him onto the table as if he were little more than a ragdoll and strapped him down. What remained of his left arm hung over the edge of the table.
You were shaking in the doorway, forgetting briefly why you were bearing witness to such a horrific memory to begin with. But when Bucky’s pained cries broke through his unconscious haze, you snapped yourself out of your paralyzed trance.
You rushed to him, sprinting through the soldiers who broke apart to clouded mist before reforming again. Ghosts. Memories. Dreams. They weren’t real. As you glanced over at Arnim Zola, the man who caused Bucky so much pain throughout his long enough, it was difficult to remember that. He bore so many details upon his face from the wrinkle along his brow, to the sharp tug of pink on his cheeks. Even the brim of his glasses was slightly uneven, unbalanced over his nose. The tiniest details Bucky’s mind held onto – details that made his nightmares so impossibly real.
“Bucky,” you called, hovering over the side of the table. You reached out for him, trying to slide your hand over his hair – the short strands of a 1940s haircut – but your fingers slipped through him as if you were a ghost, as well.
“Bucky, can you hear me?” you tried again, hovering your hands along his cheeks. It was agonizing not being able to touch him, to ground him to something safe. His eyes were fluttering closed, the pain sinking him back into the cold comfort of unconsciousness.
Tears slipped over your eyes as the room began to fade as he did. Darkness swept in and before you could utter his name again, the scene changed.
When your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you found yourself now standing in a concrete room. Bucky was no longer laid upon the metal table, left arm exposed and bleeding into a bucket on the floor, but instead, sitting stiffly on the edge of a worn-down cot. His gaze was fixed on the wall, as if he was seeing straight through you. His eyes red and puffy, bruising marking much of his skin. His hair had grown out somewhat, the ends only brushing over the tips of his ears.
You looked up to find no ceiling hanging over you. Only darkness. You suspected more of the same beyond these walls. The dreamworld held no need for completed blueprints – only what was necessary. You shivered, struck with derealization.
“Bucky, listen to me,” you started, crossing the room to him. You knelt to his right, not allowing your gaze to slip over the stains of faded red on the floor or the loose springs in the mattress that likely cut his body as he slept. “You have to wake up, okay? You’re safe. You're home at the compound. I’m there with you. So is Steve and Sam. You’re safe, Bucky. It’s okay to wake up.”
He didn’t so much as glance at you. A lump burned in your throat.
“Don’t do this. Come on,” you said to yourself, desperate to keep from crying again. You tried to set your hand on his knee, to draw him any kind of comfort because footsteps were beginning to approach from down the non-existent hall and his hands curled into the edge of the mattress in anticipation. You hand slipped right through his thigh but this time, he narrowed his eyes, his gaze turning to where you had touched him.
He’d felt something.
You moved to try it again when suddenly the door to his cell slammed open. Bucky flinched as if he’d been struck and then quickly scrambled to his feet. He inched backward as the men approached carrying long batons in their hands, the ends flickering with electricity. They wore little more than malice and greedy excitement on their faces.
“Bucky, if you can hear me, I promise I’ll get you out of this,” you said to his ear. He didn’t acknowledge whether he could hear you, not over the pounding in his heart that seemed to echo throughout the room. You ran your hand down his right arm, if only to offer him a semblance of comfort amongst this horrific room though it could not touch him at all. Still, a shiver slid up his spine.
“You’re okay.” You eased your hand along his arm again. “You’re dreaming, Bucky. It’s only a memory, I promise. You’re safe. You’re okay.”
But Bucky was trembling despite his efforts, a frantic look at the men and then to the corner he was backing into. There was nowhere for him to go. No one that would come to save him. He knew what was going to happen – he'd lived it enough times. He still bore the burn marks on the sides of his face to prove it.
“It’s only a memory,” you told him more urgently as the men approached, the electric ends of their batons sparking to life. “It can’t hurt you. It can’t--”
You choked back a scream as they plunged the tasers directly into Bucky’s ribs. He collapsed to the ground, his knees giving out easily under his weight and the uneven balance of metal on his left side. He shook with violent tremors as the men began to laugh, snickering to one another as they jammed the tasers against his body again and again. Laughter echoed into the room and drowned away Bucky’s muffled whimpers.
“Stop,” you cried, though you knew it was no use. “Stop!”
But the nightmare did not yield to you. These men were not real. Nor were the tasers in their hands. Bucky’s pain was imagined. A memory. And you could not save him from it.
“Enough games gentlemen,” Zola smirked from the edge of the room. “It is time.”
“No,” you whimpered. You knew what was coming. You knew, as they grabbed Bucky by the arms and dragged him from the room, exactly where they were going. Blood and infection oozed from the edges of metal where Bucky’s left arm met his shoulder – big angry scars swollen under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He barely resisted as they threw him into the chair.
You’d never seen it before, never had the heart to imagine such a machine that stole away Bucky’s memories and his access to free will. Somehow, it was crueler than you’d expected. Cold. Unkind. As if a piece of machinery could have intention and feeling.
Bars strapped down over Bucky’s wrists and chest to hold him still. Zola approached slowly as if to corner a frightened animal. He held a mouthguard in his hand. Bucky tried to resist it at first but ultimately opened his mouth for his captor and bit down on the plastic. The shame coursing through the faded blue in his eyes was enough to shatter you.
You walked up to him, standing close enough that he would have felt the heat of your body beside him if it were not a dream. Setting a gentle hand along the side of his face, you moved to brush the hair from his eyes. Through your tears, you did not notice as a strand moved at the will of your thumb.
“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you whispered, your heart cleaving down the center as Zola readied the machine. “I don’t know how to stop this. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be okay. I promise. I’m here.”
You gasped as the clamps lowered to the sides of his face, the machine moving straight through your translucent hands. You jumped back, startled with the loud whirring of the mechanisms. Sparks lit along the wiring, rushing through the cords until – Bucky began to scream.
It only lasted a few seconds before it faded into the darkness again. But those seconds would stay with you the rest of your life. You’d carry them for an eternity.
You could barely stand when the scene began to change.
Slowly, the familiar pale blue walls of a hallway came into view; a door with a slight squeak in the hinges and a photograph hanging on the wall from a reluctant team building activity at a rundown bowling alley that turned into one of your favorite memories.
You were back in the compound.
Bucky was pacing at the end of the hall, winging his hands with every step. A sheen of sweat lined his forehead, pink coated into his cheeks. His t-shirt was damp along his spine, his chest rising quickly with each breath.
His hair was longer than it was in the last memory, hanging loose over his shoulders and despite the panic nestled to his features, he looked healthier. Stronger. His body had filled out with proper nutrition and he walked with bare feet along the hardwood floors – no trace of a weapon tucked to his body. Despite his fear, he still felt safe enough to wander the compound halls in only his pajamas, unarmed.
He paused at your door, staring at the wood frame.
You followed him, trying to place the memory as he began to pace outside your room. You stood beside him, watching the nervous shaking in his hand as he rose to knock on the door. Before you could call his name, to try to draw him away from whatever nightmare laid in store, the door swung open.
It was disorienting to see yourself like this, from someone else’s gaze. It wasn’t like staring into a mirror. It was as if she was an entirely different person. Her hair was still messy with sleep, pillow marks on her cheeks as the dream-you looked at Bucky with narrowed eyes.
Could it only be a dream? Perhaps this was how you were going to wake him up, by interspersing kinder memories amongst the nightmares. You’d seen this play out a dozen times – Bucky standing reluctantly at your door, a quiet shamed request to sleep by your side. You’d draw him into your arms without question, rubbing your hands along his back until the tension began to fade. He’d start at the furthest edge of your bed until you carefully eased him into your arms and he found sleep resting over your heartbeat.
Relief swelled in your chest as you waited for the dream-you to do the same, to offer him her hand and tell him that he was safe in this room, that he was always safe with you. But instead, her lips curved to a tight frown.
“What is it, Bucky? It’s the middle of the night,” she sighed, impatience lingering in her tone as she tapped her fingers on the doorknob. Short nails clicked against the cold metal. Your heart began to pound in your chest – the sudden uncertainty crippling.
“I know. I’m sorry to wake you,” he murmured, his voice still hoarse as if he’d woken up screaming. He shifted in his stance, his right hand was growing red as he tugged and twisted at his fingers. “I... I couldn’t sleep and... I just needed to see you.”
The dream-you took a less than subtle glance over her shoulder to the clock sitting by the bed. The bright red numbers indicated it was close to three in the morning. When she turned back to Bucky her jaw was clenched tight, her nails still incessantly tapping on the doorknob as if to count away the offensive seconds.
“Okay, so you see me,” she replied flatly. “Is that all?”
You didn’t miss Bucky’s sharp intake of breath, not even as your stomach plunged to the depths of the compound; covered in cobwebs and dirt, sinking to the foundation below.
“I... um...” Bucky could barely string his words together.
Once, you’d gathered his shaking hands in your own and led him inside without him having to say anything at all. He’d simply tucked his face to the crook of your neck as you ran your nails gently along his spine in slow, deliberate strokes. The memory of his tears on your skin stayed with you long after he fell asleep, even months later.
You’d have taken him into your arms in a heartbeat. You’d have let him through the door before he so much as said a word.
But she hadn’t even offered her hand.
“Ask,” you encouraged him gently, watching as he drew the inside of his cheek between his teeth and bit. Perhaps it was blind hope – a desperate need to know that Bucky trusted you, that he didn’t have an underlying fear that plagued his dreams that you would reject him like this. He couldn’t.
“Just ask, sweetheart,” you pressed. “She’ll say yes. You know she will. I always have.”
Bucky nodded to himself, almost as if he might have heard your words. Slowly, he pulled in a heavy breath, enough to quell the shaking in his hands. His lifted his gaze. “Can I... Can I stay with you tonight?”
You smiled at him, moving to rub his back in gentle circles in exchange for the strength of his vulnerability. Your fingertips slipped through the soft fabric of his t-shirt as if you hadn’t touched him at all, but he straightened his back as your hand ran although his spine like it had drawn new energy to his bones.
The dream-you sighed, her lips puckering to a frown. “Look, I'm sorry that you get bad dreams, but I have an early morning tomorrow.”
The trembling returned to Bucky’s hands. “I can sleep on the floor,” he offered quickly. “You won’t know I’m there.”
“I need to be able to sleep, Bucky. I can’t do that if you’re waking up screaming every ten minutes,” she replied as though it wasn’t cleaving a knife through his chest, through yours too as you stared at a vision of your own reflection you hardly recognized at all.
“Please,” Bucky whispered, his voice breaking. “The dream... it was about you. Something happened and I—” He swallowed though it looked near painful to do so. “I can’t convince myself you’re safe. I can’t get myself to calm down. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.” The cold metal of his left hand rubbed along his right forearm until the skin was worn and red. “I hate asking this of you. I know I shouldn’t put this on you but I... I can’t keep myself together on my own. I need you.”
While the dream-you stood there silently, you crept out in front of him, standing between you and the false mirror behind you. The gentle blue of Bucky’s eyes did not meet yours, staring straight through you unfocused, and still, you reached for the sides of his face, soothing your fingers along his cheeks. For a moment, you swore you felt the stubble on his jaw.
“You can always ask me, Bucky,” you told him sternly. “You don't have a say a single word and I will let you in the door. I will always let you in. You know that, don’t you? You know I’d do anything to take this burden off your shoulders?”
But your voice came from the ghosted figment of Bucky’s dream instead. “Then don’t put it on me, Barnes. We all have shit we’re dealing with. I can’t take on yours, too. You’ll drown me in it.”
You had never wanted to throttle someone more in your life. If your hands were corporal in this state, you would have strangled your mirror image without a second thought. Disbelief was not enough to quell the rage boiling inside of you, steam burning through your ears.
This was not a memory, not one that you’d ever had any part in. But it was still a nightmare, still a fear of his. Your heart cleaved in the knowledge that Bucky – on some level – feared you would turn him away like this, that he believed you could be cruel and unkind to him when he so desperately needed you.
“You’re right,” Bucky muttered defeatedly, taking a step back. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
No other words were exchanged before she closed the door. You could hear her steps back to the bed and the squeak of the mattress as she curled up under the blankets again, ambivalent to Bucky's panic standing just outside her door. He kept his gaze focused intently on the door, his nose only inches from the wood.
“Bucky,” you started as his hands began to curl into fists, his breathing picking up in pace, “this isn’t real. You know this isn’t real. You’re dreaming, sweetheart. You know me. You know I’d never turn you away. Don’t you?” Tears burned your eyes as you asked again, “don’t you?”
“Stop it,” Bucky whispered to himself, unable to hear you. “Come on, Barnes. Don’t fucking do this right now. Pull it together. Stop. Stop.”
He only made it a few steps before he sank to the floor. Bare feet on the hardwood floors, knees curled tight to his chest. He could hardly draw in a full breath, his gasps becoming shorter and shorter. Cheeks flushed pink, reflective marks just under his eyes. His hands were trembling so violently, he gripped into the excess fabric on his sweatpants for support.
“I’m here,” you soothed, kneeling down in front of him. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Just breathe, okay? That’s all you have to do. Just breathe for me."
You exaggerated your breaths, trying to get Bucky to follow in suit. He hadn’t been able to acknowledge you the entire time you’ve been in his dreams, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer like this. Even if the odds were stacked against you, you'd fight for him at every turn.
Slowly, Bucky’s breaths began to lift in time with yours.
“Good,” you soothed, setting your hand against his knee. “That’s it, sweetheart. Good. Keep breathing. Just like that. Deep breaths.”
Bucky paused for a moment then, his attention turning slowly to where your hand laid over his knee. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes struggling to focus, but you were certain his gaze had centered where your hand rested over his leg.
“Bucky?” you called, stunned. “Can you hear me?”
