bucky x blackwidow!reader
You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pantsāleaving you both stunned.
18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, blindfolding, handjobs, fondling, nudity, dry humping, blowjob, grinding, female masterbation, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, premature ejaculation, clothed ejaculation, reader has dubious methods of coping, previous sa of reader and bucky, ex black widow reader, mentions of red room, very consensual, safe words, use of safe word/motion, kissing, panic attacks, bucky barnes needs a hug, undercover missions, missions gone wrong, vomiting/puking, overstimulation, crying, teasing, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, major arguments, sparring, training, mentions of alcohol, injury, bloodr, eader is lowkey depressed, trauma. mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, mood boards do not represent reader's appearance, lmk if i've missed anything - will be updated with each part
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Warnings: 18+ only. Hurt/Comfort. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Fluff. Suggestion of past non-con.
Summary: In a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice. And some choices echo across time, shaping the future in ways no one could predict.
Word Count: 7.3.k.
notes: More tags will be added in the future.
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
He didnāt know how many days had passed. The light changed. That was one way he tracked it. Not with numbers, he couldnāt trust those. She opened the blinds at midmorning. She sang to herself when she cleaned. She knocked before setting the tray down.
Every morning.
Knock. Quiet pause. Ceramic on wood.
She never waited.
She never pushed.
And she never stopped.
Sometimes, she talked through the door. Not about him. Justā¦ things. The weather. A message from a friend. A neighborās cat, she was sure had figured out how to open her shed door. She never demanded a reply. She just let the words out and then left them there, like folded paper boats, floating on silence.
He didnāt answer. Not once.
But he listened. He listened.
The world was too loud inside his head, but her voice had a way of settling the swarm. He hated how much that frightened him. Like something starving being offered a spoonful and not trusting the hand that held it.
She brought him food, always warm. She replaced the towel outside the bathroom with a fresh one every other day. She never entered his room.
He traced her patterns. How she moved in the kitchen. When she went out, how long was she gone. He memorized it all. For safety. For insurance. Thatās what he told himself.
But he started noticing other things.
She hummed while she cooked. Always out of tune, always the same song.
She wore thick socks around the house, even when it was warm, and slipped in them often, once with a muffled curse that made him smirk before he could stop it.
She read on the couch, curled up like a cat. None of it matched what heād been taught. About targets. About traps. About people.
She wasnāt a pattern.
She was a person.
And the longer he sat in that room, the more unbearable the stillness became. He needed to test it. Not her. Not exactly, but the boundary. The cage. He needed to know if it was real.
The first time, he cracked the door an inch.
Just an inch. Enough to see the hallway. He didnāt breathe.
Nothing happened.
Then he started waiting until she was in the kitchen, or had her back turned on the couch, and he would walk past, soundless. A blur in the corner of her eye. He never looked at her. Never stayed. Just long enough to see. To feel the space.
It was clean. It was warm.
It was not there.
And every time, his pulse screamed at him to run. To hide. To fight.
But it never came. The punishment. The correction. The betrayal.
So he kept pushing.
One night, late, she sat on the couch with a book in her lap, legs tucked under a blanket. The lamp beside her cast a warm glow over the room. She didnāt see him at first. Or maybe she did, but didnāt react.
He stood there in the hallway, just beyond the doorway.
One minute. Then two.
His hand twitched. His feet didnāt move.
But his body was tired of doors. And her silence -her stillness- called to something that wasnāt the Soldat.
So he stepped out.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And sat down. Not on the couch, not close. On the floor, a few feet away, near the wall, with his knees drawn to his chest, arms around them. He didnāt look at her.
She didnāt look at him, either, and turned a page.
And that was it. No celebration. No conversation.
Justā¦ a quiet moment between two people. Not prisoner and captor. Not asset and civilian.
Just people.
----
The second time he joined her was the next day, when she was making dinner. Some quick omelets with salad. She was drained and her feet hurt, and really didnāt feel like cooking, but he depended on her in that aspect.
She didn't hear him stealth inside the kitchen, so when she half turned to pour the scrambled eggs into the pan and saw his dark silhouette behind her, she startled, hand flying to her chest as the bowl hit the tile and exploded in a wet, yellow splash. Shards of ceramic were scattered on the floor, yolk bleeding into the cracks. Her heart thundered wildly, too fast for such a small scare. But it wasnāt small, not really. Heād been silent as death behind her, a shadow where there hadnāt been one before.
She turned fully, catching her breath. He stood still, with an unreadable expression. His hair shadowed most of his face, and his chest rose like heād stopped breathing when she startled.
āI didnāt hear you,ā she said, pretending to be calm, but her voice shook. āItās alright. I justā¦ I didnāt know you were there.ā
He looked at the floor. The mess. Then back at her.
No words. But something in his shoulders tensed, an old, familiar flinch she recognized now: regret, wrapped in the bracing wait for a punishment.
She raised a hand instinctively. āHey. No. Itās not- this wasnāt your fault.ā
He didn't move. Not back, not forward. Like he wasnāt sure what he was doing there. Then, slowly, he crouched down beside the spill.
His flesh hand reached for a sharp fragment of the bowl. She moved on instinct, stepping forward, āDonāt,ā she said, gentler now, not command, not fear, just care. āYouāll cut yourself.ā
He paused.
She crouched beside him, their knees almost touching. The smell of raw egg was strong in the air, the lamp above casting amber light across the mess. He didnāt look at her, but he didnāt flinch away either.
She reached for a dishrag. āLet me get this. Itās okay. Just surprised me, thatās all.ā
But his hand was already moving again. A piece of shell, then another. His metal hand, this time. Slowly, carefully, like he was assembling something instead of cleaning it. He wasnāt looking at her. He couldnāt. But he stayed.
She worked beside him, brushing the eggs into a dustpan with paper towels. Then, she sat back on her heels when they finished. āThere,ā she said, with a tired sigh. āGuess weāre having salad and sandwiches instead.ā
The words hadnāt meant anything. Just a joke. A tired little shrug at the mess of pooled yolk on the tiles.
But his body language changed.
His flesh hand began to tremble, low and visible. Then he sank lower, and his knees hit the floor hard as he kneeled with his head bowed.
She knew that posture. Had seen it in documentaries, people conditioned to expect violence when something went wrong.
āOh! I didnāt mean-ā She knelt too, lifting her hands instinctively, with her palms visible. She almost touched his arm but stopped short, āItās okay. Really. Darling-ā
His name -or lack of one, she didnāt dare to use it yet, in case it upset him- felt foreign, so she called him something warm instead. She hoped it helped.
His breath was shallow, as his face turned toward the floor. She could hear it, ragged and thin like it was hurting him to hold it in. Not panic, not exactly, more like the shutdown that comes before panic, when the body tries to disappear into itself before the strike lands. His metal hand hovered midair, still clutching a jagged piece of ceramic, frozen like he was waiting for orders. Or worse, expecting a consequence.
Slowly, she gave him space. Her voice came out soft, careful, like she was speaking into a room full of sleeping animals. āHey. Itās okay.ā
He didnāt react. Eyes still fixed to the floor, muscles tensed. The bowlās wreckage glistened between them, the yellow yolk bleeding over the tile like a crime scene. She reached forward a little, just enough to gently take a sharp bit from his fingers, so he wouldnāt get cut.
āDarling,ā she said again, quieter this time. āIt was an accident. Iām not mad. You didnāt do anything wrong.ā
He flinched at the word wrong. Just a twitch of his jaw, a shift in how he held himself.
She pulled back, letting him see her empty hands. āItās not your fault. It fell because I dropped it. Really. Sandwiches and salad are just fine.ā She forced a small laugh, but kept it short, not loud enough to jar him. āQuick and easy.ā
He blinked once. Still didnāt lift his head. But his back relaxed slightly.
Then she asked it. Soft as she could. āWould you like to eat with me? Here in the kitchen?ā
There it was. The ask. No command or condition. Just a simple question.
He didnāt answer.
Didnāt move.
But he didnāt retreat, either.
So she stayed where she was. āI asked becauseā¦ā Her voice faded, then came firmer. āBecause Iād like it. If you wanted to. Sit with me, I mean. If it doesnāt feel safe, thatās alright. I just think maybe youād like it too. Justā¦ sitting. Eating. Something normal.ā
He looked up. Not all the way -his eyes didnāt meet hers- but they found her face. And there, for the smallest moment, something flickered across his expression. Not fear or suspicion. Something softer. Something like longing. And then it was gone, hidden again beneath all the programmed silence.
He turned back to the last shard of ceramic and set it on the counter with surgical care, as if breaking anything else might tip the world.
Then, slowly, he stood up.
Not soundless this time. Not slipping through shadows like a ghost. He stood like a man unused to being seen while upright, measured, cautious, as if each motion cost something he wasnāt sure he had.
She shifted back to give him room.
He didnāt disappear.
So she rose and moved to the counter, grabbed the bread, the knife, and two chipped plates from the drying rack. Her fingers trembled just a little as she worked, but she didnāt rush. When she glanced back over her shoulder-
He was sitting.
At the kitchen table.
His back was straight as it could be, his arms folded in his lap. The posture was tense, like he expected to be commanded back to his feet. But he didnāt look at the door.
He was there.
Just a man, at a table, because sheād asked, and for the first time, that was enough reason.
She set the plate down gently in front of him. A warm sandwich and a handful of greens with a drizzle of oil. He sat silently, motionless for a beat too long, then picked up the toast. He ate in slow, mechanical bites. Not hurried, not hesitant. Justā¦ efficiently. Fueling. Like a man used to rations and timers, and someone watching from behind a mirror.
When he finished, she watched his eyes flick to the empty plate and then away again. Fast. Like heād caught himself looking.
āYou can have more, if you want,ā she said softly. āIāve more bread and cheese, also ham.ā
He didnāt move. Didnāt answer. Just stared at the table with a face carved in stone.
She tried again. āI know your metabolismās different. You burn energy faster than normal people. You need more food to feel full. Itās okay to tell me.ā
Still nothing.
So she stood quietly, crossed to the counter, and started making another sandwich anyway, with a little extra ham and cheese. No pressure. No questions. Like it was already decided. Like, feeding him more wasnāt conditional on him asking.
She didnāt look at him as she worked. Just plated the food, poured him another glass of water, and set both in front of him. Then she turned back to toast something for herself.
When she set the new plate down, he hadnāt looked at her. Couldnāt. His chest had gone so tight, like he was waiting for the catch. The consequence. The real reason behind the gift.
But it never came. It was just food.
The sandwich was warm on the plate, smelling of butter and salt. His fingers twitched. His stomach ached in a way it hadnāt in years. Real hunger. The kind he hadnāt let himself feel since the days before they turned him into a ghost in combat gear.
Heād survived on ration paste. Dry bars. IV bags. Things that were never meant to taste. Just fuel for the machine.
This was different. Soft at the center. It bent when he bit it, soaked with warmth. And she wasnāt watching him eat, wasnāt measuring his intake like they had. She wasnāt writing down his response. Justā¦ buttered her own toast, like any other day in any other house.
By the time she turned around again, the second plate was clean.
She glanced at the plate, then at him, his posture still rigid, but not so tense like before.
āYou know,ā she said lightly, slicing the last piece of bread, āIāve got enough for one more.ā
No reaction.
She kept her tone warm. āI told you I know your built to burn more. So itās okay. If youāre still hungry.ā
His jaw moved once. Not quite a flinch, but close.
āIām not keeping count,ā she added, turning back to the pan. āAnd thereās no quota. You donāt have to earn it.ā
She didnāt look when she set the third sandwich down beside him. She just kept busy at the sink, rinsing dishes and humming a little off-key tune she knew half the words to.
Behind her, the faintest scrape of a plate across wood.
Then silence again, filled with the sound of chewing and the clinking of a glass.
----
He didnāt understand what she was doing. Not really.
He waited for the hook under the kindness, the condition tucked inside the offer like a blade inside the bread. But it didnāt come. She just moved around the kitchen. Like she hadnāt flinched and dropped the bowl at his shadow.
He stared at the new sandwich on the plate. Same kind. Same shape. A pattern. Not a trap, at least, not an obvious one. He waited for her to turn her back before his hand moved.
A bite.
Then another.
His jaw worked harder than it should have. Like chewing was something he had to relearn. His stomach didnāt protest, just took the food in like a starved thing, like it had given up on signals long ago. That part of him, the one that scanned every corner of a room for escape routes, was still active. Still sharp. But another part -a quieter one- moved beneath it.
