Higher, Further, Faster Baby.

You were already straddling her hips when the nerves hit you.

Your palms rested lightly on Sevika's chest, her warm brown skin flushed gold in the lamp glow, the sheets under your knees soft and rumpled. 

You were naked—completely naked—for the first time in front of her, and the only thing separating you from her strap was your own hesitation.

"Hey." Her voice was rough, quiet, but steady. One hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing lazy circles just under your ribs. "You okay?"

You nodded quickly—too quickly. "Yeah. I just... I don't usually—uh, I mean, I've never-" You laughed breathlessly, embarrassed.

"I've only ever touched myself."

Sevika sat up a little, her good arm sliding around your back to support you. Her face softened.

"You wanna stop?"

"No." Your voice cracked. "I want this. I want you. I'm just... I don't know what I'm doing."

A beat. Then her lips curled into the tiniest, cockiest smirk. "Don't worry, baby. I do."

You bit your lip as heat shot between your thighs. That voice alone could ruin you.

She leaned forward, kissing your collarbone—slow, open-mouthed, warm. Her tongue flicked against your skin. 

"We'll go slow. I'm not gonna rush you. You just move how you need to. I'll be right here."

You nodded again, this time slower, more sure. Her strap pressed up under you—thick, firm, intimidating—but god, you were wet. Soaked, actually. You could feel it dripping down your thighs already.

Sevika noticed. She always noticed.

"You're so fuckin' wet, sweetheart," she murmured, sliding her hand between your legs to guide the strap. "All that from just thinking about it, huh?"

You whimpered, barely able to meet her eyes. Her gaze pinned you down anyway.

"You been touching yourself to this? Wishing it was me?"

You nodded. "Y-Yeah. So many times."

She groaned low. "Fuck. You’re adorable."

You braced your hands on her shoulders and finally—finally—started to lower yourself down. The head of the strap nudged your entrance, and you gasped, thighs trembling.

"Easy, sweetheart. Just a little at a time." She kissed your neck, sucking gently—just enough to leave a mark. "You're so tight, baby. Feels like your pussy's never letting go."

You shuddered as you sank down, inch by inch, breathing hard. It was so much. So full.

Not painful, just overwhelming. Sevika's hands gripped your waist to steady you, grounding you with every low, patient whisper.

When you bottomed out, your nails dug into her shoulders. You were panting.

"You okay?"

"Y-Yeah," you whimpered. "It's so—mmngh—“

“None of that whimpering. Say it. Use your words, princess.”

“It’s so—full, Sev.”

"I know, baby. You're doing so good. Look at you."

You started to move. Slowly. Rocking your hips in tiny circles, easing yourself into the stretch. The friction lit something up inside you—something deeper than your fingers ever reached.

And then, without warning, your hips jerked forward a little too fast. You gasped. It hit just right. Right on that aching, swollen spot inside you.

"Oh my god—" you moaned.

Sevika chuckled darkly. "There she is."

You started moving again. A little faster. A little rougher. The way it rubbed against your clit every time you sank down made your whole body twitch.

It felt too good. Too much. You'd been so pent up, so desperate for something more than your own hands—and now you had it.

Her. This. 

The drag of her strap inside you, the warmth of her skin, her voice in your ear saying, "Fuck, look at you, baby. You're addicted already."

You were. It showed.

You were a mess—whining, grinding, moaning into her mouth. You grabbed her hand, sucked her fingers into your mouth without thinking. 

Sevika froze for a second, then let out the filthiest growl.

"God damn, you're really gone, huh?"

You drooled a little on her fingers. Couldn't help it.

She tilted her head, watching your blissed-out face with a lazy, hungry grin.

"Sweetheart... you're drooling."

You looked down, dazed, saliva slipping past your lip while your hips kept moving. You whimpered around her fingers.

"Fucking adorable," she muttered. "You're cockdrunk already, and I haven't even fucked you yet."

She kissed you hard, biting your bottom lip.

You moaned louder, needy and mindless now. You felt her reach between your legs again, rubbing slow circles on your clit while you kept grinding—grinding like your life depended on it.

"Don't cum yet," she warned. "Not yet. I wanna see you lose it first."

And you would. You were. A drooling, clenching, wet fucking mess—and Sevika wasn't done with you yet.

You didn't even realize how loud you were until Sevika growled, "You hear yourself, baby?"

Your hips were moving faster now, grinding down on her strap like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Your soaked pussy squelched with every roll of your hips, and your breathy moans came out high and broken and endless.

"I—fuck—I can't stop," you whimpered.

Sevika's fingers moved back to your clit—slow, torturously slow—and circled it while you ground down.

"You're so fucking sensitive." Her voice was wrecked, almost shaky. "Didn't know it'd feel this good, hm?"

You shook your head frantically. "No-I mean yes—I mean I can't—please-"

And then she spanked you.

It wasn't hard—just a quick, firm slap to your ass. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make you jerk and moan and clench so tight around her strap that she had to bite back a groan.

"Yeah?" she rasped. "You like that, sweetheart?"

You nodded so fast it made your head spin.

"Yes—Sevika—I like everything—please, please-"

She hissed through her teeth. Her hand stayed on your ass, squeezing tight, grounding you. Her fingers never stopped circling your clit—slick and slow, not giving you enough, teasing you right to the edge.

Your thighs were trembling. Your belly was tight. Your breath was all over the place.

"I'm close," you whimpered. "I'm—I'm gonna—“

But Sevika stopped.

You sobbed.

"Shh." Her voice was low, gentle, but firm.

"Not yet. Not like this."

You blinked, dazed, drool still clinging to your lip. "Wha...?"

"I want your first time cumming on my strap to be perfect, baby," she murmured. "I want you to remember it. I want it to stay on your mind forever. So not yet. Not until I really give it to you."

Your pussy clenched again. Your whole body shook.

Sevika looked up at you—and something changed in her expression.

You were dazed, panting, spit-slick around the mouth, grinding down like you were in a trance. You were a fucking vision.

And the second she saw the way your lip quivered when she took her fingers off your clit, something snapped.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she growled.

She surged up and bit your neck.

"Ah—!" you gasped, the cutest, neediest little cry slipping out as your body arched.

"S-Sevika—!"

She didn't draw blood. Just sank her teeth in enough to make you feel it. Enough to make you moan and cling to her harder.

Her hands gripped your ass like she was holding herself back from flipping you over and fucking you into next week.

"You feel too good," she whined against your throat. "You're driving me fuckin' crazy, baby—You're so perfect."

You whimpered, grinding harder, your pussy slick and messy against her strap.