He narrowed his eyes as if he’d heard something muffled through the walls – distant, like a voice calling to him from above the water. Still, his eyes never met yours, never so much as looked in your direction. You were a ghost to him.
Carefully, Bucky stood and brushed the lingering dust from his pajamas, ridding himself the evidence of the panic attack that rendered him to the unforgiving floors. He wouldn’t attempt to sleep again for the rest of the night. No – he'd keep the lights on in his room and stare at the ceiling until his eyes burned. There would be no comfort in the silence. He’d flinch at every sound. It didn’t matter that the scene began to darken around you as he retreated back to his room, that he’d only be made to endure this particular brand of panic for a few seconds longer. It still broke your heart.
When the dreamworld pieced itself back together again, you were standing in the middle of a warzone.
Well, not a warzone per se – the middle of downtown Manhattan. Bullets were raining from all directions, the violent echo of gunfire rattling in your ears. The metal passed straight through your body, gold shimmering amongst the translucence as it moved through you without impasse.
To your left were those you recognized – your team, your family. To your right, was a faceless enemy you could not name; horrific in shape, with a vague blur where their facial features should be. Bucky’s mind was growing tired of inventing new enemies. You supposed these faceless creatures served the same purpose.
“Bucky!”
You recognized your own voice as it shouted through the chaos. Whipping your head around in search of the owner, you quickly caught sight of another dream induced version of you sprinting around the barriers, wielding a gun in her right hand, a machete in the other. She was racing in search of Bucky and you were determined to follow her.
“Dammit, Bucky! Where are you?” she screamed, desperation breaking the edges in her voice.
The scene around you was not one you recognized, was not a memory that Bucky was drawing off of. No – this must be another fear of his. Maybe, if you could somehow stop the nightmare before the crux began, you could wake him up. It was the only plan you had. Nothing else had worked this far.
“Here!” Bucky finally called back. He was limping as he made his way to the dream-you. Blood trailed down his forehead from where he’d taken a nasty hit and his pant leg was ripped along the thigh as if a knife had sliced directly through the fabric and several layers of skin and muscle. He was winded with every step.
Still, he did not stop the dream-you as she raced towards him – her arms thrown around his shoulders, face burrowed into the crook of his neck. The momentum knocked him back a few unsteady paces but he didn’t seem to mind, not as his right arm curled protectively around her waist and he held her tightly. Fingertips pressing into the small of her back, curling into the tough fabric of her suit.
It was a strange thing to watch from the outside – how you could recognize pieces of yourself in her, knowing you’d held him like that once, that’d he’d held you just as desperately, and to still feel a sliver of a jealous ache in response.
Bucky breathed her in, lingering in the embrace as long as he could even amongst the violence around them. “Are you okay?” he muttered quietly to her ear.
She nodded, pulling back only enough to hold the sides of his face, to brush her thumb against his eyebrow and steer the blood dripping from his hairline away from his eyes. She touched him so lovingly, with such unbridled affection. You longed to give that to him beyond the walls of your room, beyond the frantic relief in the middle of missions – to grant him this kindness, this love in the light of day where everyone could see how cherished he was. You wondered if perhaps that was what he wanted, too.
For a moment, you hesitated to try and wake him. Only a moment, because a smile gently lifted the edges of Bucky’s lips. Even amongst the crusted blood on his skin and the slash of an open wound against his cheekbone, Bucky Barnes was smiling.
He didn’t take his eyes off the dream version of you, not even as he lifted his rifle and shot down one of the faceless creatures jumping over the barricade.
“How much longer is she going to be in there?” a disembodied voice echoed softly behind you. Sam’s voice, you realized, back in the compound. “We’re running out of time.”
“Five minutes, Sam,” Steve pressed. You could hear his quiet steps as he paced the tile floors, could picture how tight his arms folded over his chest. “Give her five more minutes.”
“Then what?” Sam shot back, the concern in his voice pushing you another step forward. “We have no other options, Steve. Bucky’s heart is going to give out. He’s going to die if she can’t--”
“Stop it,” you warned, the vibration in your throat aching. “I can do this. Five minutes.”
Whether they heard you or not, you didn’t know. But you did not hear another word as you moved to close the distance between you and Bucky.
Before you could reach him, the nightmare reared its ugly head in the shape of a faceless man sprinting beyond SHIELD’s foreground, a rallying cry of “Hail Hydra!” shrieked from a horrific void where his mouth should have been. It pierced through the chaos – shattering the gunfire to muted silence.
The dream-you reacted before Bucky ever had a chance, shoving him hard enough in his injured thigh to push him from the line of fire. Even as Bucky lost his balance and collapsed to the pavement, disbelief wrung through his features – shock, betrayal, agony worse than you’d ever seen twisted to the beautiful lines of his face.
It happened in slow motion, as if the dream itself had warped time and space to dig its knife deeper into Bucky’s chest and twist the serrated blade until the muscle was little more than shredded tissue.
“No!”
His scream was worse than you could have imagined – raw and broken. Shattered. As if the entirety of his soul escape through his lips as the bullet tore through the chest of your mirror image, blood spewing from her back where the bullet passed clean through her lung. She collapsed – hard – onto the ground and you could hear the nauseating snap of bone as her wrist caught the wrong angle.
You gasped, halting firm in your place.
Bucky crawled toward her the moment she hit the pavement, his whole body shaking so violently he could hardly move himself at all. His leg dragged behind him, leaving a trail of blood in his path.
When you turned to look at the monster responsible, it had vanished. As had the rest of the warzone around you. All that remained was a stretch of pavement a few yards in every direction. The chaos dulled to a white noise until it was nothing at all. Bucky’s labored breathing was all that remained as the dream world began to close in around him.
“I’m here. I’ve got you, doll,” Bucky soothed, his voice breaking on every word as he gathered the mirror image of you into his arms. Blood soaked through her suit, spilling onto his skin as he sat in the pool slowly expanding along the ground. Thick and crimson against the grey stone. Her eyes were already unfocused, lids barely able to stay open.
“You’re okay,” Bucky cried, a sob fracturing through his spine. Tears slid along his cheeks, cleaning uneven lines from the blood on his face. As gently as he could, he slid his left hand over her forehead, brushing the sweat-damp hair from her eyes. She hardly reacted at all. He pulled her tight to his chest, holding her though she could not return his embrace.
“You’re okay,” he said again, this time against her neck, against her hair. Breath hot to her chilling skin. He said it until his voice gave out completely and her hand had fallen still – limp as it laid against the pavement. Bucky’s breath hitched as he felt the small movement cease – so impossibly still as he held her, as he realized she’d already taken her last breath in his arms.
Horror drew to his features, panic unlike anything you’d ever seen.
“No...” he murmured so quietly you could hardly hear it at all. “No. No, please. Please, don’t... don’t leave me. I can’t... I can’t...”
Darkness began to sink in from the sky, replacing the cool morning blue with the unsettling weight of the void. Behind you, you could no longer see the barricade or the swarm of faceless men beyond it. The dreamworld was falling to the emptiness again and you weren’t sure whether Bucky’s heart would make it through another nightmare.
“Bucky,” you called gently, kneeling down at his side. You tried not to look at the body in his arms, tried not to recognize your own face staring blankly through unseeing eyes. Bucky held her so tightly, you wondered if his strength might fracture one of her ribs.
“I’m sorry,” he cried, rocking back and forth. He buried his face into her neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so—”
“Sweetheart, look at me,” you begged, tears blurring your eyes as Bucky kept repeating the same apology over and over again. It was an endless tape, a broken record stuck on the most heart wrenching notes. Guilt laced with shame and he could not rid himself from the words.
You set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and he froze. “You’re dreaming, Bucky. Everything’s okay. You’re only dreaming.”
Slowly, Bucky began to pull back. The void had consumed the entirety of the world around you – leaving only you, Bucky, and the unmoving body in his arms behind. Darkness inched closer until there was little more than a few feet of pavement around you. He didn’t seem to notice, not as his gaze carefully lifted to yours. Confusion pressed onto his features, his brows knitting together.
Then, quicker than Bucky could prepare himself, the dream-you vanished from his arms. Weight lifted from his lap, a ghosted mist remaining until there was nothing at all. Bucky scrambled along the ground, panicked.
“It’s okay,” you rushed to assure him. “Bucky, it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s only a dream.”
He stilled, though his chest was rapidly rising with every breath. He looked down at his hands to find them coated in blood – oozing between the plates of metal and staining to his flesh. Dripping onto the floor.
“I don’t-- I don’t understand.” His voice was small, frightened – like a child’s. “What’s happening? What—What is this?”
You moved to step forward, but Bucky retreated a step back. A rock lodged in your chest, but you held still for him, watching the panic morph into fear.
“You were on a mission when you were captured,” you explained slowly, hands raising defensively in the air to show you did not mean him harm. “Steve and Sam found you like this – trapped inside your head. You’d been injected with something to induce an endless stream of nightmares. Your heart can’t take it, Bucky. But you’re safe, I promise. You’re back in the compound. You’re not alone.”
Blue eyes shifted to the darkness below as he began to put the pieces together. He moved to brush his hands through his hair but stopped abruptly as he remembered the fresh blood on his palms – your blood. He let out a shaky breath.
“You’re in my head.” It was not a question. He still had not looked at you.
You swallowed, cheeks burning hot with shame. “Yes. I— I didn’t have a choice. It was the only way. I’m... I’m sorry.”
Bucky drew the inside of his cheek between his teeth and bit. You were certain he could taste the blood of it as a muscle twitched on his lip.
“How do I—” He let out a pained sign, as though the words were too exhausting to speak. “How do I wake up?”
There was nothing he needed to do now. The rest would happen on its own; the simple acknowledgement enough to draw him consciousness back to the surface. His image had already begun to fade from the dreamscape, even as he waited on your answer.
“Just breathe, Bucky,” you told him gently, giving him something to focus on. He nodded, content with your answer. Neither of you said another word as he watched his own hands begin to fade.
You waited until he had disappeared from the dreamscape before you let go of his mind, unwilling to leave him on his own for even a moment longer than necessary. There was no relief as you allowed yourself to come back to your body.
***
You woke with sharp breath.
Steve rushed across the room to you, a steadying hand on your spine as you pulled back from your position draped against the bed. Your temple ached from where you had laid your head against Bucky’s shoulder. Your spine throbbed. A quick glance up at the heart monitor told you enough as the frantic line as soothed out to long, even peaks. Bucky was going to survive.
“He should wake up any second now,” you told Steve quietly, unable to say much more under the weight of your exhaustion. You could feel Sam’s eyes watching you as you stumbled out of Steve’s concerned hold.
Your legs were weak under your weight as you dragged yourself to the door. It was too far away – like the tiles has somehow stretched to an endless hallway and dumbbells had been strapped to your ankles. Tears threatened behind your eyes as you leaned against the wall for support, demanding your body to move.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked, though there was a slight bite in his tone. It was only made of concern; you knew that. He’d seen the way you looked at his friend, how much you cared for him. And though Sam prided himself on how easily he could push Bucky’s buttons, he did not enjoy seeing him hurt. He believed Bucky would look for you when he woke up, would search for you as a means to ease his own fears. He was wrong.
“I told you, Sam. He won’t forgive me for invading his mind like that,” you said quietly, gaze fixated on the floor near his feet. “I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t be here when he wakes up. He won’t want to see me.”
Sam looked as though he was about to argue when Bucky began to shift on the bed, a low moan slipping through his lips. Steve eased a hand on Bucky’s shoulder in an attempt to ground him as his eyes fluttered open. Sam held his arms by his sides, fists curled, as if he was ready for Bucky to react defensively. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken from his nightmares and swung a right hook at his friends without realizing where he was.
Within their moment of distraction, you slipped from the room unnoticed.
***
Bucky was almost certain an anvil was sitting on his chest. He hadn’t seen Thor in quite some time, but perhaps the god of thunder had decided to pull a prank on him and leave that blasted hammer sitting over his heart. It was an effort to draw in a full breath.
When he finally managed to open his eyes, Steve and Sam were hanging over his bedside, staring at him as if he might snap at any second. Sam’s defensive stance did not go unnoticed, nor did Steve’s cautious glance at Bucky’s left arm as he began to stretch his sore shoulder.
“Shit,” he groaned, wincing under the pounding thumping in his head. “What happened?”
Sam’s hands relaxed, a tense laugh escaping. “You were a few feet away from the shiny light at end of the tunnel, buddy.”
Steve shot a glare in Sam’s direction, though Sam only offered a shrug in return. He was right, after all. Bucky could feel the truth of it in his chest, in the lingering ache left behind from the strained muscle. The cold touch of his left hand massaged at his chest, pressing deep into the throbbing though it did little to alleviate it.
“What do you remember?” Steve prompted carefully.
Bucky let his hand fall back to his side, his head sinking to the pillow. Fractured images flashed through his memory – the sharp pain at the back of his head that rendered him unconscious, the straps securing him to a table in that Hydra warehouse, the mask worn by the disgruntled Hydra doctor who injected something into his veins.
Then – the nightmares.
Bucky always remembered his dreams. It was part of his curse. The universe couldn’t allow him a moment of peace, couldn’t grant him the kindness of forgetting the horrific images the moment he opened his eyes. Of course, it couldn’t. There had been so little good in Bucky’s life since the day he was drafted. Why would he expect anything different?
But that wasn’t true completely true, was it? No – he found a family again after decades of torture and a resignation to the darkness. He’d escaped Hydra and started to make amends for all he’d done under the hand of vile men. He’d met you.
“Fuck.” Bucky jolted up on the bed, sheets falling to his waist. It was only then that he noticed the folding chair pulled up to the side of his bed, noticed the faint scent of a floral conditioner he’d grown to find comfort in through every breath.
“Where is she?” Bucky asked. There was no need to clarify who he spoke of, not when he could still feel the lingering trace of you in his mind – the gentle, comforting hold of your powers that had eased his nightmares for as long as he’d known you.