He hadnāt expected her to say it aloud.
You burn more.
You donāt have to earn it.
Iām not keeping count.
No one had said things like that to him before. Consumption was scheduled, rationed, and controlled. Hunger didnāt matter. Need didnāt matter. Only output. Only obedience. No one ever asked if he was full. No one wouldāve cared.
Now, someone did. He kept chewing, but didnāt look up. Couldnāt.
But he listened to her humming.
And something started to grow in his mind. Not safety -not yet- but its ghost.
He didnāt understand this.
But he didnāt hate it.
----
The sound came first, a sharp splash as the faucet hit a spoon at the wrong angle. She instinctively squealed and stepped back as a wayward arc of water leapt at her chest. He flinched, too, though for different reasons.
āGoddammit,ā she muttered, already peeling her soaked wool jacket off in one smooth motion, frustrated and distracted, not looking his way at all.
But he saw.
The thin cotton tee beneath it clung to her body now, damp and transparent across her breasts. No bra. Her nipples hardened against the sudden cold and pressed into the fabric, two buttons of soft betrayal she hadnāt even noticed.
She turned back toward the sink, not even thinking of him.
And he wasnāt thinking of her.
He was thinking of then.
He wasnāt in her kitchen anymore.
He was in another one. Cramped. Windowless. A fluorescent buzz above his head. Steel counters. The smell of bleach. Another woman. Another wet shirt. But she hadnāt muttered curses, she had laughed. Soft. Sultry. āOh no,ā she had said, trailing a finger down her breast. āLooks like I made a mess. Youāll have to lick it clean, asset.ā
That wasnāt her voice.
That wasnāt this kitchen.
But the two blurred together.
His leg began to bounce, heel drumming against the tile. Unconscious, automatic. A tremor worked up his spine like a shiver before a cold plunge. She was still facing the sink. Still oblivious.
Two weeks, he'd been here.
Two weeks and she hadnāt touched him without asking.
Two weeks of silence, space, and safety.
But now, something had shifted. Hadn't it? He couldnāt tell. He couldnāt think. His mind was scrambling, flipping through old scripts, torn instructions in a voice he hated, obeyed, feared.
She hasnāt touched you.
But maybe sheās waiting for you to initiate.
They used to wait, too.
Sheād kept him warm. Fed him. Dress him. All for nothing? He squeezed his eyes shut. Sheād said she didnāt want anything. Had said it outright. But thatās not how it worked, was it? There were always expectations, even when unspoken. And the way she looked now, how could she not want him to respond?
No. No. She didnāt want that. She didnāt even look at him. She didnāt know. She didnāt know what sheād done.
His eyes dropped again, fastly.
His body had been a tool for so long, it didnāt know the difference. Skin, warmth, exposure, these werenāt intimacy. They were triggers. They meant to perform. They meant to comply.
But she hadnāt even looked at him.
Her back was to him now, swearing softly as she wiped the counter, completely unaware that he was drowning six feet away.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Her voice cut the spiral like a clean blade.
"You okay? You look a little pale."
She wasnāt teasing. She wasnāt sultry or coy or luring him in. Just a woman with a wet shirt and concern on her face.
He looked up, afraid of what she'd see in his eyes.
Her brow furrowed, worried. āIs it your stomach? Are you hurting? Maybe your bodyās not used to ingesting more quantity of food yet-ā she asked softly, drying her hands on the hem of her damp shirt.
He shook his head. Too fast, too clipped. Not okay.
Too much noise in his brain. Too many memories. Too many mismatched signals flooding the same broken path.
She didnāt press. Just watched him, carefully.
And then, gently, āDo youā¦ want to go back to your room?ā
His eyes darted away. He didnāt want to move wrong. Didnāt want her to think sheād done anything wrong. But he couldnāt stay here, not now.
A beat passed.
He blinked. And nodded.
āAlright.ā She stepped aside, giving him space to pass, not pressure. āYou donāt have to help clean. Just rest, okay?ā She stood quietly with her rear against the counter, arms folded across her chest.
She let him go.
Not because she didnāt care. But because she did.
And because he needed the door to close, just for a little while, so he could breathe.
----
He closed the door with the kind of silence that made it feel like it had never opened.
No light. No sounds. Just the soft brush against the cot frame as he crouched, not on it, never on it, but beside it, where he'd stacked the cardboard and plastic crates high enough to carve out a wall. A perimeter. A corner within the corner, narrow and hidden, padded with the basket of old towels and a folded coat he used as cover.
He sat low on the folded blanket, knees up, with his arms slung tightly around them, eyes wide and blinking fast. Still couldn't slow his breathing. Couldn't slow his head.
He hadnāt done anything, but his body had wanted to react. Not the part of him that made choices, the part that obeyed.
The wet shirt, the shape of her body. The moment.
That was the trigger.
Not her.
But sheād stood there, and heād looked -looked, like a man, like a threat- and the echo of another place had erupted in his mind like shrapnel.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Sex had never been his. Not once. Not ever. It had been a function. Mission. Reward. Correction. A performance on cue.
And sheād pulled off a woolen jacket, not for him, not to him -just to dry herself- and his mind had detonated on contact.
He curled tighter. His metal fingers dug into the soft underside of his knee. He didnāt know what scared him more, how fast it came on, or how much of him had believed, even for a second, that something was expected. That sheād fed him and helped him and wanted something back.
No. She never touched him without permission.
But they never gave him a choice.
And now, even in freedom, the gears turned like he was still locked to the chain. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow.
The shirt she gave him smelled like lemon soap. Not sweat. Not Blood. Not sickly sweet perfume.
He breathed deeply, squeezing his eyes shut so hard it hurt.
He hadn't touched her.
But he didnāt know where the line was anymore. And if she hadnāt spoken -if her voice hadnāt cut through the spiral-
He shook once. A full-body tremor.
He was afraid of himself.
Afraid of what was broken inside him, of how deep the conditioning went.
The precarious bunker embraced him like a second skin. And inside it, he counted every breath, until the worst had passed.
Until he could tell the difference between memory from the present.
----
Two days.
He hadnāt left the room. Hadnāt eaten, not really. Drank water, sometimes. Curled into the den heād made from boxes and laundry baskets like a trench he couldnāt crawl out of. Safe in there. Hidden and contained.
Now he sat on the rug, back to the couch, not touching her but close enough to feel her body heat behind him. Her presence. She didnāt say anything when he entered. Just kept reading, and let him be.
She always let him be.
His fingers twitched against his knee. The metal hand stayed open, palm down.
He tried to line up the words in his head. English first. Then the Russian crept in, unwanted. Then German, like a bruise blooming under his ribs. Too many layers. Too many wires crossed. Every phrase he thought of got stomped by another. He didn't trust what might come out.
But he wanted to say something.
She bought him clothes. Real ones, not uniforms. Left delicious and nutritious food on the door, gave him blankets, a door. She gave him the dignity of silence, of space. And all that cost her something. He knew it. And, if anyone found out he was here, it would destroy her. Maybe worse. And still, she made room for him.
His jaw clicked as he clenched it, then forced it to unclench.
His breath dragged up slowly through his chest. Hard to hold.
He wanted to say you didnāt have to.
He wanted to say you shouldnāt have.
He wanted to say no oneās ever-
But his throat burned. Words wouldnāt come out.
Only two made it out.
Low. Guttural. Like coughing up gravel.
āā¦Thank you.ā
He didnāt look at her. Didnāt move.
Behind him, the page of her book didnāt turn, but her voice did come, soft and warm. āYouāre welcome.ā
----
She hadnāt turned another page.
Not for a long time.
Just held the book open on her lap, with her thumb still slotted between two chapters, gaze unfocused, her eyes on the same sentence without reading it.
He was still there. At her feet, resting his back against the couch, his metal hand loose and open on the rug. His breathing had evened out, but he hadnāt shifted or spoken again.
She stared down at the part in his hair. The faint sheen of sweat at his temple. The wide slope of his shoulders, drawn inward like he still expected a blow that never came.
She swallowed.
Now or never.
āI-ā Her voice cracked. She cleared it and tried again, softer. āIām glad you decided to come out. To sit with me.ā
He didnāt move, but she didnāt expect him to.
āItās been a while,ā she added. āSince Iāve beenā¦ wanting to ask you something.ā
Still no answer, but something in his posture shifted, tense, then relaxed again. Listening.
She pressed the pads of her fingers into the spine of the book and held it tight. āIf you want to know. About yourself. Not- yourself now, I mean, butā¦ before. Who you were.ā
The silence thickened.
āIāve thought about it a lot,ā she continued. āWhether it would hurt or help you. Whether youād want that or hate me for it. So I waited. But it doesnāt feel right to keep it from you either.ā
She sucked in a shaky breath.
āI have a laptop. You could use it. I wonāt be watching. I wonāt- I wonāt ask questions about it.ā
He didnāt answer right away. Just sat there, with his head slightly turned. She could see the tension in his shoulders now, not defensive, not afraid. Bracing. As if he wasnāt sure yet if all this would flood him or bleed him dry.
Her fingers itched to reach out, but she didnāt.
Then, slowly, his metal hand flexed against the rug. Open. Close. A breath escaped his lips, longer than the last.
He nodded.
Not quickly. Not definitely certain. But he nodded. So she rose slowly from the couch, leaving the book behind, and padded down the hall. When she returned, she held the laptop in both hands like something fragile and placed it on the rug beside him.
āIāll be in the kitchen,ā she murmured, already stepping back, eyes on the doorway, not him. āYou take your time.ā
The screen lit blue behind her as she left the room. And behind her, he moved, drifting his fingers over the keyboard.
----
He scrolled until his hand stopped shaking.
It hadnāt started that way. At first it was onlyā¦ curiosity. That strange echo heād followed in the helicarrier, that name James Buchanan Barnes rattling in his ears like coins in a tin can. The name was here, too. With photographs. Articles. A museum interview clip, grainy and sunlit.
He didnāt remember the things he saw. Not truly. But some of it feltā¦ familiar. The shapes of faces. The way he held his weapon. The way the blond man smiled at him.
He shouldāve remembered.
He wanted to remember.
But it was like staring into a well and seeing only ripples. Someone else had lived that life. Someone clean, whole, not broken down and reassembled in cells under white lights.
He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands, breathing shallowly, trying not to let the grief eat him alive.
And then he heard her step into the doorway.
Not close enough to intrude, just near enough for her presence to be known, gentle, unpressing. The glow of the laptop flickered faintly across his cheekbones, catching the hard edge of his jaw, the curve of his mouth held in that unreadable line.
She didnāt ask what heād found. He was still hunched there, quiet, unmoving, gaze locked on something past the screen, past the years.
But then she said, softly, āHave youā¦ reclaimed a name?ā
He blinked.
āNot your full one,ā she added quickly. āI meanā¦ if youāve chosen what you want to be called. And if not, thatās okay too. You can take your time. Or pick a new one altogether.ā
A gesture toward identity.
He didnāt answer right away. His mouth moved once, then stopped. As if his brain had to pass through layers of static before reaching the surface.
James floated up first. It had been in the files. Formal. It felt like marble, sealed folders, and grave markers.
But she was here. Warm. Present. Not from the cold metal past, but this strange, soft present. Her voice didnāt strike. It didnāt command. It invited.
His lips parted, and almost inaudible,
ā...Bucky.ā
She nodded, smiling gently. āOkay. Bucky.ā
----
She hadnāt meant to be awake.
Just a glass of water. Then back to bed.
The floorboard behind her creaked, a deliberate sound. He never made noise by accident. It was his way to announce himself, or at least, to not startle her again.
He stood in the doorway, his shirt clinging damply to his chest, hair darkened with sweat at the temples. His eyes were vacant.
She set her glass down slowly.
āDid you have a bad dream?ā she asked, gently. Not pushing, no pressuring. It wouldnāt be the first time it happened. Sheād heard the mutters, gasps, the rustle of sheets, and the muffled thud of limbs fighting something that wasnāt there. Only once had she gone to him, to see if he was okay.
He wasnāt.
Heād woken mid-nightmare, not fully there, and unintentionally pinned her to the floor with a hand clamped around her throat. When he zoned in and recognized where he was, recognized her, she had almost passed out under him. The fear in his features, the guilt, the shame juxtaposed all at once. He had grabbed her body as if she were a ragdoll, sitting her on his lap on the floor, almost mourning her, rocking them back and forth, muttering sorry over and over again. Then, he didnāt come out for a couple of days. So, she knew better than to intervene when he had a bad dream.