She kissed the spot she'd bitten—then her tongue soothed it, slow and loving.

"Still with me?" she whispered.

You nodded, tears in your eyes now.

"Mhm..."

"Good girl." She cupped your face with her good hand. "Just keep going. Ride it slow. I'll get you there. But I want you cockdrunk and shaking by the time I let you cum."

You moaned helplessly.

Her fingers slid down again, teasing your clit while you moved.

"I love how sweet you sound when you get desperate," she muttered. "You sound like you need it so bad."

"I do," you cried. "I need it so bad—please—please—“

"You drooled all over my hand," she teased.

"What, baby? My cock too good?"

You nodded, crying and grinding. "Too good. So good. I can't—I can't think—“

"You don't need to think, sweetheart." Her voice dropped low. "Just fuck yourself dumb on my strap. I'll take care of you."

You were gone.

Absolutely out of your mind—drooling, whimpering, and still rocking your hips like Sevika's strap was the only thing keeping your body alive.

Your thighs were trembling. Your hands clung to her shoulders, nails leaving faint little crescent marks in her skin. And your mouth—god, your mouth was open and leaking spit, little strings of it slipping down your chin while you babbled incoherent little moans.

"Look at you," Sevika murmured, brushing her fingers over your tear-damp cheeks.

"You're drooling and cryin' on my cock, honey."

You whimpered, a fresh wave of tears prickling your eyes, even as you kept grinding.

"Is it that good?" she asked, smiling crookedly. "So good it's makin' you cry?"

You nodded so fast it made you dizzy. "Y-Yes—I c-can't—I wanna cum—p-please-"

Your voice cracked on the last word, and the second it did, you sobbed.

Your face crumpled. Your whole body jerked like you couldn't take it anymore. And Sevika immediately pulled you down into her chest, shushing you as she cupped your pussy with her palm—warm, strong, steady.

"Hey, hey. I got you," she cooed. "You're okay. Just feelin' too much, huh?"

You nodded, sniffling. "I need it—need it s'bad..."

"Yeah, I know you do." Her thumb circled your clit so slow you almost cried harder.

"You've been so good, baby. So fuckin' perfect. I'm gonna give it to you. I promise."

"Please," you whispered, tears dripping from your chin. "I wanna cum—I need to— please, Sevika-"

And then she fucked up into you.

Her hips lifted. Her grip on your ass tightened. And her strap slammed into the deepest, most perfect spot while her fingers rubbed your clit in the exact rhythm you needed.

Your mouth fell open.

You made a choked, broken little noise.

And then—you screamed.

Your orgasm ripped through you so hard it hurt. Your body locked up, your thighs shook, your pussy gushed so much it splashed against Sevika's lap, and you collapsed forward, shaking, sobbing, whining her name over and over like a prayer.

Sevika caught every second.

"Fuuuuck," she groaned, watching you ride it out. "That's it, baby. That's how I wanted it. Just like that. Scream for me. Fuckin' soak me."

You sobbed harder, body twitching, your voice all high and shattered and full of relief.

"Y'feel that?" she murmured. "That's what a real orgasm feels like, sweetheart."

You could barely breathe. Barely think. You were slumped over her chest, drooling, twitching, tears still running down your face.

And Sevika was so sweet with you after. 

Her hand never left your pussy—just soft, gentle strokes, too slow to overstimulate. Her other hand brushed your hair, kissed your temple, held your shaking hips down when you whimpered again.

She looked down at your soaked thighs and smirked.

"Goddamn," she muttered. "You made a mess, baby."

You giggled.

And then she dragged her fingers up your slit, scooped the dripping slick from your folds, and showed it to you.

"See that?" she said softly. "That's what it looks like when I fuck you right."

You stared, eyes glazed, lips parted—and when she brought her fingers to your mouth, you didn't even hesitate.

You sucked them in with a needy little whimper.

Sevika's jaw flexed.

"Yeah," she whispered. "That’s it, sweetheart."

You were still trembling when Sevika pulled the strap out.

You whimpered, your body jolting with the aftershocks, and Sevika shushed you instantly, one arm curling tight around your waist to keep you grounded.

"Shhh, I got you, baby. It's okay. I'm right here."

Your head lolled against her shoulder. You were spent. Crying, shaking, drooling a little—and completely boneless in her arms.

And Sevika? She looked at you like she was in awe.

"You did so good," she whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "So fuckin' good. You were perfect, sweetheart."

You let out a soft little whimper, still not fully back yet, and Sevika cradled the back of your head like you were something precious.

"Hey," she said gently. "Can I clean you up, pretty girl?"

You nodded weakly, and she was already moving—careful, slow, so fucking tender it made your chest ache.

She laid you back on the pillows with her arm still around you, pressed one more kiss to your jaw, and then grabbed a warm, damp towel from the drawer.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't mechanical. She cleaned you softly—like she was scared to hurt you. Every wipe was followed by a kiss. Every wince got a murmured "I'm sorry, baby." And when she finally pressed the towel between your thighs, she paused and whispered:

"You okay?"

You nodded, tears still on your cheeks.

"Mhm... just tired."

Sevika smiled.

"Yeah? That cock put you to sleep, huh?" she teased, but her voice was full of love.

She finished wiping you down, tossed the towel aside, and came right back to you-pulling you into her arms, wrapping the blanket around you both.

You buried your face in her neck. Your body was sore, aching, still tingling everywhere—but you felt safe. Warm. Loved.

"Did I do okay..?" you mumbled sleepily.

Sevika froze for a second.

Then she pulled you even closer.

"Baby," she murmured, her voice low and steady and soft, "you didn't just do okay.

You were the best thing l've ever touched."

You let out a tiny, broken breath.

She cupped your cheek, thumb brushing the dried tears from under your eyes.

"You're mine now," she whispered. "All mine. No one's ever gonna touch you like that but me."

You blinked, slow and dazed.

“…Okay," you whispered.

Sevika smiled like she'd just won the lottery. 

She kissed your lips. Kissed your forehead.

Kissed every little tear-stained inch of your face before pulling you into her chest again.

And then, as you drifted off to sleep, she murmured—

"Next time, I'm making you cum twice."

The only sounds in the surroundings were running water and the news coming from the corner television that Natasha probably left on.

You closed the bedroom door behind you, making just enough noise to announce your presence without startling her - Not that you believed it was possible to sneak around with a black widow.

Natasha left the bathroom ajar and your gaze met hers in the reflection in the mirror. She smiled at first, no sound coming from her lips, neither of greeting nor of pain even though she was treating significant cuts scattered across her body. The purple marks on her back and chest were almost completely visible through that sports tank top she was wearing, and you sighed as you leaned against the door.