Sam and Steve exchanged a look, though neither said a word.
“I know she was here,” Bucky pressed. The image of you following him around in his dreams – his nightmares – left an awful feeling behind in his stomach, a stone threatening to pull him below the tiles of the floor.
It was a promise you’d sworn to uphold. A promise you'd made the first night Bucky had found himself in your arms, tears wet on his cheeks, his body shaking in your arms. He’d begged you to never look inside his mind, to not bear witness to the horrors he’d dreamt of.
You’d soothed his fears, taken his panic more times than he could count. He’d burdened you enough. He did not wish for you know of the trauma he’d endured under Hydra, of the fears he carried for his future, of his desperation to be loved by a woman he could never deserve.
You’d broken that promise. He could still feel your presence in his mind – soothing him. Lingering aftermath of your psychic abilities. He could still picture the shock in your eyes, the pain, as you watched all of his fears come to life. Bucky swallowed back the shame burning hot into his throat.
“She did it to save your life,” Sam said slowly as if to defend you, as if Bucky could be angry at you for even one second. As if he were capable of it.
Bucky nodded. He knew it would be the only reason you went back on your word to him. He knew you would not enter his mind for anything less, and still – the ache of it hurt worse than he thought.
How could you possibly look at him now? How could you ever want a man so irrevocably ruined by his past? A man, whose greatest fear is losing the woman he would give his life for?
It was too much; he was certain of it. Too much weight on your shoulders. Too much baggage for you to carry. It was the sole reason he begged to keep you from his mind – to shield you from realizing how truly broken he was.
“I have to go,” Bucky muttered to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Before he could stand, Steve jolted out in front of him, pressing a cautious hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, Buck,” Steve warned, the stern drop in his captain’s voice rising to the surface. “You’ve been out for hours. Your body has got to be exhausted. You need to rest.”
“What I need is to find Y/n.” To do what, he wasn’t sure. Apologize, maybe? Get on his knees and beg her to forget what she’d seen?
Bucky’s hands gripped into the edge of the mattress, sheets gathering in his grip. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Steve’s, who only shared a sad look of understanding upon his face. Then, he stepped out of Bucky’s way.
The entire walk to your room was nothing short of a marathon. Bucky could hardly remember the last time he struggled to catch his breath on the stairs, if he ever had at all. His body was screaming at him to rest; he’d practically been tachycardic for the last twelve hours. But there wasn’t a chance in hell Bucky was going to find sleep again. Not until he made things right with you.
A dim crack of light was visible through the small opening of your bedroom door. It slipped out into the dark of the living room, touching yellow light to the hallway. Bucky paused before he walked into the light, settling himself in the darkness. He could make out your figure pacing inside your bedroom, the constant gentle thump of footsteps his confirmation. You mumbled to yourself words he could not discern.
Bucky forced a breath to his lungs. The sooner he got this over with, the better. Maybe he could convince you his baggage wasn’t all that heavy, that Steve and Sam had started picking up some of the load. Maybe he could promise you he’d never put that weight on you again. Maybe, if he could just reverse time to before you saw all the ugly parts of him, you’d stay.
When he reached the edge of your door, your pacing stopped. You exhaled a heavy sigh and slumped onto your bed. Hands pressed over your eyes, your body sinking into the mattress.
Bucky tried not to notice the slight hitch in your breath as he knocked on the door. Surprise, perhaps. Dread? He couldn’t tell and it made his knees weak. Still, you sat up slowly and removed the heels of your palms from your eyes.
“Bucky?”
He shivered at the sound of your voice, of his name called so gently from your lips. It wrapped around him in such warmth, he might have mistaken it for an embrace. How your voice alone managed to soothe him like this, he wasn’t sure. But it was still a comfort.
He steadied himself on his breath and pushed open the door. There hadn’t been such weight there before – this resistance, as if he were willing a mountain to move. Bucky could not get himself to step past the frame, holding himself on the very edge of your room.
“How are you feeling?” you asked slowly. There was a nervousness in your voice Bucky didn’t recognize and he wondered whether you might be trying to find a kind way to cut him out of your life. His stomach sank – made of lead and metal heavier than his own arm.
“Better, I think,” he replied. A hand raked through his scalp, scratching painfully down into his neck. “I thought you’d be there when I woke up.”
Your gaze swiftly dropped to the floor. Hands wringing in your lap, breaths drawing in heavier within your chest. “I thought I was best if I wasn’t.”
“Right,” Bucky nodded, the bitter taste of copper on his tongue.
Of course, you wouldn’t want to be around him after witnessing what you did – the horrific memories of what he’d endured under Hydra, his pathetic desperation to hold you, how easily he crumbled at the thought of losing you. You were distancing yourself from him. This was the start of it. He could already feel you slipping from him, his fingertips barely clinging to yours as your hand pulled further from his reach.
“I know what I did was unforgivable,” you muttered quietly and Bucky’s heart nearly stopped beating entirely. His stunned eyes shot to yours, though you still had not managed the strength to look at him again. “I’m sure you must hate me for what I did, but... Bucky, you have to know I would never betray your trust like that willingly. You were going die. I—I was watching your heart give out. I couldn’t just stand there and wait for—for your heart to stop when I knew I could do something. I had to, Bucky. Please, believe that. Please believe I’d never intentionally cross that line with you unless I absolutely had to.”
Tears were in your eyes as you looked up at him – sliding down your cheeks and trailing down your neck. Your lower lip was trembling and you dug your teeth into it to keep yourself steady. He recognized the guilt as it sank into each line upon your face, burrowed into every crevice, because he’d seen it enough times in the mirror to know the demon by its name.
You thought he’d be angry at you for invading his mind, for violating a promise he’d begged you to swear years earlier. The thought alone that he could feel anything but relief around you burrowed hollowed shells into his stomach.
“Do you know why I asked you to never look inside my head?” Bucky started gently as he sat on the mattress beside you. “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, Y/n. It wasn’t because I was afraid of your power or because I was clinging to some desperate sense of control that had once been taken from me.”
He drew in a shallow breath – uneasy in the inhale, barely enough to fill his lungs. “I— I was trying to shield you from all the awful shit in my head. The things I’ve done, things I’ve been through... no one should have to see that. Especially you.”
Bucky didn’t dare to steal a glance at you, not as his cheeks started to warm under the shame of his confession. “You’ve done so much for me. More than I deserve. And it’s more than just easing my emotions when it feels like I’m drowning under the weight of them all. It’s you, Y/n. Just being near you is enough. Powers or not. I thought that if I could keep you from seeing just how incredibly fucked up I am, if you never saw the horrors inside my head, then maybe you... you wouldn’t leave.”
Bucky tried not to notice how incredibly still you’d become, how you’d hardly taken in another breath since he started speaking. He could feel your gaze on him – warm and comforting despite the adrenaline pumping through the veins.
Then, before he could prepare himself, your hands closed around his, drawing them gently into your lap. So impossibly gentle as you stroked his skin, as you grazed against metal and flesh– gingered touch on such violent history.
“I see you, Bucky,” you whispered, so soft it nestled deep into his chest. Slow enough he could have stopped them if he wanted, your hands slid up along his arms and nestled against his cheeks. Holding the Hydra-made assassin so tenderly in your arms, you stroked his cheekbone with your thumb until he found the courage to meet your eye.
“I see you and I’m not afraid. I see every piece of you, all the darkest corners and the light you carry. I see all of it and I’m still here with you. I’m still here.” You held him even as his jaw began to quicker, even as his body grew weak in your arms. You held him and told him sweetly, “I’m not going to leave you, sweetheart.”
Something cracked in Bucky’s chest; not his heart, but a wall he’d constructed decades earlier of all the broken pieces left behind over his many years. Born of necessity, to protect what Hydra sought to destroy, and it crumbled under your vow, shattered as your hands cupped the sides of his face, tears catching against your thumbs. His fragile, beating heart remained exposed beyond the rubble and for the first time in his life, he did not fear the hands that carried it.
---
Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨
Beefy!mechanic!bucky who rescues you, the daughter of billionaire Tony Stark, after you got stuck in the elevator when leaving a fundraiser party.
Like the elevator is stuck between two floors and helps you out and when moments ago you were feeling claustrophobic, you're suddenly in the arms of this blue collared hunk of a man.
Some might say he's not in your league but he's the man of your dreams. At least your dad approves. 😉
My Hero
Pairing: Beefy!Bucky x reader (Firefighter AU)
Word Count: 1,360
Summary: You're tired and ready to get back home but the elevator has other ideas...
Author's Note: HI MY LOVELY PENGU! omg! This! THISSS! You know I adore Beefy!Bucky coming to the rescue! Thank you for this lovely request, love you and HUGS!💕 I hope you don't mind that I made him a fireman instead of a mechanic- I just love the idea of him in the gear and of course the FDNY holds a special place in my heart. PS if you're wondering what I'm picturing him in for this you can check out his picture HERE. Imagine how delish he would look in this! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my sweet @firefly-in-darkness thank you my love🥰
Warnings: tension and panic to start but all is ok, soft and sweet Bucky to the rescue, some flirting and fun! The good fluff :)
You lean against the elevator wall and let out a long sigh, thankful the fundraiser is over and you can rest your feet. You toe off your heels and sink lower, your eyes closing as the elevator moves smoothly downward.
An abrupt stop shakes you out of your sleepy haze and you grab hold of the rails along the wall. The elevator lights flash and the whole cab jerks, sending your heart jumping into your throat.
You take a tentative step toward the control panel and press the down button again, then the button for your floor. A loud sound rings out and you quickly step back to the wall and hang on.
“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath as your sweaty palms slide along the metal rails.
With a shaky hand you reach forward and press the emergency telephone call button. The buildings Security Operations Center answers and you blurt out, “my elevator is stuck. Help!”
You’re breathing is coming in short gasps now and the sweet lady on the phone tries to keep you calm and assures you help is on the way. She talks with you until the fireman arrive.
The next voice you hear is equally as soothing but much deeper and when the lights go back to their normal brightness and you hear your savior say, “it’ll just be a minute doll, don’t worry,” you try to steady your breathing.
“Ok doll, I’m going to walk you through this. The cab is going to move down a little so that we can get the doors open and get you out but it’s going to be fine and I promise you’re safe.”
You nod but realize you’re not making any sound and with a hard swallow you eek out a small “ok.”
“You’re doing great doll face.”
His endearments ease some of the tension in your body and you try to focus on his voice.
The elevator cab jolts again and drops down, turning your stomach over. You let out a yelp and plaster yourself to the wall.
“It’s over,” the fireman says. “We’re going to open the doors now and I’m going to help you out.”
You hear the creaking of metal and little by little the elevator doors begin to open. You’re still a bit above the floor and you can’t bring yourself to leave the safety of the wall.
A large hand appears, followed by a pair of bright blue eyes and the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen.
“Hiya doll. I’m Bucky. I’m going to help you out ok?”
“Yea,” you gulp. “Ok.”
“What’s your name doll?”
You quietly say your name and he repeats it with a soft smile.
“When you’re ready just take small steps over to me and I’ll get you, ok?”
Again, you’re nodding but not actually speaking or moving and he smiles softly.
“Take your time doll face.”
You drag yourself away from the wall and take a step forward, knocking into your heels. You wince when the elevator swings back and forth.
“This thing is not going anywhere. I promise,” Bucky reassures you. “You can hand me your heels and your bag first if you want.”
You slowly bend down and grab your heels, taking small steps closer to him. You reach down and give them to him then your bag.
“That’s great. You’re almost there,” he praises.
“How?” you start as you look down and see him standing there. “How should I get down?”
He holds out his arms.
“Just sit there on the edge and then you can slide off and I’ll get you,” he explains.
Your dress makes it difficult to maneuver and he watches as you try to figure out the best way to do this.
“Promise I won’t peek at anything I’m not supposed to,” he smirks.
You smile for the first time since you got in the elevator.
“Don’t look down, just keep your eyes on me doll,” he tells you.
You do as he says and take a few deep breaths before carefully pushing yourself off. He catches you right away and holds you against his chest, the safety of his strong arms helping to settle your heart rate.
“You’re ok. You’re safe now,” he whispers.
“Yea…ok, I’m out…” you stammer, clutching his biceps.
“Do you want your shoes before I put you down?” he asks sweetly.
You shake your head no and he slowly lets you slide down his body. You’re still shaky and you grab onto his suspenders, gripping them tightly even after your feet are on the ground.
You’re pressed firmly against him, acutely aware of the hard planes of muscle that shift against your skin as he holds you.
“I’m sorry,” you eek out but don’t let go.
“It’s all good doll face. Hang on as long as you want,” he says and winks.
You do your best to steady yourself and finally take a step back, he holds onto your arms until he feels you’re secure enough on your feet.
“How ya feelin’?” he asks.
“Still shaky but very happy to be out of the elevator,” you murmur. “Thank you Bucky.”
“Of course,” he replies and picks up your heels. “Here.”
He kneels down and takes your foot gently between his long fingers. You rest your hand on his shoulder and he slips on the first heel and then the next.
“Thank you. You’re my hero.”
“My pleasure doll,” he says and stands. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
You sway on your feet and he immediately grabs your waist, pulling you into his chest.
“Hey, we can’t have any of that now,” he soothes. “Feelin’ dizzy?”
“Yes,” you squeak. “I had some drinks at the fundraiser but haven’t eaten much.”
“And after a scare like that…well it won’t help,” he smiles.
The loud and frantic voice of your father pulls your attention away from Bucky.
“What the hell happened here?” Tony shouts as he runs into the hallway and toward you. “I heard the elevator jammed! Are you ok?”
You turn and look at your father, still in Bucky’s arms.
“Hi dad. Everything is fine. I’m safe now thanks to Bucky.”
Tony’s eyes narrow but the moment he sees the way Bucky is looking at you his features soften.