He didnāt speak. Just nodded once, the movement was small and reluctant.
"You donāt have to talk about it,ā she said. āBut if you want to, you can always talk to me.ā
His eyes dropped to the floor, lashes low over cheekbones. The idea of talking didnāt sit well with him. Not yet. But he stayed there, didnāt turn away.
It was enough.
She reached for a pot. āI could make hot chocolate.ā
That got his attention, a flick of his gaze to hers. Something passed his face, a faintest echo of boyhood.
āWould youā¦ā he rasped, the word felt dry with disuse, voice cracking halfway through the sentence.
She smiled gently. āSure. Grown adults can decide when to drink a cup,ā she said, winking one eye as she reached for the milk.
She saw it then, his shoulders dropped, just slightly. Not slumping, but relaxing. Then he stepped farther into the kitchen, not too close. But enough.
āWanna eat something with it?ā she added, peeking into the bread box. āThereās still sponge cake.ā
She caught it again, that same flicker. Not quite a smile, but it tugged at the corner of his mouth like it wanted to be one. He didnāt answer. Just moved to the table, one hand on his knee, the other flat on the wood. Watching her cut the chocolate into chunks on the cutting board. The silence between them was soft, companionable.
And for a while, that was enough.
----
Two months made a world of difference.
He still flinched at sudden noises, still slept lightly, still kept to the corners of crowded alleys when he ventured out. But he did venture out now. Disguised, head down, just another shape moving through the city. Sometimes for air. Sometimes for intel. More and more, to bring food home.
He never said much about it. But every few days, sheād find things in the fridge that hadnāt been there before. Fruits, vegetables, milk. A good cut of meat. He paid in cash. Not that she asked where it came from. And not that he offered to explain.
But it mattered.
Because he wasnāt just surviving anymore. He was contributing. A quiet presence expanding into her home, tending the place in small, practical ways. Today, it was the cabinet hinge, which had been loose forever, and now clicked shut like new under his hands.
He crouched at the sink, metal fingers firm on the wood as he adjusted the last screw. She was at the stove behind him, sleeves pushed up, the smell of onion and smoked paprika warming the air. Something bubbling. Something that would take hours to stew just right.
He liked it here. This rhythm. This peace.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw him gently testing the swing of the door. āYouāre good at fixing.ā
He didnāt look up, but she saw the faint curve at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But close enough.
Then, it happened.
He froze.
Screwdriver in one hand, cabinet door half-open, tilting his head in a way he always did when he caught something she couldnāt.
She slowly turned down the flame. āWhat is it?ā
He didnāt answer. Just stepped to the window and yanked the curtain shut in one fluid movement. Then went completely still. His eyes were locked on nothing, darting side to side beneath his lashes, assessing something only he could hear. Calculating.
Without a word, he stepped to her and with gentle but urgent hands, pressed her back against the wall behind the kitchen door. Not harshly, just firm. His body blocked her view.
āStay here. Donāt come out unless I come for you.ā
āWhat-?ā
He shook his head once. Sharply. āPlease.ā
Then he pulled the door in, hiding her from sight, sandwiching her between the wall and the wood.
He still had the screwdriver in his hand.
Moving silently as instinct, he crossed to the front door and pressed his back against the wall beside it, breathing low, and stilling every muscle.
Then the doorbell rang.
A pause. Another chime. Louder this time.
Not the water guy. Not the landlord. Not the sugar-hungry kid next door. These steps were heavy, different. His had clenched tightly on the screwdriver.
Then, he exhaled once. Slow and controlled.
And opened the door.
A man stood there. Mid-forties, wearing overalls, a toolbox hanging from one hand. He stopped short when his eyes caught on Buckyās face, or maybe the tension in his shoulders, the glint of something dangerous in his stare.
The man took a cautious step back.
āUh- Iām looking for the tenant?ā he said, uncertain. āShe filed a report about the radiator in the living room? Said itās full of air?ā
The silence stretched.
Then, Bucky gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod. āWait,ā he said in a low voice.
He shut the door and put on the bolt, then turned, slightly loosening his shoulders. He crossed to the kitchen and opened the door. Her eyes were wide, but she hadnāt moved from where he left her.
āSays itās maintenance,ā he murmured. āYou called about the heat?ā
She blinked once. Then remembered. Right. The radiator.
āOh. Right.ā She stepped out, brushing her hands on her thighs. āI called last week, didnāt get a real response, so I forgot.ā
He didnāt say anything else. Just moved back to the hallway like a silent sentinel as the man entered with a sheepish smile, glancing between the two of them. Bucky didnāt take his eyes off him. He stood off to the side, still holding the screwdriver in his right hand. Watching. Listening.
The man crouched to inspect the radiator near the window, pulling something out of his toolbox with a clatter that made him flinch, barely. Just the twitch of a muscle in his jaw. But it was there. That thrum under his skin. The calculation in his mind that never quite stopped running. Number of exits. Blind spots. Object reach.
He knew -objectively- that this man wasnāt a threat. The guy was clumsy. Breathed too fast. His tools were worn off. No proper weapon in sight, no comms. He had no backup.
But the other part of him, the one that wasnāt objective, watched the manās hands too closely. Tracked the weight of his boots when he shifted. Smelled the sweat collected under his shirt at the small of his back. His brain whispered probabilities. Combat ratios, tender points of pressure. The softest noise behind him made his spine stiff. Just a pipe groaning in the wall.
He made himself exhale.
In and out.
Tried to focus on her voice in the kitchen. A soft scrape of the spoon against the pot. The clink of glass. Real sounds. Present ones. Warm ones.
She glanced at him when she passed through the hallway, carrying kitchen towels toward the basket of dirty laundry. Her brows knit for half a second, barely visible, just enough to read him.
He dropped his eyes. Loosened his grip on the screwdriver. Set it down with a quiet clack on a shelf.
The radiator hissed as the man bled air from the valve.
"Should be fine now," he said, half-turning, wiping his hand on a rag. "May need to be done again, the systemās old."
She nodded politely. "Thanks. Appreciate it."
"Sure thing. You got my number if it acts up again."
He packed his tools, gave one last uneasy glance at Bucky, then left.
She shut the door, closed the bolt, turned back, and found Bucky already retreating to the kitchen like nothing had happened.
The next morning, there was a new deadbolt on the front door. Heavy, matte black, industrial-grade. It hadnāt been there when she went to bed.
No note. No explanation.
----
The steam curled from the bathroom as she stepped out, with a thick robe pulled tight, and a towel still twisted around her hair. She froze halfway down the hall.
He was there.
Not quite in her path. Not even looking at her. Just standing with his arms loose at his sides, and his gaze cast down the hallway like heād been waiting.
āHey,ā she said, casually, too casually. āDid you need to get in?ā
His eyes flicked to hers. Then to the floor.
āNo. Just-ā
A pause.
āWanted to make sure you came out.ā
That stretched a quiet beat between them.
She blinked. āI usually do.ā
He gave a small shrug, almost a nod. āYou were in there a long time.ā
A long time, meaningā¦ fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.
She didnāt quite know what to say to that.
āGuess I lost track of time,ā she offered lightly. āIāll get dressed and fix you something to eat before I go, yeah?ā
She slipped into her room and shut the door softly behind her, resting one hand on the wood.
Wanted to make sure you came out.
That wasnāt nothing. That wasā¦ something.
And, it wasnāt the first time lately, either.
Sheād started to notice it, the way heād begun to shadow her movements through the apartment, following without seeming to realize it. Standing just a little too close if she paused to speak with someone outside. Roaming a little too near when a friend or neighbor stopped by. Always long sleeves, always with a pair of gloves on him, of course. He wasnāt that sloppy.
Last week, sheād dropped her keys outside, taking longer than usual to find them. When she finally came in, he stood barefoot in the living room, like heād been listening for her the whole time.
And the night before thatā¦ sheād woken coughing into the dark, only to find him asleep curled on the rug beside her bed.
It wasnāt strange, not really. He was healing. Trying. Learning what safety felt like, perhaps for the first time in decades. And, at some basic cognitive level, he seemed to have imprinted on her, like a mistreated animal who had encountered a living proof that not everyone in his life wanted to control, use, or make him suffer.
----
That night, she juggled her keys at the door, with her boots damp from the unexpected drizzle, hair half out of its clips. The hallway light was off. No sounds from the apartment.
She frowned.
The lock clicked, and she stepped inside.
Warmth. Dim light. Something faint and rich in the air, onion, maybe. Something earthy. Something cooked.
She dropped her bag by the door, and there he was. Sitting in the armchair across from the kitchen, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. His hair hung down his face, and its shadows softened the lines of his jaw. He looked up the moment she stepped in.
His eyes dragged over her face, down to her coat, and her wet sleeves. Like he was checking her for damage.
āYou okay?ā she asked, key halfway to the lock.
āYou didnāt come,ā he said. No accusation. Just a fact.
She blinked. āI missed the bus. Had to wait for the next. Iām sorry.ā
He didnāt answer right away. Just stood up, moving toward the kitchen without a word. She followed him, slower, pinching her brows.
The pot on the stove was covered and still warm. The kind of warmth that only comes from someone who gets the timing just right, starting it late enough to be ready now, not before.
She stepped closer and peeled off the lid.
Steam rose in a gentle wave. Potatoes, onions, carrots. A little browned meat. Salt and broth. Thickened with time and care.
Her chest thudded. āYouā¦ cooked?ā
He didnāt look at her. Just stood off to the side, loosely leaning one hand on the counter.
āWanted to try,ā he said. āThought youād be hungry.ā
āI am,ā she said honestly. āDid you eat?ā
He shook his head.
A beat.
āWaited,ā he said.
She couldnāt stop a small smile from forming on her lips. Gently, she reached for two bowls without saying more. āWell, then, letās eat.ā
He hesitated a breath, then obeyed. Pulled the nearest chair around, not the one facing the table, but the one at the head, angled sideways just enough to see the front door.
She didnāt point it out. Just filled both bowls, and slid his toward him without ceremony, and then sat across from him.
The stew was simple, but good. She hummed softly after the first bite, pleased, surprised. He watched her from the corner of his eye, as if waiting for a verdict he didnāt quite know he needed.
āYou did good,ā she said, licking a bit of broth from the spoon. āSeriously.ā
His mouth twitched, almost a smile, but it never made it that far. Just a flicker of something unreadable, then he looked down at his bowl. āDonāt remember where I learned it.ā he murmured. He didnāt speak again, just kept eating slowly, methodically, and visibly relaxed. The silence between them stretched, soft, heavy, and comfortable.
They ate like that. The sound of cutlery against ceramic. Her foot brushed his once under the table, just an accident, and he didnāt pull away.
Then -barely a movement- his eyes flicked back to her.
She was chewing absently, with one elbow on the table, brushing a spot on her wrist with her thumb like it itched. Still dressed from work. Tired, familiar, and warm.
He looked away, forcing his gaze to the window, the door, the wall. Anywhere else.
He didnāt trust the world not to take her from him.
People. Institutions. Names and men with guns and grins. Fate. Bad luck. Doors opened by mistake.
And somewhere deep down, where the bruises havenāt healed, he didnāt trust himself not to break the world if it tried.
The image came to his mind: his body between her and some faceless threat, blood on his hands, bared teeth. He wouldnāt hesitate. He knew that much. Not after everything. Not again.
She didnāt know that. Not yet.
His spoon paused halfway to his mouth without him noticing.
She glanced up, catching the movement. āEverything okay?ā
He blinked once and refocused. Gave a short nod. Not quite convincing.
āYeah,ā he said. āItās all good.ā
And it was. Not just the food. But this, her sitting across from him, whole, untouched, here.
He looked at her again, this time without trying to stop it, letting himself be selfish. He couldnāt explain why it felt like something inside his chest soothed him just watching her take another bite.
Summary: Being a telepath meant being cautious. With every touch, you were cautious. Whether you used it on criminals during a mission, or tried to avoid it when in close contact with your friends.
You were cautious when Bucky, the last person you expected, woke you up in the middle of the night, begging you to use your powers on him.