She held your gaze. "All it takes for you to show up is a near end of the world, huh?"

The teasing made you smile. You crossed your arms, knowing that if you didn't keep your hands busy, you would touch her. And you needed to know if Natasha wasn't mad at you first.

"Well, at least now I know that I can't leave you alone for five minutes without that leading to the eventual destruction of all mankind." You say, an undertone in the sentence that makes Natasha frown slightly. You sigh before adding; "I just said goodbye to my brother. We both agree that it's best to always have an Asgardian on the team." 

Natasha swallows hard and looks away. She's a master at hiding her emotions, and she does a great job of disguising the news that would easily be the best thing she's heard in weeks. She gives you a small chuckle, looking at you in the reflection. "You two think too highly of yourselves, you know? We took care of half of Ultron's army while your brother was taking a bath in a cave." 

You chuckle, joining in the comfortable push and pull you've always had ever since you first met her, so many years ago when Thor first came to Earth. 

"Is that so?" She hums in agreement, her body language betraying her and leaning towards you. "Because I heard you spent half the time in handcuffs." She raises an eyebrow. 

"Your intel is incorrect," she counters. "Ultron knocked me out, but I had my hands free." You laugh at her irony, shaking your head in disapproval. She smiles, mimicking the gesture before taking a deep breath.

An exchange of glances and the mood in the room changed completely. You looked at her so intently that Natasha thought it best to go stare back to the mirror. Finally, you spoke. "You could have called me." It was a whisper, too gentle or sad to be accusatory. She sighed softly. "I would have kicked Stark's ass in a second. Blown up a few things, or even charmed a few minds. But I would have been here. And you definitely wouldn't have been unconscious." 

She rested her hands on the sink, somewhat tense and visibly tired. "It wasn't anyone's fault." She counters seriously but keeps her tone as friendly as she can. "It's the job, malysha (baby). We go and fight, and come home with a few scratches. I knew how important your mission was. I won’t call you if it isn’t a matter of life or death. I was sure we could handle it, and in the end, we did."

But your gaze was on the large bruise on her shoulder when you replied with a "Few scratches, huh?" 

She gave you a sad smile and with a nod, you knew what she was allowing. 

You can touch me. 

You uncrossed your arms and moved slowly. Natasha sighed as she felt your hands touch her elbows, and then her shoulders until your arms wrapped around her. She was overcome by a sudden urge to cry - all the stress of the last few weeks, all the fights. And all the missing you burning feeling in her chest. She sighed, sinking into the warmth of your embrace for a moment. You kissed her neck and stared at her through the reflection. 

"Let me take a look." You asked and she opened her mouth to retort with a "You don't have to" but you were already hushing her gently, wrapping your arms around her waist to spin her around and have her against the counter. She bit her lip to hide her own reactions, eyes watching you carefully undress her.

The tank top came off first and she could see the darkness in your expression as you took in the new display of bruises. Then her combat pants and she removed her socks as you set the items aside in the corner.

Close again, you traced some of the more superficial bruises on her torso on your way to removing her bra.

Natasha said nothing, the cool air of the room making her body tremble just before it warmed again beneath your touch.

When you bent down to pull her panties to the floor, she let her fingers play with the strands of your hair for a moment.

“You’re such a charmer,” she murmured teasingly. “You’ve barely gotten here and there’s already a naked girl in your room.”

You chuckled, throwing her panties in the corner with the other clothes. "Don't be silly, this is your room." You replied in the same tone and tugged on your shirt, which got stuck in the attempt and Natasha was happy to help between one giggle and another.

She didn't steal any kisses, but you forgot to ask. You were busy exchanging complicity looks and giggles as she pulled your belt and pants away, and you stumbled out of your Asgardian boots.

Finally, you were both naked and under the shower. She turned it on and didn't wait for the water to heat up before pushing you under, and you didn't pull her along in sympathy for the number of bruises she still had.

But the light, teasing ,and joking mood changed as your fingers traced her new scars.

The water did most of the work, of course - Natasha still needed a lot to get used to the mystical side of life, and the existence of gods like you, but she would certainly never stop being enchanted by your abilities. Her body relaxed under your enchanted touch. The water drops would do the healing, but you ran your hands and lips over as much of her skin as you could, slowly as if you were idolizing every inch of her. When you finally got to your knees again with your lips on her thighs, Natasha was already panting, her legs shaking. 

"You're such a tease." She comments with her eyes narrowed, the hot water and the affection of your touch had completely relaxed her. She was aroused, of course, but it was warm, comforting somehow. 

You giggle mischievously, the bruises are completely gone now. The mystical, silvery glow of the water you manipulated to heal her had also completely drained down the drain, and now all that was left was you and your affections.

You looked up, slightly mesmerized by the beauty of the woman in front of you.

Your lack of action made Natasha look down, a smile playing on her lips. 

"Don't be shy now, darling. I'm ready for you."

You let out a shuddering sigh but resisted just long enough to tease her. "You always want me on my knees, Natalia. Is it because I'm royalty?"

She giggled, her dominant hand tangling in your hair and before she pulled you up, she growled an affectionate "Come here you dork."

Despite the urgency, the kiss was tender. At least at first, filled with the longing you felt for each other. Then Natasha's tongue slid to your bottom lip, never asking permission before increasing the urgency of that kiss, and you were grateful that her fragile human body was healed and allowed you to press her roughly against the wall.

She moaned into your mouth, fighting for dominance in the kiss before being overpowered by the sudden friction of your knee against her core. With her hips moving of their own accord, it didn't take long for her to break the kiss with pleading moans, full of need. You never denied her, you never could. She didn't even need to ask and you already moved your knee away to sink your fingers into her, being rewarded with the sweetest sounds and breathless sighs.

The hot water dripped against your back, and the closer Nat got to the climax, the more her body writhed. Natasha liked to kiss you when she came because she knew it drove you crazy to feel her shudder and whine into your mouth when she did it. One of her hands grabbed your face to control the kiss as your fingers danced inside her, filling her completely in a back-and-forth motion that was driving her mad. On instinct, she dug her nails into your back, and you grunted in slight pain, before using your free hand to hold hers against the wall. The brief restraint pushed her over the edge and all it took was a twist of your wrist and she came, whimpering into your tongue.

You kissed her chastely a few times until she could respond properly. She was still throbbing deliciously against your fingers when you pulled back to suck your fingers clean.

Natasha looked at you with dilated pupils, the hand that had been on your face falling to your shoulder next to the one you released.