You rest your palms along Bucky’s chest and look up into his eyes. “I should probably find some food but I don’t want to go back to the party.”
“I know a great place right around the corner if you don’t mind me being in my gear,” Bucky says.
Your eyes dip and travel down his chest, covered in the tight navy firehouse tee shirt, the suspenders sitting snuggly on his broad shoulders and then to his long legs and the black pants that hug them nicely.
“Not at all,” you breathe out. “But don’t you have to fix the elevator?”
His thick fingers brush your chin and he lifts your eyes to his. A short strand of his dark hair falls in front of his face and you lift your fingers to brush it out of the way.
“Nah. These two can handle that,” he grins and looks over your shoulder.
You turn your head, still snuggled in his arms and see two men standing nearby and smirking.
“Oh!” you say, your surprise evident. “When did they get here?”
“Been here the whole-time sweetheart,” the tall blonde answers. “But don’t feel bad. Happens a lot when Bucky is around.”
You giggle and turn back to Bucky, his eyes crinkled at the corners with his playful smile.
“That’s Steve and that’s Sam,” Bucky explains as the two men nod and smile.
“Ready?” Bucky asks.
“Yes,” you answer and reluctantly step away.
He grabs your hand and pulls you into his side, leaning in close and whispering against the shell of your ear. “Better hold on just in case.”
You giggle and take his arm, pressing yourself against him.
You can feel your father’s eyes on you as you walk away.
“He better be a nice guy,” Tony mutters under his breath.
“He’s one of the best,” Steve and Sam say at the same time.
Summary: Steve couldn’t remember the exact moment he fell in love with you. There are too many moments to count.
Warnings:Nothing at all, this is tooth-rooting fluff with the soft golden boy. This blog is 18+. Minors DNI.
Authors note:I don’t know where this came from. I’m soft and I miss my boyfriend so I needed something loving. This is only the second thing I’ve written and I’ve never written for Steve so hopefully it’s not too trash! (word count: 530)
Summary: The three of you watch Toy Story and it gives your boys an idea.
Warnings: this is really stupid, that's it. Fluffy, crack fic, nonsense. Suggestion of sex, squint and there's a sex toy mention.
Credits: @yarnforbrains for talking nonsense with me until I got this daft idea. Divider by @firefly-graphics
AN: can be read as standalone or as part of the GBGB universe. Drop me an ask or message with any requests for these three, apparently there's nothing so stupid I won't write it 😂
"You've never seen a Pixar film?" You lifted up to look at Bucky, sat at the other end of the sofa. "You uncultured swine!" You laughed, your giggles uncontrollable in the face of Bucky's blank, confused, stare and shrugging shoulders.
The three of you were lounging around, enjoying a quiet Sunday evening off while the team had gone into New York or home for the weekend. It was nice to enjoy the quiet and even nicer to get the big communal TV to yourself.
"Aren't those films for kids?" Steve asked from behind you, tugging your shoulders so you lay back down in his lap, his fingers tickling over your sides lazily. You let him guide you down and snuggled into his tummy.
"I guess, but they're so cute and funny. The animation is great, I thought you for sure would have watched them for the drawing, Honey. You must have Pixar in your book?"
Steve shuffled about, pulling the little red book out of his pocket and scanning his 'films' page "Nope."
"Gimmie that." You took the book and the stubby pencil, scribbling Pixar at the bottom of the page before handing it back.
"Oh would you look at that!" He laughed, rolling his eyes and turned the page so Bucky could see the sloppy writing. "I guess we have to watch something now." He looked down at your indulgently.
"Did you have a film in mind, Peach?" Bucky squeezed your foot gently to get your attention.
"Let's watch Toy Story!"
"Poor Buzz, he doesn't understand." Bucky sighed heavily, his metal fingers, carding through Steve's hair while his right hand gripped your leg.
"I know, but he'll be okay. Woody will help him."
"Woody is so bossy, no wonder the other toys want to play with Buzz instead."
You bit back a laugh and looked up at Bucky who was trying equally hard not to hold back his laughter "you think Woody is bossy, Stevie?"
"Yeah, Baby, don't you?" Steve looked at you both and then sighed. "You guys are mean, I'm not bossy."
"Sure, Sweetheart." You both burst out laughing, curling up and clutching your stomach when it started to hurt.
"No, not bossy at all!"
Steve's lips lifted into a soft smile "fine, maybe I'm a little bossy."
You relaxed back into silence piled together on the huge sofa, Steve played with your hair, Bucky stroked your legs and the boys held hands across the back of the head rest. You let yourself be lulled into a fuzzy, sleepy state, enjoying the film and the company, dozing in and out of sleep while your boyfriends bickered about the characters and their choices.
When Sid locked Woody and Buzz in his room Bucky's grip on your shin tightened, loosening only when they managed to make their escape. You could feel Steve's heart rate quicken while RC tried to catch up with the moving truck and both boys let out a cheer when the gang made it to the new house safely.
By the time the credits were rolling they were already talking about watching the next one after work on Monday.
"Okay, but we won't make it through Monday unless we go to bed." You climbed out of the nest the three of you had made in the living room and started to head back to your shared apartment. "You boys coming? All this talk about Buzz and Woody has given me some ideas." You winked over your shoulder, running to the lift when they both started to chase you. Steve caught you first, tossing you over his shoulder playfully and pressing the door for your floor.
"Hurry up, Bucky, or do I have to carry you as well." Steve teased.
"Don't you dare." Bucky dodged away as the doors opened again, revealing your hallway.
"A dare is it?" Steve jostled you, fingers tightening on your hip and making you squeal with laughter, before bending slightly and hosting Bucky over his left shoulder.
"You fucking punk, put me down!"
"Don't dare me then." Steve kicked your bedroom door shut behind him and tossed you and Bucky down on the bed.
You woke up to the sound of your alarm and waved your hand around slurring "FRIDAY make it stop, please." The AI turned the alarm off, slowly fading the blinds so the morning could creep into the room.
The bed was sadly empty beside you, Steve and Bucky had an early gym appointment so they could work out before putting some new recruits through their paces. You knew they'd rather stay in bed, but it was still sad to wake up alone.
You stretched and pulled on some sweatpants, super soldier labeled from the Avengers gift shop of course, and a white t-shirt. Passing by your home office you grabbed your laptop and phone to head down to the main common room. You had work to do today, but nothing too pressing, it was nice to work alongside the team while they wrote their reports and researched.
"Morning, Nat." You dropped down next to the red head and propped your feet on the coffee table.
The two of you worked quietly for a few minutes before Sam joined you, a tray of coffees in one hand and his laptop in the other.
"Morning ladies." He put the coffees down on the table at your feet and huffed out a laugh. "Have a nice weekend?"
"Yeah, thanks Sam." You smiled, returning to your emails.
Tony arrived next, landing on the balcony with a dramatic blast of music. "Avengers" he nodded at Natasha and Sam. "Groupie." He gave you a quick wave, rounding the coffee table and opening his face plate so he could sip the coffee Sam gave him.
Tony raised his eyebrows, "I see you had a nice weekend."
"I did…thanks." You frowned, why did people keep asking that? You nudged Natasha with your elbow and whispered "Nat? Do I have a hickey I can't see?"
Natasha looked at your neck, "no, dirty girl, you're fine." She chuckled.
Sam and Tony nudged each other as well and smiled at you.
"Honestly, what is going on!"
"Did you shower this morning?"
"No…I had a shower last night, do I smell or something?" You pulled your shirt up to smell the collar. "This is clean on."
"Your feet, Mrs America?"
"My feet?" You put your laptop to one side and crossed your legs looking at the soles of your feet. In black sharpie on your left foot Steve and on your right Bucky.
Summary: Working as the only female doctor at a high security prison can be scary sometimes. When Frank Castle was brought in the first time he looked like hell. Now, fully recovered you insisted to keep seeing him weekly. But for a whole different reason than making sure that he was fully healed.
Pairing: Frank Castle x fem. Reader
Wordcount: 1.9k
Rating: E for Explicit (minors dni)
Warnings: smut (unprotected sex, finger fucking, Oral; M receiving) Spitting, Anal Play, choking, one (or two) slaps, dirty talk
A/N: I have... no excuse for this. I also know nothing of prisons or how prison doctors work (probably not like that... no definitely not like that, as if people were left alone with Frank Castle in a room lol) Please accept this filth as my entry into the Punisher fandom lol
The knock at the door made you jump.
It wasn’t like you weren’t expecting the knock. He was your last patient of the day. Like every Friday. You would have almost 45 minutes with him. Alone. In this room. Without cameras or guards around.
You took one last look in the mirror, cursing yourself immediately.
He was just a patient.
A patient who had fucked your brains out every Friday when he came for his check up since the time he got into the fight that left him with a broken nose and a concussion.
He didn’t have to come to see you anymore. He was perfectly fine, but you kept searching for reasons to insist him coming and he didn’t argue against it.
You took a deep breath before you pulled your keycard through the slit next to the door. The guard opened the door seconds later and pushed Frank Castle into your room. He was wearing the orange jumpsuit and… was that a black eye?
“I’ll take it from here,” you said after the guard sat Frank down on the chair in front of your desk.
“Ring if he makes you any trouble. I’ll stay outside,” the guard nodded, as he took off the handcuffs, giving Frank a pointed look who just nodded once before the guard walked out the door and closed it behind him. You waited for the familiar click of the locking system before you turned around, resting your hip against your desk.
Frank looked up at you, his eyebrow raised.
“That looks like it hurt,” you said, pointing to his eye.
‘“Ahhh been through worse,” he shrugged.
“Why didn’t you come to see me?”
“You weren’t here,” he said, leaning back in the chair, his legs spread wide.
You hummed as you took your white coat off.
“So you gonna stand there all day or…”
“Eager, are we?” you asked and he cocked his head to the side.
“We have 42 minutes. And I won’t be here next week so…”
“Why won’t you be here next week?” you asked and he gave you a pointed look.
“Ah okay. My lips are sealed,” you nodded.
“I sure hope not…” he smirked and you sighed as you began to unbutton the blouse you were wearing.
“Filthy boy…” you teased.
“Who do you call boy here?” he asked.
You just grinned, enjoying how he sucked his bottom lip in, his eyes darkening as he saw the sheer white lace you were wearing beneath your blouse.
You made quick work on getting out of your clothes, folding them over your chair before you walked over to him. You put your hands on his shoulders as you sat down on his lap, straddling him, his hands grabbing onto your ass immediately to pull you closer.
His lips were on you immediately. Pressing against yours,his tongue pushing in between your lips, dipping into your mouth. You moaned quietly, your hands on the back of his neck.
“You look so fucking innocent all in white Doc…” he mumbled and you felt his hand reach for the clasp of your bra, pushing it off your shoulder. His hands found your breasts immediately, his big hands groping them and you began to roll your hips, feeling him hard and ready between your legs.
“Can you cum like this?” he asked. You shook your head. He chuckled, one hand letting go and wasting no time to push inside your panties.
“You’re always so wet… Is fucking prisoners making you wet?”
“Shut up and make me cum, Castle,” you pulled at his hair and he cocked his eyebrow, keeping his eyes on you as he pushed two fingers inside of you.
“Fuck…”
“Ride them,” he said huskily and you groaned as you kissed him and began to ride his fingers. The kiss was wet and nasty and fuck it felt so good. You arched your back as he added a third finger, panting quietly as his lips sucked on your breast, closing around your nipple.
You felt the familiar pull in your stomach, you were so close you just needed…
Frank pulled his fingers out of you and you moaned frustrated.
“What the…” you began but he picked you up, setting you down on the patient bench.
You watched him as he licked his fingers clean, moaning like it was the best meal he’d ever tasted before he began to get his overall off. He smirked at you, giving you a wink and you reached for him greedily.
“Gonna miss me, Doc?”
“Guess I have to find someone else for my weekly fix,” you challenged and his jaw clenched. He didn’t like that.
“You thinking you gonna find someone who can fuck you like this?” he asked.
He grabbed your legs, propping them up against his body as he pulled your panties off. You grinned, stretching your arm over your head, arching your back and he groaned, his eyes on your tits.
He spit on your pussy before he spit in his hand, fisting his cock.
You shuddered, parting your legs even wider for him.
“The clock is ticking, Castle,” you challenged and he huffed, stepping closer and you felt his cock poking at your entrance.
“Gotta make sure you won’t forget whose pussy this is huh?” he said and pushed his whole length into you. You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning out loud. He gave you a moment, kissing your calf.
He began to move, thrusting into you slowly for a couple times, before he leaned down, his hand finding your throat as he pumped into you hard and fast as he folded you almost in half. He just let his hand rest on your throat, his fingers rubbing over your skin.
“I want you to cum,” he snarled, his hand just giving the slightest pressure.
“And then I want to fuck your mouth until I shoot my cum down your throat…” he pressed and you whimpered, your hand covering his on your throat, showing him that he could use more pressure.
“Filthy girl,” he grinned, finally choking you like he knew you liked it.
“Cum on my cock, come on,” he leaned down, changing the angle in which he was fucking you while his hand chocked you harder and you came. Hard. Your whole body shaking as you parted your lips in a silent cry. He let go of your throat while he fucked you through your orgasm, his hand massaging your breast.
“Best fucking pussy…” he groaned. His other hand slipped between your legs, rolling your clit and you cried out, his other hands coming up to cover your mouth in the next moment to silence you. Frank chuckled as he looked at you.
“Bet I could make you cum again like this…” he hummed, thrusting into you deep while his finger rubbed over your clit.
“Frank… Fuck please…” you mumbled under his hand.
“Aww. Please what?” he mocked you and fuck you wanted to slap his handsome face. Instead you put one of your feet against his chest to push him off of you, earning a confused stare. You hopped from the bench and turned around, wiggling your ass towards him.