WC: 7.8K
Tags/ Warnings: canon typical violence, depictions of murder/strangulation, hints at torture, Hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, reader is ex-HYDRA
A/N: Not canon compliant! It gives OG avengers tower fics so it briefly includes some of ur fav OG avengers + Yelena, and I started writing this before Thunderbolts came out so doesnāt really reference that. Beta read by my bestie @whats-yesterday00
You thought there was a noise. It was muffled and quick, but it still managed to reach your ears.Ā
Itās what caused you to stir awake. Half asleep, half fighting to wake up. In your semi-conscious state, you assumed it was nothing and attempted to fall back asleep.Ā
Then the knocking came. This new sound fully woke you up.Ā
You lazily reached over and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. Your eyes pried open to see the time was 3:16 am. The knocking returned. This time it wasn't quiet, cushioned. Now it was a real knock.Ā
You threw off the comforter and stumbled to the door. When you opened it you found Bucky Barnes about to knock a third time.Ā
He stared at you in silence for a moment. Even though he was the one to knock on your door, he looked almost startled. Like he was surprised to see you answer your own bedroom door.Ā
It was now that you noticed he was shirtless because his tense muscles relaxed, Like the sight of you relieved him.Ā
āBucky, itās three in the morning,ā you started with a hoarse voice from just waking up.Ā
He shifted his weight as he stood in front of you. You couldnāt read his expression very well, but you could still sense something was plaguing him.Ā
āCan you do me a favor?ā He asked. His voice had a hint of desperation.Ā
You straightened at the tone of his voice. Concern filled you in seconds.Ā
āWhat is it? What happened?āĀ
He swallowed before making his request. āCan you go in my mind?āĀ
You froze at his question and stared back at him with wide eyes. The last thing you wouldāve ever expected from Bucky, was not only him allowing you to enter his mind, but practically begging you for it.Ā
When Steve first introduced you to the rest of the Avengers, he described your powers as similar to Wandaās. After all, she was part of the reason you had those powers in the first place.
In an effort to replicate their success with the twins, Hydra started a new research program to create another telepath. You were unfortunately one of their test subjects, and the only one who made it out alive. That was because you were the only one who showed any positive results.Ā
Unbeknownst to them, Wanda's exposure to their experiments brought out her own magical gifts. So when they tried it with you (and without the mind stone), the results were what they called āinsufficient.ā The only reason they kept you alive was to study you and your abilities to perfect their technique on someone else.Ā
Thankfully, the Avengers tracked down the lab and found you. You were even more grateful that Steve thought you would be a good addition to the team and gave you a place to stay.Ā
But when he briefly explained your abilities, it made a few of them wary of you like they were with her at first. You remember Tony, and Bruce tensed up at the reveal of how your powers actually worked. Meanwhile, the woman herself was immediately welcoming.Ā
But just like with Wanda, you quickly grew on them. Even Tony warmed up to you and called you Witch Jr (even if you werenāt a witch).
One person that you became particularly close with was Bucky. From when you first met, there was something about him that you found comforting. You couldnāt quite place what it was. All you knew was that you never felt tense in his presence. You never worried that he would find you odd or strange.Ā
He started to fill the missing pieces that hydra tried to take from you.Ā
The beginning of your friendship was quiet. That might have been why you guys clicked so well so fast. You could exist in the calm silence together. You both enjoyed each other's company. Occasionally making small talk that didn't feel awkward or forced.Ā
What soon followed was deep growing trust and appreciation. It almost happened overnight. How quickly the friendship blossomed into more than just enjoying the company. You looked forward to spending time together. Wanted to know all the little quirks and intricacies that made you who you were.Ā
āSo how does it work exactly?ā he asked you.Ā
Bucky sat at the opposite end of the couch from you, slightly baffled that in the many weeks he knew you he still didnāt know the full scope of your powers.
āItās kinda like Wandaās, but more restrictive.āĀ The more you talked with him, the less interested you were in movie playing.Ā Ā
āI know that part, but how?ā he inquired.Ā
You shifted to fully face him, āIām only a telepath. I can see into someoneās mind and alter it, but canāt move things with my own. And I need to make physical contact with the person to do it.āĀ Ā
He stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.Ā
āI can see your thoughts, memories, emotions, fears, desires, anything and change them. I can alter your actions, but of course only if Iām touching you. I can plant myself in your memories and experience them for myself.āĀ
As he took in the information, his expression grew with curiosity. āYou can change memories?ā he asked in a slightly lower voice.Ā
His curiosity was no surprise to you. You were fully aware of his past as the winter soldier and the things your mutual acquaintances put him through.
āI can reach deep into your subconscious and bring out memories that were previously hidden. I can remove short term memories, but never long term ones,ā you hesitated as you recalled what happened the previous times you were ordered to remove long term memories. All the minds you scrambled at Hydras orders.Ā
āCompletely erasing long term memories can be dangerous.āĀ
Bucky nodded after you explained, acknowledging he understood.Ā
āGot any other cool tricks up your sleeve?āĀ
āI can make someone fall asleep and enter their dreams. Iāve done that a few times. Knocked out a lot of people since joining this job,ā you ended with a chuckle.
The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. āSounds like a good cure for insomnia or nightmares.āĀ
āPretty much,ā you shrugged. āI actually did help Wanda fall asleep once. I donāt do it often but sometimes it can be really helpful if your dreams just get a bit too much.āĀ
āSadly thatās a common occurrence for all of us.āĀ Ā
āUnfortunately,ā you mumbled.Ā
You were no stranger to nightmares. Every so often- more often than youād like- terrifying images would creep their way into your sleep. Whether real or artificial, they still made you wake up feeling like your chest is running out of air.
You knew Bucky got them too. Probably more often than you did. Just a few days after you joined the team you ran into him in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Neither of you spoke about it other than a simple ānightmare?ā and a nod as a response.Ā
āHow hard is it to control?ā he asked, still eager to understand the depth of your abilities.Ā
āIāve pretty much got a good handle on it. I was offered a lot of,ā you swallowed down the words hydra test subjects, āpractice.āĀ
There was a subtle look of sadness in his eyes, like he silently told you he understood.Ā
āExcept, there have been some moments when Iām in contact with someone and I can feel their emotions or thoughts without trying because itās such a strong feeling. I donāt mean to, itās just so overwhelming for the other person it seeps into me.āĀ
You immediately cringed at your own words. āThat sounds weird doesnāt it?ā
Bucky shook his head, ānot at all. I think I get it. Itās like your empathy is cranked up to a thousand.ā
You nodded to confirm his assumption. A tiny breath of relief left you.Ā
āIāve never told anyone that before,ā you whispered as your attention drifted towards your fidgeting hands.Ā
You didnāt expect the confession to leave you. But something told you that Bucky wouldnāt think of you as strange or creepy for it. While he was often found with a judgmental grimace, you hoped, prayed even, that not a single ounce of judgment would pass through his veins.Ā
āIāve always been afraid that if I told someone, then theyād never want to touch me,ā you continued, even quieter this time.Ā
āHey,ā he muttered to bring your eyes back to him.Ā
He reached his hand out towards you. You stared at it in confusion before he spoke again. Youād never heard his voice sound so soft and gentle before.
āI trust you.āĀ
Your heart nearly gave out from his sentiment. A soothing ache wound itself around your heart and squeezed it tight.Ā
You accepted his offer and took his hand in yours. His skin was warm to the touch compared to yours. The heat from his hand started to creep its way into you.Ā
āYou donāt seem like the type to go digging around in my head.ā
You gently squeezed his hand, āI promise I wonāt.āĀ
This time he allowed the smile to grow on his lips.Ā
His hand parted from yours, his touch lingering for just a second longer. It left sparks on the ends of your fingertips that traveled in your veins and to your heart.Ā
You tried not to overthink how that was the first time you and Bucky ever really had close contact.
He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, āYou donāt want to look in there anyway. Itās a mess,ā he joked.Ā
Thatās what made you so concerned. Bucky had enough invasive alterations to his mind over the years. Turning his thoughts insight out until he no longer knew who he was.Ā
It was assumed that he would never ask you to look inside or do anything to his mind.Ā
Until now.
āBucky what happened?ā you asked, opening the door and gesturing for him to enter.Ā
He cautiously stepped inside. āI havenāt slept in days,ā Bucky couldnāt meet your eyes as he spoke. His voice sounded shaky and rough.Ā
āI thought I was doing better. I didnāt have a single nightmare for three weeks and then-āĀ
He paused at a loss for words. He balled his metal fist so hard you could hear the metal adjust to the strength.Ā
āItās been days. Every night. I canāt sleep,ā he finished weakly.Ā
āDo you want me to erase it? Your nightmare?ā you offered.
āNo!ā he snapped louder than he intended. A brief flash of terror crossed his face. Likely from the images of whatever occurred in his dreams. You couldnāt understand why he wouldnāt want you to rid himself of the memory. But you assumed he wanted to keep you from witnessing whatever horrors he saw.Ā
The sight of him in this state was shattering your heart.Ā
āNo, I uh ā¦ wanted to ask if you could help me sleep.ā
You didnāt have to consider his request. You would help him in a heartbeat.Ā
āOf course.āĀ
His tense shoulders slightly loosened and his tight fist released.Ā
You moved back to the door to leave and he gave you a quizzical look.
āYou wanted to go to sleep right?ā you asked in conformation as you opened the door.Ā
His eyes widened for a second. āRight,ā he muttered.Ā
Bucky led you down the hall to his room. Upon entering your eyes all around the interior until you stopped at the floor. Your eyebrows furrowed when you saw one of the pillows and a blanket removed from the bed and layed out messily on the floor next to it instead.Ā
āSometimes the bed is too soft. I thought the floor would help,ā he answered your question before you could even ask it.Ā
The memory of Sam and Steve mentioning the discomfort of regular beds returned to you. How they felt like they were sinking in their own mattress and it took a while to get used to.Ā
āDo you want to try sleeping here again?āĀ
He shook his head, āno, I donāt want you on the floor.ā He grabbed the discarded pillow and blanket and placed them back on the bed.Ā
You held back from playfully rolling your eyes, sensing this probably wasnāt the time to tease him. āThis isnāt about my comfort, Bucky. The goal is to get you to sleep.āĀ
He shrugged as he sat down. āStill.āĀ
The room fell into silence as you stood before him. Your body was frozen in place, hesitant to move closer. Itās not that you havenāt done this before. It just felt different this time.Ā
This shouldnāt be happening. You shouldnāt feel weird about this. Both Wanda and Bucky are your friends. Why should it be any different doing this for Bucky? This is normal. This is what friends do, they help each other, they comfort each other.Ā
This is you being a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.
You swallowed down the lump in your throat and took a few steps closer. You ignored the way your stomach was in knots.Ā
āSo, you can lie down like normal and I can hold your hand,ā you started, trying to hide the nervousness. āIf youāre okay with that.āĀ
āThatās fine,ā he shifted to lie down, giving himself the pillow that was on the floor. You moved to the other side of the bed and slowly layed down.Ā
That weird feeling in your stomach started to boil over as he turned to face you with his hand out. You had no choice but to shove that feeling down. He needed your help. You couldnāt help him with these feelings swarming around and distracting you.Ā
āIām gonna do this slower than when I knock people out during a job. To make sure you donāt get another nightmare Iām going to help you relax and then youāre going to slowly feel more and more tired. Okay?āĀ
āOkay,ā he whispered back. āYa know, you donāt need to use your powers to help me relax.āĀ
āItās the least I could do.āĀ
Bucky fake smiles back as the meaning behind his statement is lost on you.Ā
Reaching forward, you met his hand in yours. His palm was clammy and warm. On instinct you started to gently move your thumb back and forth over his skin.Ā
āClose your eyes.ā
He followed your command. You took a deep breath, and focused your energy on him.Ā
His emotions started to flow through your veins. It was worse than you thought. His fear and anxiety were clouded, letting you know he started to calm down. But the presence was like a black cloud ready to pour at any second. A lingering weight that couldnāt stop pulling you down.