"I think very highly of you, too, you now. “ She confessed with a rusky worn-out tone. “Just don't get too cocky."

You smile, shaking your head at your girlfriend's post-orgasm state.

Not that you've decided on a label.

"Making you come is all I need to get some compliments, then? Good to know."

"Shut up."

"With pleasure. I happen to have plenty of other ideas to occupy my mouth with."

She shakes her head, a goofy smile on her lips. "Idiot."

The rain falls like forgiveness. It paints the windows of the quinjet with streaks of silver.

You sit cross-legged with your back against the wall of the empty debriefing room, knees pulled to your chest, damp sleeves rolled halfway up your forearms.

The blood has been washed off. The mission is over. But it’s still under your nails. Still in your teeth. Still sitting like rust in the corners of your mind.

You exhale. Long and slow and thorough. As though you are trying to empty yourself out before it leaks on its own.

The floor is cold beneath you. But you stay seated.

The fluorescent lights make a droning sound overhead and it reminds you of the rooms beneath cities, the ones without windows or names.

The door hisses open.

But you don’t look up.

His footsteps are soft, almost weightless. He’s learned how not to be noticed by accident. You have too. You wonder if he was trying not to disturb you, or if it’s just muscle memory.

I thought you might be here. It’s something he would have said on any other mission. He would have asked if you’re okay and he’d want you to talk to him if the answer was no.

But this wasn’t just any other mission. It was Hydra. So he doesn’t say anything. Because this is not just a thing discussed only with words.

And you’re grateful for the silence.

You hear the faintest shift of leather as he sits beside you, not touching, not crowding. Just close enough that your shadows might brush if the light hit just right.

There are oceans between your ribs. Some days, you drown in them. Some days, he pulls you out.

Bucky mirrors your posture on instinct, knees bent, arms draped loosely over them. His hair is still damp from the rain. There is a cut healing along his jaw, already closed over thanks to the serum but still red.

You can taste the weight in the room. The quiet grows but you don’t put in effort to shoo it away. Bucky and you have always shared this kind of understanding. It doesn’t need to be said out loud. Unspoken things are lingering in the air, but they don’t press, they don’t gasp for air.

Because you’ve bleed together. Killed together. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to. Because you were trained to. Because the ghosts in your bones still wear Hydra uniforms.

You tilt your head, just enough to glance at him. He’s staring at the wall ahead as though it might say something if he looks long enough. His vibranium hand flexes once, then stills. You wonder if it’s twitching from leftover adrenaline, or if it’s a ghost, too.

But he’s not the ghost of the Winter Soldier. Not the Red Room’s shadow. He’s the man who remembers your real name even when you forget how it sounds in your own voice. The man who’s learning how to live. The man you learned to trust with your quiet, everyday hopes.

You turn your head away again.

And you sit there together, the old scent of gunpowder and metal and blood memory folded between your bodies. The past is still there, crawling around under your ribs, but it’s quieter now. Less sharp. You’ve sanded down the edges together, little by little, like two broken blades trying to make peace with their shapes.

For a long time, there’s nothing but breath and distance shrinking between your arms.

Your fingers ache. But they aren’t shaking anymore.

Bucky’s knee brushes yours when he adjusts. You glance over. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw slack, eyes tracking something not there.

Your shoulder brushes his. He doesn’t flinch. You don’t move away.

And you’re not sure how long you sit there, shoulder to shoulder.

The quinjet is flying steadily, and the lights dim slowly to a soft gold, stretching long shadows on the steel floor.

Your body feels as though it’s been rung out and hung to dry, nerves vibrating under skin but too tired to flinch anymore. In the air lingers a faint trace of smoke and ozone and antiseptic.

Bucky shifts beside you.

Not much. Just enough that you sense him turn his head to watch you. You don’t look back, but your fingers twitch in your lap.

“You eat yet?” His voice is worn, rough and gravel, but so quiet, it feels intimate.

You shake your head.

He nods slowly, as though he expected it. As though he’s been keeping track even when you haven’t.

“Clint found a stash of those spicy noodles you like.” he comments. “He’s hoarding them, probably. But I could steal one.”

You huff something that could almost be a laugh. Your mouth is dry.

You glance at him now, and he’s already looking away. Not in avoidance. Just giving you space. Letting you come back in your own time.

“I’m not really hungry,” you answer quietly, but there is gratitude in the warmth of your voice.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says gently. “You still need to eat.”

You don’t argue, because you know he’s right. Because this - this version of care, quiet and practical and patient - is how he loves people now. Maybe how he always did, under all the static.

He shifts again, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. Pulls out a small water bottle still halfway full and offers it to you without a word.

You take it. Your fingers brush. His hand is warm.

You take a slow sip. It’s a relief to your sore throat.

You hand it back and let your head fall against the wall behind you. “Thanks.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, just exhales a long breath. You used to think his stillness meant detachment. Now you know it’s the only way he knows how to be soft.

He doesn’t speak again for a while, and neither do you.

Eventually, you let your head tilt against his shoulder, resting your cheek against the fabric of his jacket. He doesn’t move. Just takes a contented breath and leans, ever so slightly, into you.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again.

“You’re okay?” he asks lowly.

Just that.

Not Are you okay?

Not What’s wrong?

Not Talk to me.

You’re. Okay. As if it’s something that could be true. As if he wants it to be true. As if it might help you believe it, too.

You nod. Not too fast. Not lying.

“Yeah,” you speak against his shoulder, your breath meeting his skin. “I will be.”

His head carefully comes down onto yours, and he lets his hand inch closer, lets his knee bump lightly against yours.

And very slowly, without looking at you, he shifts his hand. The flesh one.

His pinky finger brushes yours.

Not by accident. Not quite.

You glance down. His hand rests on the floor between you, knuckles soft, fingertips still. But his pinky is there. Reaching.

You don’t hesitate. You let yours find his, curl just enough to hook.

It’s a small thing. Ridiculous, maybe. Childlike. Delicate.

But it means something.

It means I see you.

It means I’m here.

It means We don’t have to explain ourselves tonight.

You stare down at the two fingers linked between you - his calloused and warm, yours still scraped from the fight - and you feel something ease in your chest. Not vanish. But shift.

And you sit like that, both of you worn thin and bruised quiet, staring out at the lowly flickering lights on the far wall, letting the silence between you settle into something like peace.

Because it’s what you deserve. Both of you.

Together.

Each time, it was set up. And he’d lay on it for a moment, until he thought you were asleep and then he’d settle down on the hard floor. You’d known plenty of soldiers to do the same. 

You had also known plenty to get nightmares, too. 