“Tick Tock, Castle,” you said, giving him a smirk as you looked over your shoulder. He shook his head with a chuckle, one of his hands giving your ass a hard smack that had you groan loudly.
“I dream about this ass,” he said before he was back inside of you, his hands on your hips. You met his thrusts, already feeling close again.
“Wonder if you would let me fuck you…” you felt his fingers rubbing over your puckered hole, “here. Think about it all the damn time…”
You bit your lip.
“Maybe next time…” you hummed and Frank groaned behind you.
“Fuck, you tell me that now. Now I gotta find you when I’m done with this shit…”
“Frank please… I’m so close…”
“Yeah? Then cum….” he thrusted faster while he kept rubbing over your other hole and that was all it took and you soaked his cock. He slapped your ass again before he pulled out.
“On your knees, Doc,” he said and even though you felt like sleeping for a day after the orgasms he gave you, you pushed yourself off the bench and got on your knees in front of him. He looked down at you, his hand on your cheek before he pushed two of his fingers into your mouth.
“Keep that pretty mouth open,” he said as he pulled his fingers out and grabbed his cock, pushing it between your lips. You relaxed your jaw, keeping your eyes on Frank as he slowly thrusted inside your mouth.
“Fuck baby…” he moaned, his hand on the back of your head to keep you still while he thrusted deeper and deeper until his cock hit the back of your throat.
“Relax for me…” he hummed and you felt your eyes water as his cock pushed down your throat. You moaned as he fucked your mouth, getting deeper and deeper until your nose nuzzled in his pubic hair.
“Fucking hell Doc… I’m gonna cum….” he grunted just before you felt him twitch and spill down your throat.
He was breathing hard as he slipped his cock out of your mouth and you grinned up at him as you gathered some of his cum in the corner of your mouth and brought it to your lips.
“So fucking filthy…” he shook his head before he helped you up and kissed you hard.
“You love it,” you murmured against his lips and he just grinned before he kissed you again.
“So.. Do I want to know what your plan is?” you asked after he helped you dress yourself. You were checking yourself in the tiny mirror, yet only a shower would make the “I’ve just been fucked” look go away. You splashed some water in your face.
“Nah. The less you know the better.”
“Okay,” you said quietly as you turned around. He was standing behind you, his fingers tilting your chin up.
“I never asked why you kept up with me? You know who I am.”
“I… I don’t think you’re a bad person.” He huffed and rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious Frank. You see something that’s shitty and you take care of it. No matter what. I respect that. And you can be charming as fuck if you want to.”
“So the whole killing thing doesn’t bother you?”
“As long as I won’t end up on your list…” you shrugged and he just looked at you like you grew a second head before he smirked.
“Oh you’re on top of one of my lists…”
“Is there anyone else on it?” you grinned as you crossed your arms behind his neck.
“Nah,” he shook his head.
“We have two minutes left,” you whispered and he sighed.
“I’m gonna find you Doc.”
“Yeah?”
“You bet your ass I will.”
It was almost six weeks later after your Friday shift that you found Frank Castle in your apartment.
Looking like hell.
But you’d gladly spend the whole weekend taking care of him if it meant he’d stay.
Pairing: Natasha/Reader
Summary: Realizing that while Natasha spent many hours at your place, and knew much of your secrets, you didn’t even know where she lived. A fight about trusts breaks out and you aren’t sure how you’ll be able to fix what you have.
Word Count: 1446
Warnings: Angst, arguing, swear words
A/N: This is my entry to @startrekkingaroundasgard birthday writing challenge! I am honestly surprised I got it written so fast and I do promise that my original idea was fluffy but then I thought of this so this is what you get.. My prompt was Key! Hope you enjoy!
“Is there a reason we never go to your place?” You asked while your head was resting on Natasha’s chest, fingers tracing light patterns on her forearms.
“I just like your apartment, it’s feel cozy, like home.” Natasha told you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.
“I mean I do pride myself on a cozy home but I am sure your apartments much nicer than mine.” You pointed out. In that moment, it hit you that not only did she only ever come to your apartment, but you hadn’t even been to hers once. You had another realization, “I don’t even know where you live.”
“Side effect of being a spy.” Natasha shrugged, as if it wasn’t really a big deal. Maybe it wasn’t, but for whatever reason it suddenly felt like one.
“Nat, I am also a spy. Why do you get to know where I live, but I don’t know where you live?” You found yourself getting a bit irritated the more she brushed it off.
Summary: Bucky is the cute new arrival living with the Avengers in the penthouse. He's sweet, tips well, smiles and seems to like you. So when his Winter Soldier programming is triggered you're shocked that he comes looking for you.
Warnings: 18 +, language, sexual content, noncon (Bucky has been triggered / reader is made to perform a sex act), oral sex (m receiving). Remember it's fanfiction okay.
Credits: thank you to @christywantspizza who has been waiting AGES for me to get the courage to post this and not only beta read but wrote (and we checked) 18% of it when I couldn't figure out the end. So please go and check out her fics because she's amazing.
Divider by @firefly-graphics
A/N: dedicated to @cwbucky who told me not to 😊, you don't have to read it 😂 possibly the only time I'll write noncon because...well. I very much con. This is a look inside my distrurbed mind and my fantasy that I could break the WS programming with a well timed BJ.
You'd seen him every day over the last two weeks, normally in the morning when it was quiet before the 8.30am rush. He had his hair tied up in a bun, normally, a few loose strands hanging around his temples and brushing his cheeks. He favoured the type of shirts with little buttons on, which was good because his broad chest didn't seem contained by the thick looking cotton, the buttons were always a little strained drawing attention to his chest and arms. The shirts were always black, blue or red, never any other colour. He always smelt clean and fresh, like he had jumped straight out of the tumble dryer.
He always ordered two coffees - one large with a splash of cream, on Fridays he added hazelnut syrup. And then the second coffee was always different. He let you pick the first few and then started making his own combinations. He'd take a sip, tip his head to the side studying the reusable cup he bought on the first day and then tell you his thoughts before strolling back to the Avengers private lift.
You didn't see him that morning but you still opened up the little coffee stand like normal and put the chairs out in the atrium to prepare for the day to start. There was a new face though, a doctor with an almost German accent. He ordered a small espresso and 'whatever the Avengers normally get' so you whipped up the coffee, hot chocolates and teas as quickly as you could. For your favourite customer, you made a latte with pumpkin spice syrup and a pinch of brown sugar on the top, which he'd liked a few days ago.
You should have known something was wrong, even if the agents around you didn't, you should have known.
Trembling, you hid behind the counter and hoped you wouldn't be found. The first alarm had sounded 10 minutes before, followed by an announcement that the doctor had been apprehended, stopping the alarm , but only briefly. The red lights started flashing again almost immediately.
It was a full alert, evacuation to the basement or roof. No stopping for personal belongings. No pausing. There were regular drills for this but no one had prepared you to be trapped by the intruder. You could hear them approach, the sound of gunshots and then the thud of boots.
Deep breathing and a guttural grunt.
Then silence.
Taking a chance, you peered around the edge of the counter, a gasp escaping you when you saw your favourite customer. Bucky. In the same red shirt he was wearing on Monday, but you couldn't see the buttons with his back to you, the unlaced black combat boots familiar and terrifying all at the same time.
He sniffed, turning his head. It was still Bucky, but his eyes were wild, stormy and dark, his jaw clenched. Then he saw you. His jaw loosed a little and the frantic pacing ceased, focussed on the counter.
One, two, three, heavy thuds.
Nothing.
"Out." He barked, hands slapping onto the counter top.
You did nothing.
One, two, three. He rounded the counter.
"You."
"Bucky, are you okay?"
He sniffed again, his jaw softening into a hint of a smile.
"You." He growled. Not Bucky then. The Winter Soldier.
"I - I can get you a coffee? You want a coffee?" You backed up, scrambling on your hands and hitting your head on the far end of the coffee counter.
The soldier advanced slowly and bent down to grab your chin in his cold, silver fingers. His nose pressed against your cheek, his eyelashes kissing your cheek bones. His tongue flicked out from between his lips and traced the shell of your ear, a deep shuddering breath escaping from deep in his chest. "You," he said again, pressing his lips to your jaw.
You were silent, transfixed by the way his fingers moved across your skin, surprisingly delicate. He huffed again, blowing warm air over your mouth, tracing the plump dip of your bottom lip.
A loud bang echoed around the atrium, metal hitting metal rhythmically. Bucky looked angry again as he stood to full height, towering over you. You let out a whimper when he grabbed you, holding you to his leg and hip. Your own legs were sprawled beneath you, neck awkwardly bent.
"Stay."
You nodded against the rough fabric of his jeans and an unmistakable growing bulge pressing on the zipper.
The metal thumping stopped and Bucky - the Soldier - looked at you, tipping your chin to meet his eyes, the metal zip biting into your cheek.
"Mine." He grunted, his warm right hand joining his metal fingers and manhandling you to your knees, the zipper against your lips. The Soldier looked pleased, grunting at the contact.
His thumb slipped into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue so that your jaw dropped open, saliva pooling in your mouth the longer he held you there. You closed your eyes, trying to swallow so the spit wouldn't roll down your chin. The Soldier's head tipped to the side again, thinking, before the quiet sound of metal fingers on metal zipper made your eyes snap open.
You clamped your mouth shut, swallowing deeply as he revealed his hard, weeping cock from inside his jeans. The head was flushed red, a thick vein pulsing along the underside and just like that you were salivating again.
How many times had you thought of this moment? How many times had you imagined Bucky like this? Shy, reserved, polite, Bucky. It was still Bucky, you told yourself, somewhere inside. It was still Bucky.
The Soldier slid his thumb back into your mouth, running the pad along the top of your teeth and then applying pressure, opening your jaw once again. He used his other hand to tap the head of his cock against your tongue, forcing it flat before sliding into your mouth.
He was big, warm, his skin soft and delicate compared to the denim at his hips. You reached up to push yourself away and he let you take an inch, but he didn't pull back. Every thrust pushed him deeper and deeper into your mouth until you had to drag each breath through your nose. Only when you gagged, your eyes watering, did he give you any respite.
For a second, he pulled back, cupping your cheeks and a few of the storm clouds that had darkened his eyes seemed to clear. You tried to pull your face away, to get some distance so you could try to get through to him, but his grip tightened, rough fingernails digging into your skin, fingers tangled in your hair.
Clarity crept into the edges of his vision. Then the rhythmic metallic thumping started again, joined by the fiery hum of Stark's suit, and the storm clouds rolled in once more, hardening his features into a snarl.
The Soldier's hands tightened, burying himself to the hilt, filling your throat and your senses.
The bottom hem of his henley was the only thing his iron grip would allow you to see. His grunts all that you could hear with each brutal thrust. His hands, one smooth and one calloused; thumbs tracing your cheekbones but fingers gripping the back of your neck.
Settled deep against his stomach, the smell of clean lined mixed with something you'd never been close enough to enjoy before - soap, sandalwood, something musky that must be all Bucky. And his taste, the salty tang of him on your tongue made you give an involuntary hum, his hands tightening until you let out a low moan of pain.
Bucky groaned in return, his fingers becoming more and more loose. With one hand he gripped the counter, the other still wrapped around your neck keeping just the wide, sensitive head of his cock in your mouth, your ragged gasps for air drawing out another drop of precum.
"Fuck!' The exclamation rang around the room, his grip yanking your head back and forth."Oh god." The Soldier's voice sounded wrecked when he moaned again. Hips pulling away and then thrusting back erratically.
"I'm - oh fuck - I'm sorry." He came with a cry, trying to pull back but filling your mouth with the now familiar taste of his cum, striping your nose and cheek as he created space between you. You briefly thought about leaning forward and spitting it out, leaving the evidence on the expensive tile floor, but you didn't. "Doll - oh - God-" Bucky reached down for you and then seemed to think better of it, putting his hands behind his back and stumbling into the edge of the counter.
His eyes were returning to their usual blue, like the sky after rain, wet with unspilt tears. "Bucky?"
"Yeah-" He put his hands over his face. "Yeah, it's me, doll. I -" he looked down at you, still on your knees, a smudge of cum at the corner of your mouth. "I'm sorry. He didn't give me a mission. He didn't tell me what to do so I - I guess the Soldat just saw you in my mind and- It wasn't my idea but I'm so sorry, did I hurt you?” He paused, looking you over and seeing no blood, no cuts, just the purpling at your neck from his fingers, turned to leave. “I’ll get you a medic, I should turn myself in now.”
You didn’t know where your boldness came from, maybe from the adrenaline of what had just transpired, maybe from the heartbreak of seeing guilt flood his eyes for something he had no control over, but you rose to your knees and grabbed his face between both your hands so he couldn’t escape.
“Please, Bucky, don’t leave me. I’m okay, honestly.” You tried to catch his eye so he could see that you were shaken, but safe, that you trusted him still.
“It’s not. You’re not,” he said, hands gripping the side of the counter, as if touching you could break you for good.
“I am, you didn’t hurt me, I swear.”
A loud explosion came from the south door of the cafeteria and Captain America ran in, followed by the Black Widow and Iron Man. Red dots appeared on Bucky’s chest, his forehead and flesh hand, the siren hum of Iron Man’s repulsors too loud in the empty room.
Bucky stared down at the dot on his hand, holding his hands up and away from his body in surrender. “He’s fine! It’s Bucky, he’s back, he’s not dangerous, I swear!”
“Bucky?” Steve called.
“Ye- Yeah, it’s me, Steve. I’m sorry, it was the doctor, he said the words and-.”
“We know, Buck,” he said, lowering the shield and coming closer to comfort his friend, “let’s get you inside, we’ll catch that bastard.”
Bucky looked at you, touched by the kindness you showed him, even after what he’d done. “It’s all gonna be okay. Come talk to me when you can, alright?” You touched your fingertips to his hand, the red dot vanishing.