And what surprised you, was the guilt. You felt like you were drowning in it. Suffocating on it. Like it filled up your lungs and you couldnāt breathe.Ā
You tried your hardest to melt the feelings away. To sooth them with something he found comforting. You searched for the source of whatever started to cloud his fear, and it took you back to the feeling of his hand in yours.Ā
Oh.Ā
Thatās what he meant.Ā
With his eyes still closed, you didnāt bother to hide the smile on your face.Ā
You focused back on his feelings. While smothering the flames that his nightmares sparked, you opted for a more organic source of comfort instead of mentally amplifying it.Ā
Your hand slowly traveled to his forearm. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingertips over his arm. Occasionally, your nails grazed his skin as you drew absentmindedly.Ā
The relief was almost immediate. It enveloped you like a tidal wave and left phantom goosebumps on your skin as you felt what he did.Ā
āThat feels nice,ā he mumbled under his breath.Ā
āShhhh, be quiet. Go to sleep,ā you whispered.Ā
That brought out a smile from the man across from you. He threatened to open his eyes, but you reached up and covered them.Ā
āNuh-uh. Keep em closed.āĀ
Bucky quietly chuckled at your antics.Ā
Your fingers returned their dance on his arm. Now that the horrors from his nightmare had finally loosened their grasp on him, you began to lull him to sleep.Ā
As the seconds rolled by, his body relaxed into the mattress. You watched the tension air out of his muscles and let the serenity overtake him. Even after you knew he was asleep you kept tracing his skin. You didnāt want to stop. You wished you could stay there with him all night. To wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you.Ā
Before tonight, you and Bucky were never this close. Well, physically at least. Always leaving a small bubble between the two of you. Even now with your hand traveling up and down his arm, you kept yourself a safe distance away. Desperately craving to be closer but too scared to take the leap.Ā
After a few more greedy moments, you considered finally leaving his room to let him sleep. Carefully and slowly, you turned away from him trying to ease out of the bed without disturbing him.Ā
Except you couldnāt make it very far after he reached forward and grabbed your waist.
You froze in place, barely even breathing. His hand on your waist trying, and failing, to pull you closer. You knew he was asleep because you could sense it through his touch. And yet somehow he felt your presence leaving.Ā
Your whole body was paralyzed as you weighed whether to leave or not. Hypothetically, it would be the easiest thing in the world. Use your powers to release his hold on you. Youād done it a thousand times before to other people.
But you really didnāt want to.Ā
Because he wanted you to stay.Ā
At least thatās what you told yourself.Ā
So you stayed. You told yourself it would only be for a few minutes longer.Ā
You settled into a less tense position and rested with your back to him. He sensed the movement in his sleep again. Now, his arm had fully wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to him.Ā
As he moved, your sleep shirt shifted, his touch was leaving goosebumps all over your skin and made your heart flutter.Ā
It took a moment, but you finally let yourself melt into his hold. Surrendering to the comfort and serenity it brought.Ā
You did not in fact only stay for a few minutes longer. Actually, the situation you found yourself in was so comforting you fell asleep after those few minutes and stayed the whole night.Ā
By the time morning came, you pried your eyes open, letting them adjust to the small amount of sun creeping in through the window. After a few seconds, you registered the different position from when you fell asleep. You were face to face with Bucky as his arm lazily draped over you, keeping you close.Ā
You studied his features, mere inches away from you. He had an essence of calm you didnāt see often. There were many times you saw his normal hardened expression soften; but this just seemed different. He looked so at peace and secure.Ā
It was while you were observing every little detail of him you noticed his breathing change. It was a subtle disturbance in the rise and of his chest, but you saw it.Ā
You looked at him confused before deciding to test your theory. You lightly traced your hand over his arm and watched his closed eyes move.
āI know youāre faking.āĀ
No response.Ā
āBucky, I know youāre awake.ā You tried not to giggle as you attempted to call his attention again.Ā
A small smile danced on his face as he opened his eyes.Ā
āLiar,ā you playfully accused.
āCheater.āĀ
You pointed a finger at him, āWrong, I did not use my powers.āĀ
His cheeky expression softened the longer he looked at you. āYou didnāt leave,ā he stated the obvious. It was his way of asking why.Ā
āI fell asleep.āĀ
Technically it wasnāt lying. You fell asleep. You just left out a few key details.Ā
An awkward silence hung in the air, waiting for one of you to break it. Instead you both let it linger for a moment longer. Bucky released his hold on you and you carefully backed away and got out of his bed.Ā
āI should probably go,ā you stated while fixing your sleep clothes and avoiding his gaze
As you tried to leave, he sat up and called out your name, stopping you in your tracks as you reached for the door handle. You turned back to him, his stare left you feeling exposed, like an open wound.Ā
āI really appreciate you doing this,ā he thanked with quiet vulnerability. His tone reached out and pulled at your heartstrings.Ā
āIām glad I could help and that you finally got some sleep,ā you returned sweetly.Ā
Bukckyās hand fidgeted with the sheets, āIt did help, a lot.ā He couldnāt quite grasp the right words he wanted to say.Ā
āIf you ever need me, just ask,ā you offered sincerely.Ā
A fond expression crossed his face, āI wonāt hesitate.āĀ
You felt your cheeks start to heat up and quickly turned to leave. The short walk back to your room left your palms sweaty and heart racing.Ā
It was so silly how much he had an effect on you. And it only got worse in the days following the night you spent together in his room.Ā
All day long, your thoughts would be consumed by him. Like he had you under some magic spell and no matter how hard you tried to break free of it, you were left staring back at your own longing.Ā
It started to become addicting. His attention. His affection. HimĀ
It had been days since you spent the night. You were suffering from withdrawals and needed a fix.Ā
And it didnāt help when one evening you were woken up by daunting dreams that kept you awake all night. You desperately wanted to seek out comfort from him, but instead you laid in your bed alternating between staring at the ceiling or the back of your eyelids.Ā
The questions bounced back and forth in your mind. Would he even be awake at this hour? Would he let you stay? Even though you were 100% willing to help him, would he be willing to help you?
You were starting to get restless. Turning around in bed you checked the time on your phone. An hour of tossing and turning had gone by and still you were no closer to falling asleep.Ā
With a sigh of defeat, you got out of bed and snuck down the hall. For a second there was no response to your knock. You almost gave up after your first attempt and left, but the door opened and you were met with blue eyes. Those blue eyes you could swim in.
He said your name in a raspy voice, indicating he was in fact previously asleep. You were already starting to regret your decisions.Ā
He looked at you confused, āwhatās up?āĀ
Your hands played with the hem of your sleep shirt. The words were stuck in your throat with no way out.Ā
He noticed the hesitation in you immediately.Ā
āWhatās wrong?āĀ
āDid I wake you up?ā you asked, ignoring his own question.Ā
āNo.āĀ
āLiar,ā you accused with a hint of humor.
He tried to resist smiling, but you caught the corners of his mouth lifted up.Ā
āSeriously, whatās wrong?ā he asked, leaning against the door frame. It took all of your strength to not look him up and down as he did it. Of course he had to be shirtless, again.Ā
āCanāt sleep,ā you offered quietly as you folded your arms. āI uh, I know this might sound dumb, but I wanted to ask if- if we could-āĀ
āYes.āĀ
You froze in response to his interruption.Ā
āReally?āĀ
He nodded, āReally. And Itās not dumb.ā
The tight fists you didnāt realize you were holding loosened.Ā
āThanks,ā you said more bashfully than you intended.Ā
āDo you want to sleep here or in your room?āĀ
You honestly didnāt care at this point where you were.Ā
You just wanted to be with him.Ā
āWe can stay here, I donāt mind.āĀ
He nodded and welcomed you into his room. Your eyes trailed to his bed, it looked slept in this time. There were no pillows or blankets on the ground. That brought a bit of relief to you that he was comfortable sleeping in a bed again.
āNightmare?ā He asked, fixing the pillows on the bed from their messy position.
āYeah.āĀ
āWell, I may not have any of your fancy magic, but Iāll help the best I can.āĀ
āWandaās the one with magic.āĀ
He deadpanned at you, but you could tell he found you amusing because of the glint in his eyes and the tiny smirk he couldnāt hide.Ā
You lightly smacked his arm- the real one or else you would break a finger- and walked to the other side of the bed. āCāmon, you know I appreciate your help.āĀ
He quietly chuckled as you both settled into bed.Ā
That turned into a common occurrence. At least once a week, one of you would have trouble sleeping and end up in the other person's room.Ā
But it wasnāt just your sleeping habits. There was a significant change between you and Bucky.Ā
It was unspoken, but present. The bond between you was stronger now. You were closer, figuratively and physically.Ā
The both of you seeked out the other more often. When in group settings, you always sat next to each other. Even offering small subtle touches of affection, like your hand on his arm or his hand on your back. He sat so much closer to you when you spent time together in the lounge.Ā
The team had definitely noticed this change in your and Buckyās behavior. As the weeks passed, most of them tried to clue in on what was going on between you two. Anytime they brought it up, you both tried to avoid the subject and shoot down their questions.Ā
While you did soak up every little bit of this new bond you shared, it also started to drive you to the brink of insanity. As your bond grew, so did your feelings.Ā
Every touch, every glance, every word shared between you was feeding the yearning that ate away at your heart.Ā
It was borderline mean how he would rest his head on your shoulder when youād be watching a movie and easily fall asleep against you. Or when you would rest your head on him and his arm would sneak around your shoulders. It was sickening how he let you ruffle his hair- meanwhile if someone like Sam or Clint even came close to his hair- theyād lose a hand. It was torture when in an effort to stop you from overexerting yourself, he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing and carried you out of the gym to get some rest. It was evil how he would poke your warm skin with his cool metal hand to watch you jump in surprise.Ā
It was painful being so close to him yet feeling so far away.
You desperately wanted more. Wanted to tell him how important he is to you. That youād do anything for him to make sure he was safe and happy. How youād fight off any nightmares he had with your bare fists if it meant he could sleep peacefully. Tell him that he was one of the most handsome men youād ever met and you would kiss him till you couldnāt breathe if heād let you.
You needed him to know that when you looked at him you saw your safe space. That no other person has made you feel so content and at home. That he was the only person who you could lay next to and feel safe enough to let yourself sleep.Ā
But instead you kept that all to yourself. Letting it fester like a wound inside of you.Ā
Because one too many times after a sweet intimate moment you shared, he would almost close in on himself. It was subtle, but you would always catch it.Ā
There would be this look in his eyes when he left your bedroom in the morning. His eyes would melt with melancholy for a few brief seconds. Or right after you pointed out the serenity of your closeness while casually spending time together and his posture would stiffen or heād become less talkative.Ā
So, you never brought it up. Instead you existed in the space between friends and more than friends.Ā
āThey look so cozy,ā Yelena commented as she observed from afar.Ā
Sam stepped closer to get a better view of what she was seeing. From where they stood in the kitchen, they could see you and Bucky on the couch. You had both fallen asleep. The movie you had previously turned on was still playing in the background. His face was buried in your neck and his arms were wrapped around your middle. One of your arms lazily draped around him keeping him close.Ā
āYeah, a little too cozy,ā he teased.Ā
āGod will they just kiss already?ā She joked walking back to the kitchen island where Steve and Wanda were cooking.Ā
Sam looked at her like she had four heads.Ā
āWait, I thought they were sleeping together.ā
Wanda shook her head, āNo, I don't think theyāve made it that far yet.ā
āWhat are you talking about? I saw him leave her room at like 7 am yesterday. How would you know they havenāt even kissed yet?āĀ
āYou can just tell,ā Wanda answered without even looking up from chopping vegetables.Ā
Sam crossed his arms, āOkay, how?ā
Yelena pointed towards the couple in question as she spoke. āHeās still holding back.āĀ
Sam looked at her in disbelief, āHis face is in her neck. You call that holding back?āĀ
The two women shushed him as his voice accidentally raised in volume. Sam turned around to take a peek at the living room and make sure you were still asleep. And more importantly, not listening.Ā
Yelena shrugged back at him, āI donāt know how to explain it Sam. Thereās something in the way he acts around her.āĀ
āNot that itās bad,ā Wanda interjected. āIt just seems like heās scared of something.āĀ
Sam turned his attention to Steve who had still yet to comment on the matter.Ā
āWhat about you?ā Sam asked him. āDid he tell you anything?āĀ
Steve glanced up from the counter and his gaze landed on the scene many feet away from them.