But that didn’t mean you were gonna keep pretending to be asleep when he was dealing with both. 

It had started with the sound of covers shifting against the floor. You stirred awake when the mumbling started. For a moment, you had to remind yourself where you were. 

“No,” a small voice pleaded. 

You sat up at that and looked around, your tired eyes opening a little as you looked around the dark room. Bucky wasn’t in bed. 

“Bucky?”

He didn’t hear you. But you heard more shuffling. 

Pulling the covers from your legs, your feet touched the cold hardwood floor. Your hands folded over the edge of the mattress and bedframe as you looked around for him. 

“Stop,” the small voice pleaded. 

You stood up and walked away from your bed for a moment, finally spotting Bucky on the floor. Despite the heat outside during the day, the temperature dropped at night. And as much as he might run hot, the sheen of sweat forming on his skin worried you. 

For a moment, you returned to your bed and pulled the duvet off and carried it over to Bucky. You didn’t have a plan, exactly. But you had an idea. 

“Bucky, hey. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

He was starting to shake. From fear, nerves or cold; you didn’t know. But you weren’t going to risk it. His arm twitched when you kneeled on the floor and gently laid a hand on his arm. It could have gone two ways, and if it went another, you would have dealt with it. 

You’d knocked him to his ass once or twice when he was The Winter Soldier. 

But you didn’t fancy having to. 

Thankfully, his sleeping frame recognised your voice. 

“I’m here. You’re here. You’re safe.”

For a moment, you pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. He was freezing – Bucky was never cold. 

Quickly, you threw the duvet over him before laying on the floor beside him. Holding onto his arm, you spooned him from behind, pressing your forehead into the centre of his back. His breathing was fast and skittish, but he was slowly calming down. 

“I promise you, Bucky. You’re safe.”

Without thinking, you pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder and held him tighter. “You’re okay.”

He seemed to calm after that. You stayed awake for a while longer in case the nightmare hadn’t ended, but somewhere between the night and daybreak, you’d fallen asleep beside him.

By the time Bucky woke up, he was unsure of where he was. He could remember a nightmare. But he didn’t wake from it. It just seemed to die away. 

That was when he realised why. 

With his arm around you, you lay on the floor beside him. His senses were consumed by you, which made sense when he realised who’s duvet was covering you both. His head has been leaned in towards you as you lay sleeping on his chest. 

He could vaguely remember feeling you press your head against his back. Things became a little hazy after that. 

He could have moved. Could have tried to sit up. But there was just something about that moment that made him not want to wake you. He didn’t want to disturb you. He didn’t want to break the feeling in the atmosphere. 

So he laid there. And for the first time in a long time, he relaxed. His breathing pace and heart rate ended up matching yours. 

When you finally did wake up, he opened his eyes, still feeling a little tired. 

“Shit, sorry.” You moved away as quickly as your morning-tired body would let you. “I didn’t mean to-”

Bucky said laying on his back. “It’s okay.”

You looked at him. “Are you okay?”

Bucky nodded. “When did you join me?”

“When you were having a nightmare.” You answered honestly. “I didn’t want you catching something. I must have fallen asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky told you. “First time I’ve slept through a nightmare, so…”

Neither of you really knew what to do with that information. Bucky didn’t really know why he’d admitted it. But he did, and he didn’t plan on taking it back. 

You looked away for a moment, suddenly realising the sun was higher in the sky than it usually was when you woke up. You scrambled to your feet. “Shit, we need to get packed.”

“We never unpacked.” Bucky pointed out, still laying on the floor. 

You grabbed your phone and walked back, reading through the three missed calls and six text messages from Joaquin. 

You clicked your phone off and threw it on your duvet-less bed. “Joaquin’s gonna be here in twenty minutes.”

Without thinking, you started getting dressed. When Bucky realised, he slowly averted his eyes once his brain kicked back into action. Little did he know, as you were pulling a fresh t-shirt over your body, your gaze lingered on his back. 

Still in his boxers, he leaned over and picked the duvet from the floor before he started folding it along with the sheets he’d been using before his nightmares kicked in. 

Like usual, you managed to avert your eyes by the time he turned around. You pretended to fiddle with your belt buckle before throwing your clothes into your bag and dropping it by the door. 

His dog tags caught the moonlight. His chest moved steadily as it started doing more and more at night. The nightmares weren’t rare, but they'd drifted into the uncommon category. It helped when you were there, even when he used to protest it for your safety. It helped when you traced the scars across his chest–sometimes visible by a tank top, a loose collar, or no shirt at all. He was shirtless then, beside you, snoring softly, his hair half in his face. 

Beautiful. Always beautiful.

He'd stir awake if you moved any of his hair out of his eyes. He'd probably wake if you wrapped your arms around him, but he'd always return the embrace without pause. He wouldn't, though, if you were careful enough with his hand, out between you, palm turned halfway up.

Carefully moving your hand out from beneath the unnecessary blankets–Bucky was a damn space heater all by himself–you reached for him. Moving an inch a minute, you kept your eyes down on your target. Watching his chest or even taking quick glances at his face would wake him up; he’d sense it, and then there’d either be a moment of panic where he jolted thinking there was a fight, or he’d throw his arm around you and pull you into him. His muttering would only be half coherent, but you’d heard it enough to know. Go to sleep, doll. 

The ‘40s in him always came out when he was half asleep.

You'd go back to sleep. You would. And you'd curl up close with him until it got too hot to endure, and yet you'd still wake entangled. But first, you had your nightly ritual. Carefully, just very, very carefully, you brushed your fingers over his.

His hand moved toward you, and he grunted a little; hummed a little sound that was partway between a breath and a snore. His brows furrowed only a little, but you stayed still. He wasn’t awake–not yet. And…and there.

Gradually, he relaxed. From head to toe, his muscles slowly lost their tension, he started breathing easier again, and he sprawled out a little more. His leg nudged yours as he pushed his head into his pillow. And as he settled in….

His palm was up toward the ceiling. Perfect.

He didn’t flinch. He used to; sometimes he still did. But it was few and far between lately. And tonight, he stayed still, stayed relaxed, as you tenderly drew your fingertips over his palm. Feather-light touches across the rough calluses, you traced each finger, each line, each inch. The edges, the curves between his fingers, all the way down to his wrist. The moon was bright enough to see his veins; without an order, you followed them with the tip of your nail. 

In a slow wave, goosebumps came. First, they were subtle; barely even noticeable. But as you trailed your touch back to his palm, his hair stood straight, and the goosebumps came across everywhere. There. 