“Maybe over a coffee? One you don’t have to serve?”
“I’d like that. I’d like that very much.” You smiled at him and the corners of his lips twitched in what was the closest thing to a smile he could muster.
You had no idea how to even address what had happened and that was even if Bucky wanted to talk about it. You had no idea how to become friends moving on from here, but you knew that it had in no way changed how you felt about him and you were determined to not let him torture himself with it. Hopefully, with enough time, he’d be able to forgive himself, and you’d be there to help him while he couldn’t.
Summary - You want a guy from work to get the hint you aren’t interested. Of course, instead of just using your words, the only solution must be to get your dear friend with benefits to be your fake boyfriend for the night.
Pairing – bucky x rogers!reader (friendswbenefits); fem!reader (u can be adopted idk it doesnt go into detail.) It’s an au - avengers who??
Warnings – SMUT. 18+ ONLY; penetration, hand stuff; uses of pet names (baby/peach); semi-public sexual shenanigans, & alcohol use.
A/n – Reader and Bucky go out with “work friends” but i have no clue what your work is. Most of the mentioned characters are scientists, so maybe something sciency but feel free to get creative. Also, pls note, I ALWAYS write y/n’s character without any physical description. Reader is written as fem, but pls know no matter ur identity, you are welcome here sweet pea.
W/c: 7k
───※ ·❆· ※───
His calloused right hand grasped your hip, holding you steady as you moved up and down on top of him. The left hand, colder and smooth aside from the slim divots where the metal shifted, held your own hand. Two different methods of holding you steady, and two very different feelings. He held you like a dance, although the music completely different.
‘Bucky,’ your words were breathy and light as the feeling of him overtook you.
‘Fuck, Baby,’ his tone was the same, just his voice lower and scratchier. Your moans increased at the sight of him fluttering his eyes shut, his mouth parted as the pleasure flooded his senses.
So badly you wanted to lower your face to his and press your mouth against his pretty lips. It wasn’t the time though. He seemed content in the moment and you sometimes feared initiating a kiss in the midst of it all would turn him off of it. So instead you watched his face as he reacted to the feeling of having you ride him like this.
You let yourself get lost in it and the pleasure within you only built up more and more until you couldn't take it anymore and your own eyes closed. You groaned, ‘I’m so close.’
Although you didn’t see it, he looked up at you again. He was full of awe, watching you lose yourself above him.
‘Go ahead, baby,’ he growled, his hand on your hip tightening. He sucked in a breath as your movements increased, your hips rolling against him unforgivingly. ‘Fuck.’
You made a sound only described as a whimper, your head dropping back as the feeling overtook you.
‘That's it,’ he grinned, ‘Cum for me. I love feeling you like this. Fuck— I love seeing you like this.”
In the last moment, you looked back at him, and the absolute hunger in his eyes drove you over the edge. The twist within you let go. He watched your face contort as you came on him, quickly following and releasing after you. The feeling of you clenching around him, the absolute vulnerable expression on your face and the addictive moans you were letting out were all he’d ever need.
“Fuck,” you fell gently against his glistening chest, letting your mouth fall against his collar bone.
The two do you spend a few moments catching your breaths.
“Wait, y/n?” He said between breaths.
“Hm?” You let out against him, still obsessed with the feeling of him inside you as you were coming down.
“What were you saying about tomorrow?”
Your brows furrowed and you took a moment to get off of him, stretching as you rolled onto your back. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”
“You’re going out with work friends… and bringing Sam?” He squinted trying to remember the conversation before he was pushing you onto his bed only a little while ago.
“I haven’t asked him yet.” You got up to go to the en suite, leaving the door open while you cleaned yourself up and put on some clothes again. Calling out of the bathroom, you continued explaining, “That weird guy at work just won’t stop flirting with me, so Kate told me I should make up a boyfriend so he’d leave me alone.”
“What about reporting things to HR?”
You scoffed, poking your head around the corner, “I don’t have enough against this guy. I don’t think they can fire him for flirting. I don’t have, like, tangible proof of it or anything, so it’s just my word against his, yunno? Could be easily written off as him just being friendly.”
You heard Bucky grunt as you were putting clothes on, and you figured that maybe that was the end of the conversation. However, he ended up walking into the bathroom behind you, discarding the condom and cleaning himself off. This was all a very classy moment the two of you were sharing.
He bumped his bare hip against your clothed one so that he could wash his hands. “That’s that guy who asked you to the Harry Styles concert? Brad? Bailey?”
“Oh yeah! Bruce!”
“Can’t believe you missed out on Harry Styles,” he shot you a teasing grin in the mirror.
“Buck. That’s not funny,” you frowned, bumping his hip again. “I didn’t want him to think I’m into him. I have a hard time outright telling him I’m not interested because I don’t know how to bring that up without making things awkward! He’s not like a weird guy or anything, I just am not interested.”
“So, Sam’s gonna be your fake boyfriend?” He raised a brow.
“Yes. I think he’d be fine with it. I’ve told him about Bruce before and he’s actually suggested having a fake partner.”
Bucky was frowning while drying his hands.
“What?” You questioned. His grumpy face was always quite adorable and you held back from smiling.
“Can’t believe you have to make up a boyfriend to have this guy leave you alone.”
“Being a woman is hard,” you shrugged. “I also could easily tell him no, I just haven’t.”
“But it’s not your responsibility,” he stared back at you in the mirror, the blue of his eyes bright under the vanity light, “He should get the idea. I dunno, if I was flirting with a girl for months, I’d eventually get it in my head that she’s not into me. Especially after turning down concert tickets to Harry Styles.”
He cracked a smile at the end there, clearly thinking he was quite the jokester. You rolled your eyes yet grinned back. “I lied and told him I didn’t like Harry Styles.”
Bucky’s laugh had his eyes lighting up and he turned to you, “Y/n, oh my god. I can’t believe you have to lie to this guy!”
“It’s fine! I’d rather lie than hurt his feelings!”
He shook his head, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine!”
Bucky nodded with a little smile on his face, thinking to himself. You often wished you could get an insight to what he was thinking. He kept a lot of feelings to himself, and was not exactly the best communicator. Still, whatever arrangement this was between you had been working. At the beginning, several months ago, you both had decided on no strings attached, and set a few little rules, but after that, that was it for him. The rules were set and he didn’t have much more to say on that. If he wanted to say more, he would.
“Yunno,” he turned to look at you, “Ask me.”
You weren’t certain you knew what he was implying. “What?”
“Ask me to come tomorrow. I’ll be your fake boyfriend,” he seemed pretty proud of this idea, “Yunno, peach, I’m kind of insulted you didn’t think of me first.”
Truthfully, you had thought about asking him. You’d thought about it quite a lot, really. However, you decided it could be too much, just like sometimes you thought kissing him and making sex more intimate than it needed to be would be too much. There were many little things about your interactions and times spent with Bucky that you wanted to become a little more, but he never said anything, and so you figured he wouldn’t want them.
You faltered, looking at him to try to ascertain if he was serious. “I can’t ask you that!”
He looked puzzled. “Why not? I already know Kate, so I’d feel comfortable coming along. I also think any PDA would look more natural with me than it would with Sam.”
Your expression did not change. “What?”
He chuckled and grabbed your waist, pulling you closer, “C’mon, peach. Imagine Sam tryna make a move on you. Seriously, imagine. I think you’d both end up laughing. That man cannot act.” You grinned, knowing he had a point.
“Plus,” he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ears, “Imagine my hand on your thigh all night, hm? I’d make sure Bruce could see that, and I’d kiss you right in front of him. He’s gotta know you belong to someone else.”
You shuddered at that, your hands subconsciously falling against his bare chest.
He laughed lightly and pulled his head back enough to look at you. “You like that.” It wasn’t a question.
“Kate’s gonna make fun of me.”
“She knows about all this though, right?” By all this he meant your friends with benefits situation.
“Yeah, but won’t that make it weirder? She’s never seen us act… like that.”
His smile was contagious and he knew you weren’t completely turned off by his idea through the look in your eye. “This could be so fun.”
You bit your lip. “Okay, I guess. Are you sure you wanna come? It’s at this pub downtown. I think like six of us are going?”
“Fuck yes, I want to come,” his nostrils flared and he looked at you with a joking astoundment as though this was obvious, which it kind of was. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean and he never said more than he had to.
You pretended to consider. “Okay. I suppose you can be my date.”
He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, something he only did sometimes, and swiftly moved back into the bedroom to get dressed. “You’re not gonna regret this, peach.”
───※ ·❆· ※───
Bucky was always respectful and kind to you, but you’d never really thought of him as a gentleman until he offered –no, insisted, that he pick you up for Friday and even be your DD. He even walked to your door when coming to get you, telling you how beautiful looked even though you were dressed rather casually. If you didn’t know it was fake, you’d probably swoon. He himself was also quite casual, but he sure had a way of wearing his black jacket.
You’d been frantically updating Kate on where you were at because you were nervous to arrive before her. She was a great security blanket when it came to you being around Bruce. Sure, you had Bucky tonight, but you weren’t sure if he’d sense any nerves from you.
She had arrived first, luckily, and met you two outside. Her eyes lit up when she saw you, and then she made a strange face when she realized Bucky was holding your hand.
“Look at you two,” she smirked as you approached. “Quite the lovely couple, I see.”
“Don’t make this weird,” you hushed although you were grinning. “Cute outfit.”
She had on her cutest smile. “Thank you, y/n/n. Cute hair.”
“Cute shoes.”
“Cute makeup.”
“No you.”
“No—“
Bucky was giggling, “What about me?”
She pretended to look confident, her chin high as she looked him up and down. “I suppose you have some lovely facial hair today, Barnes.”
You grinned up at him and teased, repeating her, “I suppose.”
He just chuckled and tugged on your hand a bit. “Let’s get inside. I wanna meet this Bruce guy. Also, I’m hungry. This place got good food?”
“Not amazing, but still good. Drinks are divine though,” she told him and swung her arm around your shoulders. Maybe you should’ve just asked her to be your fake girlfriend. However that would’ve meant putting on the role at work and that’s simply not something you wanted to do.
The three of you entered the familiar pub, welcomed by the scent of beer and smoke, and the chatter of laughter and the click of pool cues.
Bucky raised a brow, “We playin’ pool?”
You bit your lip, “Wasn’t planning on it? But who knows.”
Kate had ignored that and bit her lip when she caught where everyone from work was sitting. “Wait, y/n, I’m nervous. Why am I nervous?”
You halted which had Bucky stumble for a second and they both paused beside you. “Oh my god, Kate, you’re not allowed to be nervous. That’s my job.”
Bucky leaned down to be more at your level. “Why are we nervous?”
Kate winced, “What if Bruce sees right through this? What if they ask a question about your relationship and I mess it up for you guys! We should’ve coordinated answers.”
Bucky started chuckling, “Hey, it’s fine. Just don’t think too much about it. Everything’s the same, except me and y/n go on dates sometimes.”
You felt lucky that you were on his left side, because the vibranium wasn’t able to sense how sweaty your palm was against his. “What if they ask how we got together?”
He smirked. “Just say we started as friends with benefits.”
Your hand was definitely sweaty.
“First date?” Kate questioned.
“Harry Styles concert.”
Your eyes widened up at him, “Bucky, no.”
Finally Kate was cracking a smile. Perhaps Bucky would be both of your security blankets tonight. His relaxed mood was rubbing off on you a little already. “Okay, okay. First real date was to the MoMA.”
Your lips parted, a little surprised by the answer because it was actually something the two of you had done before. It was before you’d even started sleeping with each other and was one of the first times you hung out one on one with him. However, before you or Kate could comment, a person stood in front of the three of you and cleared their throat.
“Excuse me, do you three need help finding a seat?” The person was in all black with an apron around her waist, probably a server or bartender, and was doing her best to not look irritated with you.
“Sorry!” Kate apologized and cringed, “Just looking for our friends… Oh look! Found them! Thanks so much!”
She dragged you away, you and Bucky giggling along as you all approached the work table.
“Bishop! Y/l/n!” Your coworker, Clint, called out and raised his beer stein up, “You finally made it!”
Out of everyone, aside from Kate, Clint was the only other person you worked with who had met Bucky before. Luckily, he hadn’t had a long moment with the guy, so he didn’t think twice when he saw Bucky at your side, hand in yours.
“Hey guys,” you gave them a little wave.
One of your coworkers, Gamora, scooted her seat over and patted the one beside her, “Plenty of room for you all.”
Kate took the seat beside her, and you took a second to scope out everyone. Yelena was the only one not here yet, but otherwise there was Clint, Gamora, Helen, Erik, Darcy, and, of course, Bruce. He was on the other end of the table, and luckily the spots around him were taken so even if he had offered, which he hadn’t, there’d be no spot to sit beside him. He still was giving you a little smile, but looking at Bucky a little puzzled.
He was not the only one looking at Bucky.
Darcy patted the chair next to her, “C’mere, you two. This is your boyfriend then, y/n?”
You blushed, the nerves kicking in again but then Bucky gave your hand a little squeeze. He displayed his best charming smile and told Darcy, “The one and only. I’m Bucky.”
She raised a brow, looking impressed for some reason. You soon realized the reason when she looked him up and down. “Well, come sit, handsome.”
“Darcy,” you huffed.
“Oh,” Bucky chuckled, “You’re Darcy? I’ve heard about you.”
“Only the best I presume!”
Bucky did end up sitting by Darcy’s side but pulled your chair closer to him as you sat. You swung your bag and coat over the back of the seat, and the moment you were settled, Bucky had his arm around you.
“Um, so,” You cleared your throat, “Everyone, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is everyone.”
“You’re real good at this,” Kate teased, picking up the drink menu with a little grin.
Gamora nudged her, “Let her live. Introducing everyone to your partner is always a struggle. Remember when I brought Peter for the first time?”