āI know heās sweet on her.āĀ
Sam rolled his eyes, āWell obviously.āĀ
Steve cracked a smile at his friend. He lowered his voice, careful to not wake the couple in question, āI asked when he was gonna ask her out. He told me she wouldnāt want someone like him.ā
āThatās complete bullshit,ā Yelena argued as she sat on a stool and stole a chopped vegetable from Wandaās cutting board.Ā
Steve shook his head and returned to preparing dinner. āI told him. He wouldnāt listen.āĀ
Steve didnāt know exactly what was going on in his best friend's head. But one thing he did know was that Bucky didnāt think he was deserving of love.Ā
āWell he needs a wakeup call.ā Sam snatched a vegetable from Wandaās cutting board as she swatted him away.Ā
Two hours later, the kitchen was abandoned. Dishes in the sink and leftovers, for the ālove birdsā as Clint called you, in the fridge.Ā
You and Bucky were still asleep on the couch. By now, one of your many roommates turned off the tv.Ā
You donāt remember when you fell asleep, who fell asleep first, or how you ended up in this position. But you woke up with a painful feeling in your chest.Ā
It snuck up on you. Like one of those dreams where all is well and then suddenly you're falling and it startles you awake.Ā
Only this was worse.Ā
A lot worse.Ā
This feeling was familiar. Waking up from a nightmare. You were no stranger to it. Yet this time it felt different. It felt foreign. This fear wasnāt coming from your own dreams.Ā
Except, you didnāt realize that when you woke up. All you could think about in your freshly awakened state was the pain. The terror and guilt had wrapped around your chest like barbed wire and choked you.Ā
You saw it.Ā
You didnāt mean to. You didnāt go looking for it. It found you because it was so powerful. His feelings were so strong, so painful that they seeped into you from his touch. And what followed were the images of his nightmare.
You watched the dream from Buckyās point of view. The setting was blurry. You were indoors with no windows. Maybe some kind of cellar. It was dark, but light enough that you could make out who you were fighting.Ā
Yourself.Ā
The first thing you noticed was the difference in his arm. It was chrome with a red star on his shoulder instead of the black and gold vibranium. He was wearing all black tactical gear and a black mask.Ā
You were fighting the Winter Soldier.
As the fight continued, you grew weaker. You managed to hold your own against him, but his brute strength and endurance were catching up with you. He wasnāt holding back. Your strength was weakening the more you blocked off his attacks.Ā
With a small blade, he sliced your arm before you kneed him and knocked the knife to the ground. He managed to anticipate your next move and kicked you in the abdomen, causing you to slam back into the wall behind you.Ā
You hunched over in pain, struggling to breathe. He stalked towards you and slammed you against the wall. His metal arm wrapped around your throat and held you in the air. You choked for breath but couldnāt take one. From his eyes, you watched tears streamed down your own face and lips mouth a silent plea.Ā
āJames please.āĀ
Seconds later your eyes fell and your body went limp.Ā
A gasp left you as you were brought back to the present. Back in your own body.Ā
Seconds later you felt movement and the man next to you woke up.Ā
Bucky was in shambles. He quickly sat up on the couch, panting quick weak breaths. His hands were trembling as he gripped the couch cushion. His metal fingers dug into it so hard you were worried he would rip the fabric.Ā
His eyes were the worst to take in from the sight in front of you. They were bloodshot, glassy, and full of panic as they scanned his surroundings.Ā
You reached forward and placed your hands on his face. In the heat of the moment, you didnāt think to use your powers. You almost didnāt want to after what you accidentally witnessed.Ā
āHey, hey youāre okay. Youāre okay. Iām fine,ā you cooed to him. This didnāt help him at all. His face was still struck with horror.Ā
āJames, look at me.ā This caught his attention. His eyes landed on yours and you watched a tear fall down his cheek and felt it land on your hand.Ā
āItās okay. Youāre safe, Iām safe,ā You comforted while stroking his face with your thumbs.Ā
His eyes darted over your face as he recognized you were there. You were tangible.Ā
You were alive.Ā
Bucky dove forward and engulfed you in a hug. His hold on you was tight, like he was scared you wouldnāt be there if he let go.Ā
His quick movements took you by surprise and almost knocked the wind out of you. After a few seconds, you relaxed against his hold and rested your arms around his neck. Your hand weaved its way into his hair. You felt his tense muscles start to ease at the feeling.Ā
āI thought I-ā he stuttered, voice still frail.Ā
āI know, Iām fine baby Iām right here.ā You didnāt mean to let the term of endearment slip out. You hoped he wouldnāt dwell on it.Ā
And for a moment you were worried he did. There was no response from him for longer than you liked.Ā
Until he nervously asked, ādid you see that?āĀ
You let out a small sigh, knowing the guilt would tear him apart. āIām sorry. Iām so sorry. I didnāt mean to, I promise. It was just so ā¦ strong,ā you apologized while your fingers dug in his hair as a way to comfort him.Ā
āI couldnāt ā¦ I couldnāt stop myself,ā he whimpered. His hold on you tightened.Ā Ā Ā
āIt wasnāt real. I know you would never hurt me.ā
He whispered so quietly you wouldnāt have heard it if he wasnāt so close. His voice sounded fragile and small. āWhat if one day I did?āĀ
āBut what if you didnāt?ā
You heard a sniffle followed by a long pause. It seemed like he was calming down because his breathing started to even out and slow down.Ā
You continued to play with his hair until he finally released his hold on you. When you separated he quickly wiped at his wet eyes.Ā Ā
āIām sorry,ā he muttered with guilt etched on his face.Ā
āFor what?āĀ
āFor scaring you. That you had to see that.āĀ
The surprise of his apology hit like a brick to your temple.Ā
Bucky was the one who had the terrifying nightmare that brought up his trauma from Hydra. He just watched the winter soldier kill someone he cared about. But you are his main concern. Heās more worried about you accidentally being a witness to it. Heās more concerned about you being scared than his own fear.Ā
If he wasnāt reeling from what he just saw you wouldāve punched his arm for apologizing. But tough love wasnāt what he needed right now.Ā
āYou donāt have to apologize for that. Itās not your fault.ā Youād repeat it like a mantra to him until he believed you. āThe only thing that scares me is seeing you like this,ā you comforted with a soft voice.Ā
There was a small look of relief in his eyes, but not enough to show that he was fully convinced.Ā
Silence grew between you. As time stretched, you thought more about his nightmare. Your curiosity was growing and it needed to be answered. You needed to know if your suspicions were correct.Ā
āCan I ask you about it?ā you asked cautiously.Ā
There was a brief pause before he nodded.Ā
āWas that like the nightmare you had a while ago? The one I helped you with.ā
His eyes couldnāt quite reach yours. He looked down with a pained expression and swallowed before letting out a quiet whisper. āYes.āĀ
The ache in your stomach tripled at his meek reply. Flashes of that night bounced in your head. The tremble in his voice, the panic on his face. How he practically came running to your room after he woke up. Heād been having nightmares for days, but that night specifically he needed to see you.Ā
You thought of the terrified reaction he had to the idea of you erasing the memory of the nightmare. Because if you erased it, that meant you wouldāve seen your own death.Ā
You wouldāve seen him killing you.Ā
āYouāre not usually in my nightmares. That was the first time I ever saw something like that. Itās been eating away at me ever since.ā Bucky explained, still not looking you in the eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, you noticed he did that a lot when he was nervous.Ā
His earlier question rang in your ears as realization dawned on you.Ā
āWhat if one day I did?ā
You sat up straighter and leaned closer to him. āIt was a nightmare. Youāre not the Winter Soldier anymore,ā you comforted in a gentle voice.Ā
āI know butāā his eyes squeezed shut as the words he was trying to say got stuck in his throat. āIām scared that itās still a part of me. Iām scared that somehow itāll all come back. And I could never live with myself if I ever hurt you.āĀ
Things were starting to fall into place and suddenly make sense in your mind. This had to be why he kept close to you but somehow still at arms length.Ā
He wouldnāt allow himself to fully enjoy your embrace in fear of getting too close and hurting you. He didnāt want to bring his frightening past with him and let it poison your life.Ā
āBuck,ā you whispered to make sure he was listening.Ā
Buckyās eyes opened back up and finally met yours. They were still red, glossy and full of fear.Ā
It was now or never. You needed him to know.Ā
āI trust you. More than Iāve trusted anyone in a long time.āĀ
You placed a hand on his cheek and gently caressed his face. Instinctively, he leaned into your touch. It seemed like he wasnāt even aware he was doing it.
āI feel safe when Iām around you. I donāt think there was ever a time I felt like I was in danger with you in any way. That's why I want to be near you or why I seek you out when I canāt sleep.ā You let out a gentle chuckle before your next words, āHell, I can sleep next to you. Do you know how big of a deal that is to me? For me to feel safe enough to fall asleep in the same bed as someone else.āĀ
He resisted the urge to smile. He looked like he desperately wanted to believe you, but the darkness had a chokehold on him and wouldnāt loosen.Ā
You needed to dig deeper.Ā
āAre you afraid of me?ā you asked in a serious tone. āAfraid of what I can do with my powers when I touch you?āĀ
His expression fell with absolute bewilderment, āNo, of course not.ā
āThen why would I be afraid of you?āĀ
Bucky momentarily froze as he realized the point you were making. He shook his head unconvinced, āThatās not the same.āĀ
āIs it really?ā you insisted. āYou said it yourself, you trust me. You barely knew me and you trusted that I wouldnāt hurt you.ā
He muttered your name, about to counteract you, but you gently cut him off.Ā
āNo, listen.ā You grabbed his hand in yours. The warmth from your hand started to seep into the cool metal.Ā
āYou would never hold the things I did at Hydra against me. Why should I do the same to you?āĀ
It seemed like you were getting through to him the way his jaw clenched. He wanted to argue back, but he couldnāt.Ā
āIām not scared of you. I never was.ā you spoke with determination in each breath. You needed the words to sink in.
āWhen I look at you I donāt see the winter soldier. I see a kind man who cares so deeply about people. I see someone who even though he shows a tough exterior, is secretly a huge softy. And a sucker for physical affection even if he doesnāt want to admit it.āĀ
That made him chuckle. He almost appeared sheepish the way he looked at you in return.
āI need you to get it through your thick skull that youāre important to me. You mean so much to me and you donāt even realize it,ā your hold on his hand tightened as your heart poured out into his grasp.Ā
Bucky sat there quietly. Wide pupils staring back at you as he took in what you said. His bright blue eyes appeared almost incandescent.Ā
His other hand found its way on your thigh. The feeling of his hand on you had butterflies swarming in your stomach and your face heating up. You were used to his touch by now, but this felt so much more intimate than anything youād ever done.Ā
āYa know, when I had that nightmare for the first time and I asked you to help me fall asleep, I didnāt really need you to use your powers on me,ā he confessed. His hand traveled up and down your thigh as he spoke.Ā
āI just needed to make sure you were okay. I couldnāt go back to sleep without knowing you were safe.āĀ
He started to lean closer to you. The distance between you was slowly dwindling as he continued.Ā
āYou mean the world to me doll,ā he said softly. His voice dripping with devotion.Ā
āI donāt know what Iād do if I lost you.āĀ
You closed the space between you and him and rested your forehead against his.Ā
āIām right here. Iām all in. The good, the bad, I donāt care. I want all of you.ā
Bucky's metal hand reached up to cradle your face. Your cheeks were so flushed and warm, the cold metal sent chills down your body. His thumb gently caressed your cheek and ran over your bottom lip.
āCan I-?ā he pleaded in a low voice.Ā
Of course he would be a gentleman and ask. Even when his lips were mere inches away and you were like putty in his hands.Ā
āJust kiss me James,ā you breathed desperately.Ā
He didnāt waste a second. He tiled your face up towards him and his soft lips collided with yours in an instant. You were practically melting in his hold.Ā
Your mind was going fuzzy. You couldnāt think of anything other than the feeling of his lips against yours as he hopelessly tried to mold to you. Your hands found purchase around his neck and in his hair, trying to pull him closer.Ā
He sighed and smiled against your lips. His hand that was on your thigh traveled up and gripped your waist.Ā
Neither of you knew how much time had passed. I seemed like time stood still until you heard someone enter the deadly silent living room and gasp.Ā
You quickly pulled away from each other at the sound to find Wanda trying to hold back a smile. Bucky and you sat like deer in headlights staring at her.Ā
āGet a room you two. I know you use them,ā she teased before retreating into the hallway.Ā
As she left, you turned to Bucky and saw his face was bright red matching yours.Ā
āOh god,ā you chuckled, leaned forward and hid your face in his neck.Ā
He reached up and ran his hand up and down your back. āYou wanna go somewhere more private?ā he whispered close to your ear.Ā
You leaned back to face him again. āWhy? You want to kiss me more?ā you asked with a cheeky smile.
He offered you a smug grin as his eyes darted between your lips and your eyes.Ā
A WARNING! Here lies a change in rating and a warning for smut. If you're here for fluff only, don't panic, you can pick up at the next chapter and you'll still be able to follow š If on the other hand you've been patiently waiting for the pan to boil over.... step right in my friends!