A familiar figure-eight pattern. Right in his palm again. Slow and careful; gentle and tender. Listening to how his snores grew deeper by the second. With a soft sigh, his head lolled toward you, and the moonlight engulfed him. His dark lashes, where the crease between his brow was usually so prominent, the shorter pieces of his hair dusting across his forehead, the slightest parting of his mouth. 

The mark just under his jaw you’d left in the midst of…well. He wasn't tired from a mission or training. And you were normally more careful about leaving visible marks, but Bucky was just…. Bucky. He'd smelled so good, and the brush of his beard against your cheek had been your own "figure eight on the palm". Through the soft friction of the sheets at your legs, the press of his fingers on your hips as he guided every deep movement, his head back on his pillow while you buried your face in his neck.

Beautiful–just…beautiful. 

The entire night. Every moment in their singular. Him.

The warmth that spread over you wasn’t the edges of a blanket or even his arm as you draped yours over it. No, you would’ve been that warm at just the thought of him. The promise. That smile. The touches, the kisses, the shared looks that said so much with the impossible blue that were his eyes. 

With a smile, you laced your fingers with his.

His hand fit perfectly in yours.

Your smile didn’t fade as your eyes grew heavy.

See? You’d sleep. 

He chuckles lightly and steps into the kitchen. His hair is slightly mussed as if he’s been running a hand through it and his tee shirt clings to the broad lines of his chest and toned biceps. With a hard swallow you let your eyes drop lower, to the way his pants sit low on his waist but still hug his thighs.

“Can’t sleep?” you squeak out, dragging your gaze back to his face.

He shakes his head no and moves closer, revealing a surprise. The guinea pig Yelena rescued from the lab sits atop his left shoulder, tucked close to his neck and partially hidden by his hair.

You sit up with a gasp and rush over to him, cooing quietly and without a word plucking the piglet from his shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” you ask the guinea pig in a sweet voice.

“I probably should have let him sleep but as soon as I made noise he started squeakin’.”

You look up at Bucky and notice his soft expression as he watches you with the guinea pig.

“It’s a boy?” you ask.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he replies.

“Hmm,” you say as you pet it’s soft fur. “I bet it’s a girl.”

“That works too,” he smiles. “Are you making cookies?”

“I am…they should be out…,” and you walk over to the timer, “in three minutes.”

“Great doll. I could use a snack!” He slowly rubs his stomach as he stretches, revealing the dark trail of hair that disappears enticingly into his sweats.

The guinea pig squeaks and draws your attention away before he catches you staring.

“She needs a name,” you state as you cradle her in your arm.

Bucky is silent for a moment before he blurts out, “Cookie.”

“That’s cute,” you giggle, “but I think you’re just hungry.”

He doesn’t disagree and keeps thinking.

“She’s brown and white so…BACON!”

You stop petting the piglet and narrow your eyes at Bucky.

He holds his hands up in surrender, but you can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Are you going to wash the dishes?”

Bob’s voice is so low you almost don’t hear it but Bucky spins around at the sound.

“Bob!” both you and Bucky exclaim.

“What’s going on in here?” Bob asks as he looks between you and Bucky.

“We can’t sleep, and I made cookies,” you explain.

“And we’re trying to give the guinea pig a name,” Bucky adds.

“Ok,” Bob says. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

“Do you want help?” you ask him. “I can dry the bowls.”

“Sure,” Bob says.

You hand the guinea pig back to Bucky. “Don’t get comfy. I want her back when I’m done.”

“Anything you want doll,” he says with a wink.

“How about Piglet?” Bob chimes from the sink.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” you ask as you slide up next to him and take the first bowl to dry it.

“Yeah…she’s kinda tiny…,” Bob says.

“So, you think she’s a girl too!” you say happily. “Bucky was calling it a he.”

“Not because I don’t think it could be a girl…I just…said he first.”

“It’s a girl,” Yelena says as she walks in.

“See! I knew it!” you sing song.

“What is going on here?” Yelena asks.

“None of us could sleep,” Bob answers. “So, we’re making cookies, washing dishes and naming the guinea pig.”

“Are the cookies ready yet?” Yelena asks, eyeing the oven.

“Just about,” you answer.

“Bob suggested Piglet…but I like Bacon,” Bucky says to fill Yelena in.

“Of course you would say Bacon,” she tsks. “I like Piglet.”

“Do I smell cookies?”

Walker strides in and heads straight for the oven.

“HEY Walker,” you whisper shout. “They’ll be out in a minute.”

He stops and plops himself down on a stool at the island with a huff.

“Why didn’t anyone invite me to the party?” he says.

“Because you’re an asshole,” but you and Yelena chime simultaneously but not without a smile pulling at each of your mouths.

“Can I least have some cookies,” Walker asks.

“Of course,” you tell him.

“Why don’t you name the pig, Hamlet,” Walker adds.

Everyone is quiet for a minute and tries to hide their smiles. “Actually, that’s cute,” you say, “but we’ve decided it’s a girl so maybe something…more…girly.”

Walker rests his chin in his hands but remains silent.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ava says, appearing from the other side of the wall.

Bob startles at the sink and Walker rolls his eyes.

“No one can sleep, we are about to eat cookies, and we need a name for our girl guinea pig,” Yelena sums up quickly before opening the oven just as the timer dings.

“Pipsqueak,” Ava says flatly.

Yelena smiles. “I like that. She does squeak…a lot.”

“But she’s brave,” Bob says. “She survived the lab. I wouldn’t call her a pipsqueak.”

“But Piglet is scared of everything isn’t he?” Bucky muses. “So that wouldn’t work either.”

“Oh,” Bob sighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still like Bacon,” Bucky mumbles to himself.

“WHO SAID BACON?” Alexei booms when he walks in. “We eat?”

Yelena hangs her head with a sigh and Ava rolls her eyes.

“No bacon,” Bucky says sadly. “But we have cookies.”

“Hm, that will do,” Alexei says as he walks over to Yelena and pulls out the hot tray with his hand.

“You should let them cool,” you say to Alexei as he goes to grab for one.

“No, no…I like them all gooey and melted and messy…” He pops half the cookie in his mouth and hums happily.

Bucky slides over; the guinea pig nestled in the crook of his metal arm as he grabs for a cookie.

Walker reaches over the island to grab his own.

“They’re still hot guys!” you scold but give up with a sigh when half the tray is gone in under a minute. “You better grab one,” you whisper to Bob.

He turns from the sink and wipes his hand, reaching for a cookie and placing it on a napkin near him. “I’ll let mine cool,” he says with a small smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and lots of mumbled praises over the cookies, you ask, “so what are we naming the guinea pig?”

Alexei yells out, “ALEXEI!”