A few of them chuckled and Kate responded, “Yes! Oh, that poor man.”
Bucky gave Kate a nod, “What happened with him?”
Helen, who was sitting on Gamora’s other side, leaned forward a bit to acknowledge Bucky’s question, “Honestly, Kate, Darcy and your beloved girlfriend are the ones to ask. They kept embarrassing the poor man, asking him things like what are your intentions?”
Bucky gave you a look, “Were you bullying the poor guy?”
You leaned over to grab another distant drink menu, hiding your face behind it. “No comment.”
Helen giggled and told Bucky, “I’m Helen by the way. And this is Gamora, Clint, Eric, and Bruce. I’m assuming you already know Kate?”
“Oh yeah,” Kate whistled and leaned back to look cool, “Me and Barnes? We go way back.” They did not go way back.
“We’ve met before,” Clint recalled openly. “Kate’s family banquet thing.”
Bucky’s eyes lit up, “Yeah! You were her mentor back then, yeah?”
“Mhm,” Clint mumbled, picking up his beer and taking a sip. “Didn’t realize you and y/n were a thing, though.”
Erik gave you a look, “So, this is the lad that has you rushing out of work every Friday, hm? He is quite the handsome face. I see why you’d be so eager.” Erik was your mentor when you’d first started on the job. He’d totally caught you grinning at your phone on Friday afternoons, reading Bucky’s texts as he teased you in preparation for that night.
“Oh my god,” you shot him a teasing glare, “I do not rush. And I have other friends! I never said I was going to meet up with my boyfriend!”
Bucky gave you a little grin, teasing, “Well, we do kind of hang out almost every friday, peach. It works best with our schedules.”
Bruce cut in, “I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend?” He was trying to sound casual, but you could see in his eyes that he was deeply confused. Who knew what was going through his head, especially when Bucky started to fiddle with the hem of your shirt, just by your neck.
Gamora looked at Bruce and then back at you, a little smile on her face like she was up to something. “I totally knew you were seeing someone.”
“I just like to be private!” You and Bruce briefly made eye contact.
Kate blew a raspberry, putting the drink menu down, “I’m gonna hop up to the bar and order. Y/n, Bucky, you ready?”
“I’m the designated driver tonight,” Bucky nodded as if this were some philosophical answer and let out a loud sigh, “Yup. Sober night for me.”
You snorted, “You don’t even drink much, you weirdo.” He was never the type to get drunk, or even tipsy really. He would usually have a drink to fit in, but sip it slowly throughout the night.
Helen leaned to slide over a general bar menu that was sitting in the middle of it all, “We were talking earlier about sharing curly fries.”
Bucky furrowed his brow at the menu and said in all seriousness, “I fuckin’ love curly fries.”
“What a coincidence, so do I,” Darcy said proudly.
“I’m trying to fight to also get some nachos,” Erik declared.
Bucky gave him a thumbs up, “I’m down for that too. Kate, I’ll come order with you to grab all that. Y/n, what did you want, baby?”
Peach was one he’d use more regularly in front of friends, as it could be written off easier as platonic in his mind, however baby was one he usually kept private. So, you blushed at it. You still hadn’t been able to read a damn word on the menu so you pointed at some random drink that said honey something. “This, please.”
He glanced at it, “Okay, you’ve got it.”
“Thank you,” you squeaked as he kissed your temple quickly. Kate also got up, following him to the bar.
After you set aside the menu, you glanced up to find that everyone’s eyes were behind you, watching Bucky in the distance, presumably. With both of them gone, you felt vulnerable to everyone’s opinions as though they’d see right through you. Although, no one had any reason to suspect you were lying. You’d probably even mentioned hanging out with him before to Darcy, even using his name. If anyone had ever looked through your social media, there were photos of him. Being friends with your brother, Bucky had been in your life longer than Kate had.
“He’s got a handsome smile,” Erik said in approval. Apparently a handsome smile was all love required because he quickly moved on, “Okay, did any of you hear what happened in HR on thursday?”
Everyone engaged in some gossip over whatever was going on, which you were grateful for. Bruce was quieter than usual, you noticed, but you avoided eye contact so you didn’t quite know what this expression was like.
Soon, you felt Bucky beside you again. He gave you a little smile and handed you your drink and placed some nachos on the table. “Erik, my man, here you go.”
Kate placed the curly fries.
“Oi, you are a gem,” Erik praised before grabbing a big chunk. “I’ll pay ya back.”
“On me,” Bucky insisted, reaching to grab his own share. He placed some on a plate and brought it closer to you.
“Thanks,” you said quietly before taking a sip of your drink. Luckily, whatever it was, it tasted pretty good.
The group settled into a comfortable chatter, continuing on about the HR stuff and diving into little drama things. And of course, just as Bucky promised, his hand was on your thigh. It was his right hand, warm and firm through the fabric of your pants. You swore he pressed a little harder every time you laughed at something, and you also swore that each time Bruce spoke up, Bucky’s hand moved upward as well. Still, you remained calm and relaxed. Bucky was getting along nicely with everyone and you almost forgot how you had to be pretending here. Even though this was something you never did publicly, his hand on you was something normal and comforting.
Before you knew it, you had finished your drink. Your cheeks were warm and you realized you probably drank it a little fast. The damn thing was good. You wondered if there was real honey in it.
“Peach?” Bucky leaned over, his words warm on your cheek, “Want another?”
You pursed your lips while pondering over the glass. “I think so.”
“Hey,” he said to get your attention pointed his way instead. You understood and looked over, his nose nearly touching yours. He had a curious look on his face, the corners of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin, “You doin’ okay?”
You nodded and he absolutely did not miss the way you glanced down at his mouth because he mirrored your action. You thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you then. He had said earlier he would to make Bruce jealous, and you momentarily panicked, realizing you’d never kissed in front of anyone before. However he quickly pulled back and stood up, knowing how much his teasing drove you crazy, “Be right back. Does anyone else need a refill?”
Darcy lifted her glass, “Me, please!”
Bucky somehow knew what she was having and accepted her glass.
“I love this guy,” Dary laughed openly and happily with you and you couldn’t help but giggle along.
Gamora had been glancing at her phone and raised her finger to tell evefryone something, “Hey, folks, Yelena finally texted. She’s just pulling up with Nat.”
“Why is she so late!” Clint scolded although his anger wasn’t serious.
You and Kate however froze over the name Nat and stared at each other.
“Um. Her sister?” Kate asked. “Didn’t realize she was comin.”
“Oh yeah,” Gamora was typing something back to Yelena, “I told everyone this earlier, but you guys weren’t here yet. Hey, y/n, she’s friends with your brother, Steve, right? She must know Bucky then!”
You smiled awkwardly, hoping it didn’t look that way. “Definitely. Yelena’s never met him, but Nat? Yup. Absolutely. Yup, yup.”
“Uh oh,” Darcy smirked, sensing your awkwardness contrary to your efforts, “What’s up with you? Is there some drama there?”
There was zero drama there. Nat got along with you and Bucky very well, however not only did you not tell her about your fake dating plan, but she had no clue you and Bucky were friends with benefits in the first place. And on top of that, Steve had no clue either, and he’d definitely be hearing about this night from her if his little sister was involved.
You went to pull out your phone, hoping that even though Nat was probably right in the parking lot or even closer, that you’d be able to text her an explanation and that she’d read and understand the explanation before she got to the table. However, just as you pulled out her contact, you heard Yelena’s familiar voice, “Hi, guys!”
You raised your eyes, seeing the two sisters wander over, looking lovely and happy as ever. How the hell were you supposed to warn Bucky?
Everyone greeted them. The only two spots left happened to be the one right beside you, and the one at the end of the table. Yelena placed her coat at the end chair, so Nat came and sat beside you, her eyes lighting up when she saw you.
“Little Rogers,” she teased, giving you a little side hug as she sat, “I thought you’d be here!”
“Yeah, Nat, good to see ya, um, can I talk–”
“Here ya go, peach,” Bucky’s voice had you freeze up, especially when Natasha looked up and gave him a confused look. He was oblivious to her at first, only ntoicing Yelena after placing down your drinks. “Oh hey, you must be–”
“Bucky?” Nat laughed, sitting up a bit more and leaning toward him to swat his shoulder, “Why are you here?”
Kate started choking on her drink in fear.
Bucky had a smile still on, but his eyes were worried for the first time all evening. “Uh…” When he didn’t know what to say, you knew you were screwed. Sure, Nat knew you and Bucky were close, but it still seemed weird that you brought him along to some work hangout especially when she’d never heard the two of you doing that before.
Yelena, despite being Nat’s sister, had never met Bucky and her eyes lit up, “Oh! You’re her boyfriend, then? I thought Gamora’s text was lying when she said y/n was bringing a man along.”
Nat laughed but then saw the panicked look in yours and Buckys’ eyes. “Wait, what?”
For the most part, everyone was oblivious to how confused Natasha was, or they were just polite and didn’t comment.
Clint leaned forward to talk to Nat, “Hey, Bucky’s here.”
“I see that, thank you,” she grinned awkwardly, “I wasn’t aware you two were… dating? I mean, I’m not surprised. I’m more surprised with how I’m finding out–”
You had cut her off as you started to ramble, coming up with some idea of how to spin this “Nat, we just didn’t want to tell Steve yet and –huh? You’re not surprised?”
“Yeah. You two are hanging out like all the time. And don;’t get me started on the crush Bucky had on you when you were teenagers and–”
“Nat,” Bucky’s jaw clenched, “Can we talk privately for a sec? Now?”
She rolled her eyes, assuming he was mad that you guys were caught because now she’d of course have to tell Steve. “Listen, Steve has to know, you guys! The longer you wait the more upset–”
“Natasha,” he insisted with a huff, standing up. He was not taking no for an option, so once again, she rolled her eyes and followed.
“Sorry, I’ll be one sec, thanks to Grumpy Barnes,” Nat gave you and her sister a look, slightly annoyed before she disappeared outside with Bucky.
Darcy’s eyes were wide and the moment they were gone, she was staring right at you. “You haven’t told your brother about your relationship!”
You didn’t even have to lie as you told her, “I just know he’d react weirdly and I don’t want to ruin a good thing.”
Helen tilted her head, “Sweetheart, if it’s a good thing, then it’ll be okay, right?”
Yelena added, leaning back in her chair as she stole a plate of nachos, “I’ve met Steve once or twice. Seems like an understanding man.”
Surprisingly, Bruce also spoke up in defense of your relationship, and you had to stare at him in confusion as he said, “I’m sure your brother would be happy knowing his sister and best friend have found love, right?”
I don’t think he’d be so happy knowing we have not found love but instead he’s railing me senseless every week, you thought to yourself but of course did not say this. “I suppose,” is what you said instead.
Bruce, although he looked disappointed since you showed up, he gave you a little smile, happy to finally have your attention, “You two seem good together. I’m sure it’d be nice to be open with your family.”
Once again, you were truthful. “This is kind of the first time we’ve really gone out with others and been able to be… like this? I mean, Kate has known about us, but even then…”
Kate let out a snort, “I have never heard him call you baby in my life.”
You blushed and held onto your glass, feeling the condensation and distracting your gaze by gathering the droplets together.
“How long have you even been together?” Erik asked. “I swear you’ve been blushing at your phone for months.”
You bit your lip. “Um. It’s complicated?”
Kate outed you, “They were friends with benefits.”
“Kate,” your eyes widened at her, even though what she was saying was true aside from the past tense.
“Oh dear,” Helen giggled.
“Nice,” Darcy smirked.
Just then, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, and around the same moment Natasha had made her way back to the table. You couldn’t help but feel the lack of Bucky’s presence, but you saw that he had texted you. Before reading it however, you glanced nervously at Nat.
She was giving you a suspiciously tight little grin, “Hey.”
“Hi,” you squeaked.
Darcy leaned over to grin at her, “How ya feelin’, Nat?”
Nat put her arm around you, giving you a wink, “Your secret is safe with me, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” you blushed, afraid of what the fuck Bucky may have told her. You peaked at your phone, hoping she didn’t see.
I told her its fake to try to get bruce off ur ass. We r in the clear.
You grinned, about to put your phone away, figuring he’d come back to the table soon, but then he messaged again.
Meet me in the bathroom.
You slid your phone away then, unsure of how to get up and leave without it being obvious. Perhaps there was no way to do so, so you just needed to be confident about your actions. You gave Nat a pat on the shoulder and she got the idea to take her arm off you. “I’ll be right back.”
“Team meeting?” Kate teased, however she wasn’t completely joking because she really wanted to be filled in on what just happened.
Instead you just gave her an awkward smile, hoping to convey that everything was fine, but she just seemed lost. You left anyway.
You had never been to this place and it took you a hot moment to find the bathrooms. Surprisingly, Bucky was not situated outside the bathrooms and you paused to look around, wondering if he decided to meet you elsewhere. For a single illogical second you even worried that this was too weird for him and he ditched. That’s be quite a shitty move for a designated driver though, and Bucky was not a shitty guy.
Along with the binary washrooms, they had a small single gender neutral washroom, so you figured to poke your head in there, however that was empty. Perhaps that was a good thing, because using gender neutral washrooms as an excuse for rendezvous with some man and not for the intended use of a safe space to use a toilet, simply was unethical, you thought.
A person walked out of the woman’s washroom which startled you. The person just gave you a strange glance but walked away. Feeling like you looked like a weirdo, you went into the woman’s washroom because that was a normal action.
Only one of the stalls was in use and the air dryer was still flowing loudly from the last user. You crept in, letting the door slam, and went to wash your hands, unsure of what to do with yourself. Where the fuck is Bucky?
However, peering at the closed stall, you saw some familiar shoes under the door’s crack.
You tilted your head and called out, “Hello?”
“Mhm?” A voice that had to be Bucky squeaked back, sounding like he was trying to sound feminine or nonchalant but instead sounded like a fool.