Thunderbolts* / F!Reader, no warnings, just some domestic sweetness. Bucky x F!Reader NO LONGER brewing.
Word count: 3.6k and... I'm not going to bother lying to you. It's basically entirely smut.
It was well past two am when you gave up on sleep. The tower was dark and quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the tick of the clock in the hallway. You padded barefoot into the kitchen, the rolled up borrowed sleep shorts brushing your thighs, Buckyās t-shirt once again hanging loose on your frame.
Another impromptu sleepover.Ā
Once game night went south, youād all settled on watching a movie instead and by the time the credits rolled you couldnāt bear the thought of an Uber.
āSo stay. Itās not even the spare room any more, itās yours.ā Bob told you. āYou stayed in it, like, all last week?ā
Last week, while the team were gone. Youād offered to Bob that you could stay and he readily agreed, so youād turned up with a duffle bag. Theyād all been back a few days now though, and you were less prepared and too sober to be sleeping a few doors down from Bucky.Ā
Ever since he walked back through the door, something inside you had been wound tight. Like the hug in the pantry had cracked something open - some raw, aching need you couldnāt shove back down. You wanted him with a kind of urgency that felt impossible to contain, let alone hide. So you overcorrected. You laughed a little too loud at everyoneās jokes. You didnāt look at him for too long, didnāt let yourself remember how his chest had felt under your palms. You trod carefully. Because if you didnāt, if you got too close, you knew youād lose the thread and give everything away.
You hadnāt let yourself be alone with him since the pantry. Not really. Not long enough for him to notice the way your hands shook, or the way your breath caught when he said your name.
āI didnāt bring anything -ā
āI left your pajamas in your room.ā Bucky said from the other couch. A safe distance away. If anyone else noticed the your pajamas, your room comment, then they were remarkably restrained about it. Because they were not your pajamas. They were his.
Bucky had ended up on the other couch, but not before his hand brushed yours when he passed the blanket down the line. Just enough to make your skin prickle. He didnāt look at you when he did it. He didnāt need to.
The air had changed. Not in a way anyone else would notice, but it settled in your heart like static.
So that had settled it. You were staying over.
And now, sleep was not your friend.
You didnāt think. You just moved around, opening cupboards, searching for something sweet to take the edge off the restless pull in your chest.
Your fingers found a jar of honey. Familiar and comforting. You grabbed a spoon and dipped it in, the amber liquid slow and thick as it curled around the metal. You knew you should probably make toast to go with it, but without really thinking, you licked it straight from the spoon. Lazy, indulgent, you let the sugar melt on your tongue.
That was when you heard the voice.
āI thought I was the only one who couldnāt sleep.ā
You froze, spoon halfway to your mouth again. Bucky was leaning in the doorway, all shadow and stillness, black shorts - matching yours - low on his hips, tank top snug against his chest. His hair was messy from sleep, or lack of it.
You hoped the drop of your jaw wasnāt picked up in the dim, ambient under counter lights.
āI needed sugar,ā you offered, your voice stronger than you expected. āHelps my brain settle.ā
His eyes dragged over you, slow. Heated. āYou found some?ā he said, and there was something in his voice that wasnāt sleep.
You raised the spoon again, āhoney.ā
āYou calling me honey?ā
The question curled around your spine like smoke. You looked up, spoon still raised, heart thudding far too loud in the quiet.
āMaybe,ā you said, your voice quieter now. Throat drier. āIf the shoe fits.ā
He made his way over slowly, you tore your eyes away, looking at the jar in your hand, willing your breath to steady and your heart to stop pounding.
With you distracted, honey had started creeping down the spoon, catching in your fingers.
You dropped the spoon into the jar and looked around for something to clean up with.Ā
His hand caught your wrist.
His eyes flicked from your honey-slicked fingers to your mouth.
āYou gonna share?ā he asked.
You couldāve said something smart. Something teasing, but every whip smart response youād ever thought of died on your sticky lips.
And then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in, and licked the honey from your fingertips.
Your knees nearly gave out.
His tongue was warm, his mouth soft, his grip steady.
āYou taste sweet,ā he murmured.Ā
Your breath caught hard in your chest and your brain fizzled and poppedĀ
āYouāre not helping me settle,ā you whispered.
āNot trying to,ā he said, voice rough.
He didnāt let go of your wrist.
Instead, he stepped closer, the space between you vanishing with the shift of a breath. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the tension winding tight between your ribs.
āBeen thinking about this,ā he said, voice low and steady, āfor weeks.ā
āYou can hear it, can't you?ā You asked, barely above a whisper but you knew he'd heard.Ā
He reached past you to set the jar down on the counter, fingers brushing yours again, slow and deliberate.
Then his thumb dragged lightly across the edge of your bottom lip, catching on the honey.
āWhat, that?ā he asked as your breath shuddered. āOr this?ā He asked, his fingers moving to the pulse point on your neck.Ā
āBoth. Either -ā
āAll of it,ā he confirmed. āThe way your pupils dilate, the way your body temperature rises, the way your hands trembleā¦ā
His mouth hovered just over yours, and you knew he could feel the way your heart stuttered in your chest.
āAnd I know how wet you are,ā he added softly. Not cocky. Not smug. Just true.
You flinched, pulling back to look at him. The heat between you flared, but underneath it, something else flickered. The fear.
āOh god, then that meansā¦ Alexei. John,ā you breathed, your voice suddenly smaller, you started to pull your wrist from his grip.Ā
His hands came up to cradle your jaw, grounding, steady. His gaze locked to yours, intense but soft at the edges.
āNo,ā he said firmly. āNot like I can.ā
Your brows pinched together, still unsure.Ā
āI donāt just hear it. I feel everything. I know you. They could be in the same room and theyād never know - because theyāre not listening for you like I am.ā
Something in you unclenched at that. Not just desire now, but relief and trust.Ā
And then he kissed you. More slowly than you expected, searing, like he had time to prove it.
There was no hesitation. No asking. Just weeks of heat and tension snapping loose all at once. His mouth was soft but certain, your gasp swallowed by the kiss, his hands bracketing your waist and pulling you in.
You didnāt remember setting your hands on his chest, but they were there now, fingers fisting in the fabric, trying to pull him impossibly closer and leaving sticky fingerprints behind.
When he finally broke the kiss, it was only to whisper against your mouth, āYou want me to stop?ā
You shook your head firmly, āNo, donāt stop -ā
Because this was the moment youād both been aching toward, and it was too late to pretend otherwise.
He exhaled, slow and heavy, his forehead resting briefly against yours. His hands were still at your waist, unmoving.
āIāve been trying not to push,ā he said, voice rough with restraint. āTrying to wait until you were sure.ā
Your hands slipped under his shirt, greedy for the heat of his skin. āI am.ā
His jaw clenched, just for a second.
āI know. I just needed to hear you say it.ā
And then it snapped.
The tension, the restraint, the careful space he always left between you - that he was still leaving between you.Ā
His mouth was on yours again, hands on your waist, lifting you onto the cool marble countertop. The jar tipped over and rolled off, shattering on the floor.Ā
Your legs wrapped around his hips. His hands pushed into your hair.
There was only the heat. The need.Ā
And finally, the softest words, murmured against your lips, āBeen losing sleep over you.ā
He kissed you again, deeper, his hand slid up your thigh, ābeen hanging by a thread, sweetheart.ā
With a desperate sigh, you pulled at his tank top, taking it over his head and somewhere behind you.Ā
Cool vibranium, warmed by your skin, slid under the hem of your t-shirt. You gasped as his fingers spread wide against your ribs, hungrily moving up to take the weight of your breast in his hand. You felt his breath hitch at the feeling of bare skin at his fingertips and arched into his touch, encouraging him to take more.
You reached for him, fingers dragging down his spine like you needed to memorize it.
āI canāt stop thinking about you,ā you breathed. āIāve tried.ā
His mouth crushed into yours at that, a low groan lost against your lips.
His hand flexed against your skin, like he couldnāt believe you were real. His mouth dropped to your neck, lips and teeth dragging against the most sensitive spot.
You shivered, fingers digging into his shoulders, dragging him closer, āBucky -ā
He growled. A low, desperate sound, and kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hands were everywhere, thumbs grazing over your nipples, making you whine.Ā
Your shirt went next, lifted over your head and tossed somewhere behind him. He paused just long enough to take you in, the way your chest rose and fell, the flushed heat of your skin under his hands.
Then his mouth was on your skin, your ribs, your stomach - kissing, licking, tasting. Desperate. Like he couldnāt decide where to worship first.
When his fingers found the waistband of your shorts, he looked up at you, eyes burning.
āTell me you want this.ā
You nodded, breathless. āI want you. All of you, please -ā
His hands gripped your thighs like he needed you to anchor him, his mouth reverent against your skin, tasting his way down your body.
This wasnāt just heat. It wasnāt just need.
It felt like something deeper, something unspoken.
A craving that lived in his chest and only answered to you.
His lips dragged lower, tongue tracing the inside of your thigh, slow and deliberate. You felt him breathe you in - like the scent of you alone was something heād been starving for.
āFuck,ā he whispered, almost to himself. āYou smell so good.ā
Your thighs instinctively tried to clench, but his hands held you open like heād dreamed of this - of you - and now that he had you, he wasnāt going to rush a second of it.
The first press of his mouth made you gasp, your hips jerking under the weight of his grip. He didnāt pull back. He groaned, low and deep, and held you there, letting you feel every slow, reverent stroke of his tongue.
It was too much. It wasnāt enough.
Your fingers tangling in his hair as your head fell back, a soft moan leaving your lips, and you whispered his name like a prayer.
āBuckyā¦ā
He hummed in response, the sound vibrating through you, dragging another broken moan from your chest. His arm curled under your thigh, holding you steady as he worked you open, tasted you like heād dreamed about it for weeks.Ā
And god, maybe he had.
You knew you had.
He pushed your thighs further apart, gaze locked on yours as he slipped two fingers into you, slowly and surely, like he wanted to feel every inch of you give way under his guidance.
Your back arched against the cold marble, a gasp catching in your throat.
There was honey on your skin and in your hair, forgotten in the heat of it all. Sticky on your fingers, in the crook of your elbow, tacky where his mouth had been.Ā
He curled his fingers just right and your hips bucked, a soft, broken sound escaping you.
āOhh, god -ā you sighed, āyouāre killing me.ā
He looked up at you from between your thighs, voice rough. āNah, sweetheart. Iām worshipping you.ā
Your hand searched for him, for something to hold onto, and you gripped the hand that still held your thighs open for him.
Words half formed and fell away as his tongue circled and fluttered against your clit. His fingers inside you curled, pressing into that spot that made your whole body jolt.
You could hear it - the wet slide of his fingers, the broken sounds leaving your mouth, the low groan he gave in response.
āPlease - Bucky, fuck, please -ā
You were right there, trembling, aching.
He groaned against you, the vibration tipping you straight over the edge. Your whole body tensed, breath shattering as pleasure rolled through you in waves.
Your back arched off the counter, fingers trying to grip his hand like youād fall apart without him to hold you together.
āGood girl,ā he murmured against your skin, kissing you through it, not stopping, not letting up until your thighs were trembling and your hips tried to jerk away from the overstimulation.
Only then did he slow, pressing a kiss just above your navel before looking up, eyes wild and dark and so full of something it made your chest ache.
Bucky rose slowly, eyes locked on yours, and slid his arms around your waist, pulling you up against him.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips again, your bare chest pressed to his, heat coiling between your bodies like a live wire. He kissed you hard. Messy, sweet, devastating.
The taste of you was still on his lips. You could feel the honey sticky between your thighs, catching in the creases of your skin, and it made you shiver.
āWeāre a mess,ā you giggled, your tongue swiping at a smear of honey on his jaw.
āYou want to get cleaned up?ā He asked, his hand dipping between your legs and his fingers finding you still aching for him.
āNo, oh god donāt stop -ā
With one arm around your back, he turned and carried you across the kitchen, stepping over the broken jar on the floor without even looking. You barely noticed.Ā
He lay you down across the table, following you, covering you with his body and settling between your thighs like he belonged there.
āLook at you,ā he murmured against your collarbone. āYouāre a goddamn mess.ā
You could barely breathe. āYour fault.ā
āDamn right it is,ā he said, his fingers dragging sticky-sweet up your skin. āAnd Iām not finished with you yet.āĀ
He paused there, chest rising hard against yours, like the sight of you wrecked beneath him was almost too much to bear. His thumb brushed a smear of honey from your breast.