Everyone answers with a determined, “NO!”

Alexei deflates and takes another cookie.

“So far we ruled out all the suggestions,” you say, leaning back on the counter next to Bucky.

Without prompting he hands you the guinea pig. You gently hold her up and look her over.

“I have so many ideas but none of them seem to fit,” you huff.

“All mine are related to food,” Bucky shrugs.

“I still like Alexei,” Alexei grumbles.

“Hamlet isn’t girly enough,” Walker says.

“Piglet and Pipsqueak make her sound too timid,” Ava adds.

Finally, Yelena says, “what about Nat?”

All eyes turn to her, soft with unspoken words.

“That’s perfect,” you say quietly and everyone agrees.

Once the few remaining cookies are packed away and the kitchen is clean you walk over to Bucky who’s leaning against the wall, Nat once again cradled against his chest in the crook of his metal arm.

“She likes that spot,” you say quietly as you gently stroke her back.

“Yeah, maybe because it’s cool,” he says and then softly touches her nose as it twitches.

You watch him for a moment, so sweet and gentle with the little furball.

“You’re so cute,” you say softly.

“She is right,” Bucky agrees.

“She meant you super soldier,” Alexei chuckles from behind you. “Not pig.”

“She’s a guinea pig Dad,” Yelena dead pans.

Alexei waves his had dismissively. “All same.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s, and you see the tops of his cheeks, just above all the dark stubble lining them, turn light pink.

“You meant little Nat right?” he asks.

“She definitely meant the guinea pig,” Walker says with a yawn as he walks by. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Ava follows close behind him. “Me too. And she meant you Barnes.”

Alexei slaps Bucky hard on the back, jostling Nat in his arms and Bucky glares.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Alexei mumbles then smiles wide. “She thinks you are cute.”

He walks away rubbing his stomach.

Only Yelena and Bob remain, Yelena with a smirk lifting her lips and Bob with wide eyes.

Your eyes stay on Bucky, and you lean in closer, still petting Nat. “No. I meant you. You’re really cute. Especially with her. It’s sweet.”

“She said he’s cute,” Bob whispers to Yelena who’s full on smiling now.

“Da,” Yelena nods, grabbing Bob’s arm to pull him down the hall.

“Does she like him?” Bob asks as he passes by you and Bucky.

Yelena laughs but doesn’t answer and keeps tugging him away.

The two of you are now alone and you watch Bucky’s gaze quickly drop to your lips before he says a quiet, “thanks.”

“Hope you can get some sleep,” you tell him then kiss his cheek. “Night.”

“Night, doll,” he whispers as he watches you walk to your room.

The next night when you’re still awake after midnight you head to the common room but when you don’t see a sign of anyone else you decide to go watch a movie until you fall asleep. The light knock on your door an hour later surprises you and when you open it to find Bucky on the other side you’re even more surprised.

“I didn’t wake you did I doll?” he asks in a rush.

“No, don’t worry. I was watching a movie.”

“I thought I saw light under the door so I figured you might still be up.”

“Did you want more cookies? The leftovers are in the cabinet.”

“Actually…Alexei ate them all. I checked…”

You snort laugh and grab Bucky’s hand, pulling him through the doorway.

“Of course he did,” you say as you plop down on the small couch.

Bucky follows and then stands there as if he’s unsure what to do next.

“You can sit,” you tell him.

He does.

“Are you watching The Goonies?”

“I am!” you say excitedly. “I’m so glad you’ve seen it.”

“Classic 80s.”

“Exactly,” you agree.

You settle back into the cushions and let your shoulder brush his. As the movie continues your body relaxes against him and he lifts his arm to rest it along the back of the couch. His fingers brush your shoulder and when he feels your skin pebble beneath his touch he does it again. Your breath catches in your throat and you audibly swallow.

The movie ends and you’re still pressed against him, his arm now circling your shoulders as his fingertips ghost over your skin.

“That’s one of my favorites,” you say and turn to meet his eyes.

“Mine too,” he whispers, curling his fingers around your arm so you turn your body into his.

His eyes wander over your face, their soft reverence only sharpened when they stop on your lips.

“Doll…I…”

Whatever he wants to say is lost in the moment and he presses his mouth to yours, softly at first, but when you slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer, he hums low in his chest and deepens it, parting your lips.

His knuckles skim down your arm before splaying at your back and pulling you into his lap. His hand slips under your shirt, every caress of his fingertips slow and teasing as if he’s savoring every moment and committing it to memory. His kisses are sweet and languid and the hair lining his face scratches the soft column of your neck as his lips trail downward to your hammering pulse.

A deep and satisfied hum rumbles through his chest and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard lines of his muscle beneath his shirt.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He lifts his head to stare at you, his breathing fast. His metal thumb lifts to trace your swollen bottom lip before he slides it behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, nibbling the same spot then soothing it with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and the sound snaps what little control he’s holding on to and suddenly you’re flipped to your back, your wrists in his metal hand and pinned above your head. His eyes teasingly trail over your body, and you go pliant in his hold, your legs falling open as he settles between them.

He leans down, dipping his head to run his nose along your neck, breathing you in before his lips are on yours again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his hand releasing your wrists and sliding lower to stroke your curves. “I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, licking his lips. “I came over here with the intention to ask you out on a date…”

“Is this not…?”

He cuts you off. “This is exactly what I want…you’re what I want. I’m just…trying to be a gentleman.”

Your lips form an O shape, and he kisses you again.

“I’ll go on a date with you Bucky,” you murmur between kisses.

“Good, that’s good,” he says, his warm hands continuing their exploration of your body while his lips trail down your neck.

You arch into him and slide your hands from his hair down his back, scraping lightly with your nails.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

When his eyes lift to yours he wears a pained expression.

“A gentleman,” he repeats.

“Right. A date,” you say.

“Fuck,” he mutters again but doesn’t move an inch.

You stare at each other, the tension building in the small space between you before he dips his head and kisses you again. His lips find the spot just below your ear and he whispers, “if you don’t tell me to go now…”

“I don’t want you to go Bucky. I want you to stay. I want you.”

As soon as Bucky entered the void, he felt ice. Oh no. He thought to himself. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t be back here again. 

The hard substance pressed against his back as he landed in the ravine, right after his fall from the train all those years ago. All the wind had knocked out from his lungs, and he sat up abruptly, just in time to watch HYDRA soldiers drag his body across the floor, arm gone. He felt nauseous at the sight of it, his own body desecrated. The worst part is that he knew this was just the beginning. 

He needs to get the hell out of here.