You whisper yelled, “Bucky?”
He whisper yelled back, “Y/n?”
Feeling relief, you began to giggle to yourself and dried your hands off. “Get out here. Why are you in the women's washroom!”
In the mirror reflection you saw him peak his head out of the stall, looking to see if you were alone. “Well, Nat brought me in here to talk. She did not care for my opinion on the idea. And then she left me here!”
“Um,” you tried not to laugh, “Well, why did you not just follow her back?”
“I went to wipe some sweat off my forehead– she can be nerve wracking, and some women came in so I had to hide.” Bucky looked so relieved to see you, looking at you with wanting eyes and walking up behind you, watching you back in the mirror.
You grinned, “So you just asked me to come in here and save you?”
He looked sheepish as he wrapped his arms around your waist, his cheek pressing against yours as he hugged you from behind, “I also just like you.”
You swore your heart skipped and you had to hold onto his hands tightly just in case you started shaking nervously. It felt silly, the idea that you were normally completely fine being naked in front of the man, yet him saying I just like you, had you feeling giddy. “So, everything is fine with Natasha?”
“Mhm,” in the mirror, he was not looking at you really, but seemingly looking at the reflection of your intertwined fingers, “I just told her the truth, aside from, well, yunno.”
“And she bought it? She seemed fine, I think.”
With his throat by yours, you could hear him gulp before he responded. “I think so. She seemed really convinced though that we’d end up together.”
As his hands held yours still, you felt a boost of confidence. “Did you really have a little crush on me as teens?”
His smile grew and he tried to play it off with a laugh, “Listen, c’mon! You were pretty and made me laugh. That’s the formula for teen love.”
“Am I no longer pretty?” You teased.
He laughed again and lowered his head to kiss your shoulder, mumbling, “You know you’re pretty.”
“So I no longer make you laugh then? Can’t believe this.”
“Shut up,” He chuckled lightly, his mouth back on your shoulder but he paused there. You swore his grip tightened on you and you could see him pondering something in the mirror reflection. Although you wondered what he was thinking, you didn’t want to push and lose the moment. He was warm against your back and his words had been soft beside your ear.
However, as you were embracing the moment, he had pulled back, yet only slightly so that he could turn you around in his arms to face him.
Bucky looked you in the eye, his expression suddenly a little more serious. “You, y/n, are so pretty, and you make me laugh every single day.”
“Too bad that’s not the formula for love when you’re an adult,” you teased, your hand subconsciously fiddling with the lower hem of his knit shirt.
He cracked the smallest smile, yet was still gazing at you seriously. “You’re off limits, though. You always have been.”
Your movements faltered just as your smile did. This is not a direction you expected this to go in and you wanted so desperately to know what he meant by that. “W-what?”
His lips were in that subconscious pout of his which he did when he was thinking too much. “You’re Steve’s sister. That’s just… it’s off limits.”
Attempting to hold onto confidence, you joked, “Well, I’m pretty sure touching me under my shirt is a bit off limits too, but that hasn’t stopped you.”
“Yeah, but–” his jaw briefly clenched, “Being a boyfriend to you? This whole situation tonight? Imagine Steve’s face. Imagine your mom’s face.”
In a quiet questioning gaze, you wondered where all this was coming from. “Are you saying dating me would be worse than just taking me to bed?”
His grip on your waist moved to your hips. The look in his eye was familiar yet rare, and you never knew how to place it. He looked full of want, but not in the way he did before taking off your clothes. There was a sadness to it that went unexplained. “It’d be something. Worse implies that this is already bad. And neither situation is bad at all, it’s just… it’d be, something.”
“I- I don’t get what you’re even going on about, Buck,” you admitted vulnerably. You realized his expression matched the way he’d look at you in the mornings if you ever stayed the night, and it was the way he’d look at you after a gathering with all your friends when he had to say goodbye to you as though it was the same as bidding farewell to everyone else.
Still, though, this expression was all he gave you. His words tonight were more than you’d gotten. Filling whatever he allowed himself to access, he was kissing you then before you realized he was leaning in. Perhaps he had been leaning in all along.
Bucky was steady at first, but one kiss became more, and he was displaying all the desire he could through the touch of his mouth to yours and the slide of his tongue.
Even though it was a completely normal thing between the two of you, you felt a little embarrassed as you moaned against his mouth without realizing it was going to happen.
In response, Bucky let out a deep groan, lightly pushing you backward by the hips, up against the counter. The action had you giving into your hunger, whatever it was, your hands went to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer by the back of his head.
“Y/n,” he moaned against your mouth. You embraced his breaths, the tension of being pressed between the counter and his own hips was driving you up the wall. “I liked holding you, unafraid of the others watching.”
You just smiled against his lips.
He continued, “Getting to touch you in public without worrying? Fuck, baby.”
You giggled, “That sounds like voyeurism, you weirdo.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” he grinned. Suddenly he was pulling you up by the hips, placing you on the counter beside the sink. Your legs went around his waist naturally, pulling him closely to your core. Bucky’s mouth moved to kiss your cheek, and then your jaw, and he made a needy sound as he neared your ear, “I mean I like being beside you and calling you baby and having everyone know that it’s me who makes you feel good.”
You shuddered at both his words and the breath against your ear.
He continued to your neck, messy and hungry kisses pressing against you. “You like the sound of that, baby?”
“Mhm,” you gasped quietly.
He groaned, “You have no idea how much I want you.”
If it weren’t for the hardness pressing between your legs completely distracting you, you would’ve been thinking far too deeply about all of this. You’d analyze his words later, because for now, you just wanted him too.
You slipped your hands down, finding the zipper of his pants while he continued at your neck, sliping between wet kisses and light sucking. He whined against you as you slipped your hand under the fabric, going to his erection and gliding over it confidently.
As you began your slow and teasing movements up and down his length, he dropped his forehead against your shoulder, trying to gather himself.
Quietly, Bucky said, “Are you trying to tease me?”
“Maybe,” you hummed, your free hand going to his chin to lift his gaze to yours. I want you. You could practically hear his thoughts. It was written all over his face. And you had no doubt that your expression mirrored his. I. Want. You.
You sped up the pace, a slight twist in your wrist in the way you knew he liked. You were in awe as his mouth parted, watching you back.
However, the sound of the bathroom door opening had you both freezing, your hearts dropping as you both realized how you were a couple of damn idiots. You’d been so lost in the moment you didn’t even think to hold it together to get out of here and maybe go to the car, or at the very least think to lock the door.
“Um, what the fuck?”
Bucky and you looked toward Natasha, who of course, happened to be the one to walk in on this moment. The two of you probably looked like deers caught in headlights, and you honestly didn’t know if it was the favoured or least favoured scenario that Nat happened to walk in instead of a stranger.
“Ah, fuck,” Bucky hissed.
Your hand was very clearly in his pants, and there was no way of hiding it. Bucky’s hair was also quite ruffled up, and there was no hiding that either.
Nat looked at both of you in horror, eyes darting back and forth for what felt like the longest moment ever.
“‘Fake’ my ass,” She finally smirked.
“Nat, this isn’t–”
She cut you off, “Don’t you dare say this isn’t what it looks like.” She walked backward, about to head out of the door, “What a turn of events.”
Before you knew it, Nat had slipped back out into the hallway. Your hand slipped away from Bucky, horror rushing over you as you processed how dangerous this could have been and how much trouble you could’ve gotten in if a stranger had walked in.
Once more, Bucky hissed, because there was nothing else to really say, “Fuck.”
Summary: Bucky's nightmares have been disturbing him since he realized he loved you.
Word count: 1.383 words
Warnings: Mentions of blood in a nightmare context. Otherwise, fluff and sweet.
Author’s note: Keeping my tradition of writing based on songs, this time I was inspired by Delicate by Taylor Swift! This is one of my favorite songs of her because it translates a lot about the beginning of relationships and I thought it fit perfectly with Bucky's journey. This is also part of @barnesafterglow "all's well" writing challenge <3
Thank you, lovely Bianca for reading and encouraging me to post it! 💓 Dedicating to my sweet friends and Bucky stans @asgardwinter and @aphrogeneias
Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate
He felt like he was drowning. Heavily breathing, eyes going foggy, his hands covered in blood — someone else's blood, but he didn't know whose. His sweat kept covering his sight, dropping from his forehead.
Usually, he could distinguish dreams from reality, but this time, although he felt like it wasn't real, the fear and anguish were too much for his poor heart to handle. He stood up, feeling a painful sting on his knee. The freezing cold environment contrasts with his warm body.
"Bucky." he heard a whisper. It was your voice.
He tried to find the path to you. His heart, now full of hope, wandered around, trying to reach any sign of you. The sound of his boots changed from dry to slightly damped, as if he had stepped into something wet.
He blinked a couple of times before realizing the pool of blood coming from a body, lying still, frozen in time. He recognized the frame, the uniform — it was someone he would know from miles of distance.
Gasping for air, his torso was stiff, contracting with tension and the pain emanating as if it were real. He sat down on his undone bed, still panting from waking up so suddenly. He was shaking his head, trying to get the nightmare out of him and the image of your face: eyes closed eternally, the vibrant red being the only color standing out from you.
Bucky needed to see you, look at you and your comforting smile to prove to himself that you were okay.
He started caring more for you since you had joined the main Avengers team, living next door to his room. He would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and find it surprising to fight over the tv remote, you would always have late-night sessions of binge-watching movies when you couldn't sleep. Every time he had a nightmare, he would come to you with any excuses, he just needed to be in your presence.
He got up and left his room, feeling the cold floor against his bare feet. The icy corridor transported him back to the nightmare and, gosh, he hoped you were awake so you could snap him out of it. He hesitated for a while, pacing back and forth on your door.
"Bucky?" He heard your voice coming from the other side. His eyes shot open, like a slap on his face. "Is that you?"
The familiar noise of his metal hand clenching against the doorknob assured you that it was him. As he entered your room in silence, his body frame seemed weakened, like he was prepared to give up at any moment. "Is everything okay?" Your soft words reached him like a hug.
No. No, it wasn't.
It was the third or fourth time he dreamed that you were hurt. He was sure this was happening since he confessed he had feelings for you —he didn’t say it to you or anyone, but himself. He was afraid that everything he touched would turn to pain, loss. He couldn't let this happen to you too.
"I had a nightmare again and," He stuttered a bit. He would finally confess that he cared, and that wasn't as easy as it sounded. "I wanted to make sure you were fine."
The white sheets covered half of your body, the dim light coming from the moon outside was the only thing illuminating your face and he wished he was in your room for other purposes than that. You smiled at him and patted the spot next to you, asking him to join you. "I'm perfectly safe, Buck. Want to tell me what your pretty little head dreamed of?"
He laughed as a whisper, making his way to your bed. "To be honest, no. Not this time." His heavy body made a squelching sound as soon as he fully sat on your mattress. "Let's just say it wasn't good."
You nodded, carefully placing your hand on his — you knew he still wasn't comfortable with being touched, but in between late nights and missions, you had discovered this new freedom to at least try to reassure him through a delicate stroke or two. You didn't want to cross his boundaries, so you gazed at him, looking for signs that this was okay to do.
His demeanor changed from worried to peaceful. As if the touch had made him forget all the things looping through his thoughts. "Thank you, doll."
Was this the time to say it? He remembered Steve said to him once that people always give signals - whether they were good or bad - about how they felt. You were the first person after years, besides his old best friend, that he felt inclined to love. To care for, to protect.
Would he sound insane if he told you, right here and right now, all the little things he appreciated about you? How you were the only person he didn't mind sharing the TV with, how he loved it when you would buy him a new notebook as soon as the old ones ran out of space to write. And how, against all his beliefs, you didn't see him as a broken, wounded man, but as a person deserving of love? Even when you knew he was trying to make amends with all his past wrongdoings, you were still with him. Never judging, never surrendering to the rumors and his reputation as the Winter Soldier.
But, he was frightened. He was scared that his past would catch up to him, that he should be staying away from you, not leaning into you. And you were oh so sweet, so encouraging, the sunshine in his days - he didn't want to scare you away from him.
However, somehow, he knew it was time to listen to his heart for once.
"I was meaning to tell you for quite some time now." He said, all at once, pushing himself out of this overthinking. You just cocked your head to the side, trying to look at him properly. His heart was almost coming out from his mouth, a huge lump in his throat. "I like you."
Even though he was saying it loud and clear, he felt as though an echo invaded his head. Doubt and fear of rejection, but it wasn’t going to stop him anyway. "I want you. And, and, I know that we can't make any promises. But I can promise to protect you and be by your side."
Oh boy, you were not expecting that. You were too good for him, way beyond what he deserved, way beyond what he was able to give you. But even like this, he was just a man standing in front of the one he thought was his person, his home, asking to be loved back.
To say that you were a little shocked was an understatement.
"I know that it's delicate. And you don't have to say anything back, I -"
Before he could finish what he wanted to say, you lingered by his cheeks, slowly placing a gentle kiss on his slightly opened lips, interrupted mid-sentence. He seemed so nervous, you just wanted to make him pause and breath for a second.
The sweet taste of his lips remained close to yours, your breath hitching still. Your eyes searched for his, only to burst out laughing at what just happened. Bucky was your friend, after all, you had just crossed that fine line. He realized how flustered you were, your cheeks with a pinky sheen.
"Is it too soon to do this yet?" You asked him, a smirk forming after pouting.
"I dream so much about you, I guess we are long past it." He snapped, cradling his hand from your cheek to your chin. How he adored your face. "Are you ever dreaming of me?" He asked you. "Since my dreams are not that nice, we could at least have something positive to tell each other late at night."
"Well, if you must know... sometimes." You gazed downwards, for the first time paying attention to the fact that he was shirtless, only the tag necklace hanging like a pendant. You lingered a bit before saying: "And don't worry, mine are great."
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