~

The grass beneath your combat boots was a jarring sensation. Your head whips around, bewildered. A park? Weren’t you just in New York? Where did everyone else go? You look around. There’s a playground, and many trees. Picnic tables and benches where parents usually sit and watch their children, but right now it’s empty. Just you. It’s then that you hear a familiar sound. The music of an ice cream truck driving your way. It’s nice, almost peaceful, even.

If this weren’t a moment that you had literal nightmares about. 

It hits you then how you remember this place. This is the neighborhood park that you went to as a child. The one that you were abducted from. You watch as your younger self squeals happily, alone in the park. You had been saving up for the next time the ice cream man came around. 

“All alone today, young lady?” The man asks. Oh god, no. The younger version of yourself nods. You grab her wrist in an attempt to stop her from getting any closer, but she screams and the trees that were once just trees reach out and grab you, the branches twisting around your arms and physically pulling you away. You can do nothing but watch as you get taken. 

~

Bucky makes an effort to get out of the room, clawing at the walls. He realized that the room isn’t as big as it seems. He calls out, looking for somebody, anybody, and starts to punch at the ice with his metal arm. 

That isn’t me anymore. He thinks to himself. This is. 

At the same time, you use your powers to burn the branches keeping you away from your younger self. Ice shoots from your hands as you use it to propel yourself forward faster, ending at the truck’s hood. Looking in the tinted glass, you swear, if you look closely enough you can see-

“Bucky!” You call out, voice shaky, and limbs tired from the effort of sustaining your powers. Bucky turns his head. He heard you. You take a deep breath then smash the glass of the windshield with your bare hands, jumping through it and straight into Bucky. 

~

The moment you tackle him, you’re transported into a new place. Bucky recognizes the place immediately. He sees Zola’s face and internally cringes, wanting to punch the man. He huffs. It wouldn’t do anything here. He’s not gonna let this undo all the work he’s put in to bettering his mental health. You both just need to get out. 

It’s then that Bucky hears the words. His spine straightens as a shiver rolls down it. He knows they can’t hurt him now. They’re powerless in his deprogrammed mind, and yet he can’t help the way fear grips his chest. You grab his hand, and he is immediately brought back to earth. You’ve always been such a grounding force for him, and he can’t help but want to kiss you senseless for the kindness you’ve always shown him. 

The both of you have a long history together. You didn’t always see each other when you both were still under HYDRA, but even in his altered state Bucky knew you. Maybe that’s why once he pulled Steve from the river, he went to get you next. Together, the both of you look for a way to get out of the lab. When your foot hits a loose tile on the lab floor, you know this is likely it. You wordlessly gesture at it to Bucky, who instantly gets the memo, smashing it with his metal arm. 

Once you crawl through the hole in the floor, the two of you fall to the ground, entering a completely different space. Your hands come up behind Bucky’s head, making sure it doesn’t get badly hurt as you tumble into a cool concrete floor. Bucky’s arms wrap around your torso, making sure he takes the brunt of the impact. Once you finally settle into the new space, you press your forehead to his briefly kissing his cheek as you let out a breath of relief.

~

“Where are we now?” You mutter. The place feels familiar but it’s a tad too dark to make anything out. 

“You know where we are. The question is who are we going to see?” He murmurs lowly. It hits you then. The cold concrete floors, the darkness, the distinctive smell of dampness and a buildup of mold and mildew. You’re back in the basement cells. The place HYDRA kept you in between missions and sessions of “experiments” in the lab. It’s after the realization hits you, that you, younger you,  is ushered into the room harshly. You’re older now. Still far too young, but now in your early 20’s. It hits you then what exactly this memory is. You push Bucky’s head away, not wanting him to see what happened, but he stubbornly watches. 

What he doesn’t expect is to see himself, moreso, the winter soldier. He’s suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. Did he hurt you? He thought most of his memories were recovered, so why couldn’t he remember this? More importantly, why didn’t you tell him? 

“Doll…What is this? What did I do?” He asks, hands darting out to grab your shoulders. He doesn’t mean to squeeze as hard as he does, but you see the sense of urgency and more importantly, the signs of panic that cross his features. You shake your head emphatically, hands coming up to rest on his elbows in reassurance. 

“It’s not what you did…It’s what I did.” One of the guards start to speak to the both of you in Russian. He goes on about testing your abilities on a real subject, and you watch as you scramble on the floor. 

“Th-the doctors said I was done with testing today…” she tries to say. One of the guards grab her face harshly. 

“I know. This is just for fun…consider it target practice.” He replies. Bucky can only watch with sadness as you try to refuse, knowing it couldn’t have ended well. Meanwhile, your eyes fill with tears, the memory still causing guilt to eat at your consciousness. He walks over to the memory version of you, kneeling beside her as she too moves onto her knees, fire and ice powers activating. He pushes a stray hair behind your ear before pressing his forehead against your head. 

“It’s okay. You had no choice. I’m sorry…” He mutters into her ear. It won’t change anything. Won’t make you feel any better about doing it in the future, but that doesn’t matter right now. 

You watch him for a moment before trying to find a way out. The door that the guards pushed you through. You push and pull at the knob, and when that doesn’t work, you start kicking desperately. Anything to escape the agonizing past screams of your current lover. It eventually gives. You turn around to get Bucky. With one last comforting kiss to past you’s head, he stands up straight and jogs over to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the door to the next room. 

~

Once the two of you get to the next room, you attempt to seek respite for just a moment. Your hands come up over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. Bucky has never seen you like this. If anything, you are usually the stronger one in the relationship, always pulling him from the dark place. Now, as he looks at you, he recognizes just how vulnerable you seem, your actions reminding him of a child who is just trying to shut out the rest of the world. He takes a deep breath before approaching you.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. Bucky shakes his head and gently cups your cheek with his flesh hand. 

“Don’t apologize for doing what you had to do to survive.” It’s a phrase that you’ve said to him time and time again. When the nightmares turn him into an insomniac and the skeletons hidden in his closet come out in full force. 

“...I didn’t know how to tell you.” His metal fingers wrap around one of your wrists, pulling your hand away from your ears and back to your sides, repeating it with your other arm. 

“I understand. There’s probably nobody else in this world who would understand but me.” Through all the time that you’ve been together, Bucky knows you. The same way that you know him. He’s never had this sort of closeness in his life, and it was only because you stubbornly refused to give up on him. Just like Sam. Just like Steve. Whatever he has accomplished after leaving HYDRA was the combined effort of both of you. If you weren’t gonna give up on him, why would he ever give up on you?

You let him hold you for a while, before finally accepting his words. You prepare yourself for whatever it is that might come next.