āYou sure youāre mine?ā he asked, voice low.
Your hips lifted in answer, heat pulsing between you.
āBecause Iām gonna remember this,ā he murmured, mouth ghosting your skin, āevery time I look at you.ā
āIām gonna have to quit,ā you sighed as his tongue followed the path of his thumb. He laughed softly against your skin.
āYeah?ā
āTheyāre gonna eat breakfast at this table.ā
He dragged his teeth across the sensitive underside of your breast, then bit down just enough to make you gasp.
āGood,ā he smirked. āLet āem. Theyāll never know I fucked you across it ātil you couldnāt take any more.ā
You rolled your eyes even as heat sparked under your skin. āI think theyāll know, Bucky -ā
He bit again, and the rest of your protest broke on a moan.
Your back arched as his mouth closed over your nipple, tongue circling, sucking, making your toes curl against the smooth wood of the table. One hand braced on your thigh, the other dragging up your side, leaving streaks of heat and honey in its wake.
āLook at you,ā he rasped, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. āYou gonna fall apart for me again?ā
You nodded, breathless. āPlease.ā
He shifted his hips, the thick press of him nudging against you, just enough to make your breath catch. His hand slid under your knee, hitching your leg higher around his waist, opening you wider.
āGod, yesss-ā
His mouth met yours again, fierce and deep, as he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch. His hand gripped the curve of your hip so tightly you knew there would be bruises. You didnāt care.
You cried out at the stretch, fingers clawing at his back, his name catching on your breath like a prayer. He didnāt move at first, just stayed there, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yoursĀ
āMove, fuck -ā You pleaded. That broke something in him.
He rocked into you with a slow, devastating rhythm, every thrust deep and deliberate. His mouth was on your throat, your shoulder, your lips - everywhere he could reach. You gasped his name again and again, your body meeting his with each roll of your hips.
His hand slipped from your hip and between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, slick and swollen. It didnāt take long.
āCome for me, baby. Let me feel you.ā
You shattered with a broken cry, clenching around him.
āFuck - youāre perfect - gonna come - where -?ā
āInside, need to feel you,ā you gasped, hooking your foot around his thigh.
He shuddered against you, his thrusts sloppy and desperate until he stilled, his forehead pressed into the crook of your neck. You ran your fingertips up and down his spine, across his shoulder blades, āyour arm needs to go in the dishwasher,ā you muttered, feeling dried honey settling between the metal plates.
āHey Shuri, can I get another arm? Fucked my girl in a puddle of honey and broke itā he sniggered.Ā
āYour girl?ā You asked, pinching his side. He shifted against you, still inside you, still half hard. āOhh,ā you breathed, arching your body into his.Ā
āMore?ā He asked, kissing his way along your jaw to look at you.Ā
You didnāt answer right away.
You just looked at him, flushed and breathless. His eyes searched yours, still dark, still hungry, but softer now.
āYou ok?ā he asked, voice low.
You nodded, brushing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. āYeah. Yeah, Iām - God, Iām so ok.ā
He let out a breathless laugh, kissed your cheek, your jaw, the hollow of your throat. Like he couldnāt stop.
āYouāre still inside me,ā you whispered, even saying the words made your hips roll again, and he hummed like that was exactly where he planned to stay.
āI know.ā Another slow kiss. āDonāt think Iām ready to let you go yet.ā
You smiled, eyelids heavy, hands roaming lazily down his back. āGood. Justā¦ give me a minute to remember how breathing works.ā
āTake all the time you need,ā he said, kissing your shoulder. āNightās not over.ā
He eventually pulled out with a quiet groan, and you both winced as he moved, the mess between your thighs making a slow, sticky trail as he helped you sit up.
āI think we broke the kitchen,ā you murmured, brushing your hair back, wincing as it tangled in your hand, and glancing around - smeared honey on the counter, the shattered jar on the floor, all of your clothes somewhere yet to be found.
āYeah we did,ā he said, grinning proudly against your shoulder. āWorth it.ā
You laughed, breathless, and tried not to blush at the sight of him standing there, naked and smug and gorgeous, reaching for a dish towel. āYou know we have to actually clean this, right?ā
āSure. But weāre not cleaning you up yet,ā he said, stepping back between your legs and kissing the corner of your mouth. āThatās mine.ā
You rolled your eyes. āI am disgusting -ā
āSticky, maybe, but definitely not disgusting.ā he murmured, dragging his finger through the mess on your stomach and licking it off, like it proved his point.
You shoved at his chest, laughing. āGo get paper towels! And put some clothes on, you're a distraction.ā
He winked, grabbing his shorts first and then tossing you a dishcloth before crouching to scoop up the broken glass.
You hopped down from the table gingerly, wincing at the messy floor beneath your bare feet. You spotted yours - his - t-shirt and pulled it on, hearing his little growl of complaint as you did so.Ā
You bent to wipe up a streak on the table, feeling his eyes linger on the hem of your t-shirt riding up as you reached. āEyes up, Barnes.ā
āThey are up,ā he said, stepping behind you and sliding a hand around your waist, pressing a kiss just below your ear. āUp, down - all over.ā
You shouldāve told him to behave. You shouldāve finished wiping the table. Instead, you leaned back into him with a sigh that turned into a shiver.
āI thought we were cleaning.ā
āWe are.ā His fingers trailed under your t-shirt and up across your ribs, your breasts. āEventually. I told you, I'm not finished with you yet.ā
He nudged your feet a little further apart and traced a line down your spine, pushing lightly until you were bent over the table ready for him.Ā
You braced your hands on the sticky wood, heart hammering as he stepped in close behind you, his breath warm against your ear.
āYou sure youāre ready for more?ā he murmured, fingers trailing down to lift the t-shirt.
āPlease. I canāt - I need you again.ā You all but begged, your back already arching for him.Ā
And then there was only the rustle of clothes, the creak of the table, and the sound of your name on his lips as the night started all over again.
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i loveee the wedding headcanonsš could you maybe do one for cherry from sk8 the infinity?
oc oc :) I also wanted to link the part 2 to this, but be warned that it is NSFW.Ā
Honeymoon
Summary: Headcanons plus drabbles detailing your wedding.Ā
Warnings: none
Pairings: Sakurayashiki Kaoru/Cherry Blossom x reader
The Proposal
For how blunt and harsh this man can be, he sure is a pussy lol. Cherry has been through a lot in his life, and dealt with quite a bit of rejection when it comes to the world. Despite how strong and brave he is, I think heās very guarded to rejection, so itās very hard for him to actually express wants and questions. This is a very large step for him.Ā
He wouldnāt voice it out loud, to be honest. Youād be lounging in his workshop while he designed, and heād have an entire plan of subtlety but also something creative and thoughtful. He would be setting up designs of kanji together, and heād pass you a piece of parchment, asking you what you thought of it.Ā
It was essentially the kanji for āWill you marry me?ā Of course, this plan would heavily rely on you being able to read kanji, but dating Kaoru means that youāve spent day after day in that same workshop, so even if you didnāt already know some kanji, you certainly learned some. (Honestly heād love if you took interest in his work anyways.)Ā
But anyways you stopped and stared at the kanji, wondering when heād taken a commission like that, and it dawned on you that he was trying to subtly watch you and gauge your reaction, and it just clicked.Ā
āIs this-? Are you-?ā you canāt finish a fucking sentence omg
Heās so impatient once you realize it, because now he feels so vulnerable and like, what if you reject him? What if youāre not ready? What if heās not enough or too much? Immediately is like āwell?ā all sassy, demanding an answer
Of course youāll marry him, is he fucking stupid? You kiss him right there, saying, āyes iāll marry you, idiotāĀ
I actually hella headcanon that he wouldnāt buy the rings right away when he proposed. I think heād want to buy them together, for a couple different reasons. Itās a lot easier to find something that compliments the both of you very well, get things sized properly the first time, and overall just find something you both like.Ā
Members of the Wedding
Hereās the thing- Cherry would want Joe to be his best man, obviously, but we fucking know this prissy bitch would have the most trouble asking him. And Joe isnāt gonna do it unless Kaoru asks, so you finally have to lock them in a room together so Kaoru finally asks. He also doesnāt really ask necessarily, itās more like some roundabout way of asking.Ā
Some shit like āIāve decided to give you the privilege of being my friend and confidant for my wedding,ā and Joe just hassles him until he yells āyes, my best man!āĀ
The wedding party itself is probably pretty small, but the actual wedding is much larger. Lots of guests, but a much smaller group of close friends and family. Heās also pretty adamant that if anyone from āSā does come, they donāt talk about āSā at all. He doesnāt mind people knowing heās skated, and he wouldnāt mind people talking about skating there, because he does love doing it, but having an illegal ring like āSā associated with his main persona just wonāt work. Itās also a formal event, and he wouldnāt really want any boards inside. hit him up after though, when heās drank a little more or the crowdās thinned out wink wink
I can see his groomsmen being a couple of close friends from high school or throughout working. At most like, 4 people. You donāt have that many people either, probably 4 bridesmaids as well. Just very close friends from āSā or school or work, or possibly a cousin or your mom.Ā
Shadow and Langa and Reki come as guests, Miya only tags along because Cherryās got cha-ching and itās bound to be an expensive wedding
Also ngl he does probably open up to you a little bit about wishing he could have Adam there. He does really miss his best friend, and while he knows heās insane and not a good person, he wishes the old version of him could be there for it.Ā
Pre-Festivities
He does not want strippers. Joe tried, Cherry almost bit his head off, it was a whole thing. Kaoru probably planned most of his own bachelor party because thereās no way he was giving Kojiro that kind of power. It was mostly pampering and a fantastic meal with fantastic sake (Joe did have some input on this part, though Kaoru is loath to admit it, Joe is an amazing cook). A day of massages, spa treatments, onsens, etc, and then an amazing meal. After he gets some drink in him though, heās much more pliable, and somehow he finds himself showing off on his board and teaching his friends new tricks and laughing until heās crying.Ā
Yooo ok if youāre with Kaoru we all know you have a taste for the finer things in life, donāt even try to lie, itās not a secret. Iām seeing a party at your place with your girls, taste-testing all sorts of alcohol. You brought up the idea because you and Kaoru are simps for a good bottle of wine or some great sake, and suddenly he was ordering a myriad of his favorites for your bachelorette party, which had become a tasting party. By the end of the night youāre all tipsy and when all the ladies leave and Cherry steps through that door you are all over him and he is all for it donāt act shocked.Ā
Planning
So I honestly think Cherry would have a pretty fucking big wedding. He can afford it, he likes to show off, and heās definitely the type to invite a lot of work acquaintances and clients and such. The wedding was basically made up of a small wedding party of close friends and family, then thereās more extended family, friends of family, then your own friends, then work acquaintances and clients and the like. Most of the latter donāt really stay that long, so donāt worry about not enjoying the night, because theyāre mostly invited for reputation-sake.Ā
He was also so involved in the planning process. Thereās no way you can be in a relationship with this man if you canāt meet him toe-to-toe and challenge him, so you spent a lot of time compromising over ideas. (He is so fucking good at planning though, everything he wants is just elegant and beautiful, thereās very little you wonāt agree to)
Kaoru designed this entire ceremony that was a gorgeous combination of some traditional and some western aspects that flowed so perfectly together, it didnāt even feel like two styles. How did he do it? No one knows.Ā
The venue was this perfect Japanese architecture building with open windows and a man-made, stone stream running through it, that led into an actual pond outside. There were cherry blossom arrangements in the water with tea-light candles on them that were lit throughout the night to glow gently on the water.Ā
There was a dance area outside under one of the canopies, and there was music in the form of a live band. They took all sorts of requests, from traditional to modern, so the music they played did fit the scenery very well. Thereās also food, but it was nothing super heavy- a lot of lighter, expensive appetizers to enjoy throughout the wedding.Ā
You didnāt really have specific colors or flowers, to be honest, it was mostly whatever went best with the venue. There were obviously sakura blossoms strategically placed, and some white flowers like hydrangeas and lilies. There was a relative color palette of pink, white, and red, with well placed blacks and greens and browns.Ā
There were literal sakura trees inside and outside the building. They were so well taken care of, and there were red lanterns and fans hanging from them.
The seating was a little more western styled, with chairs set up for people to sit and watch the actual ceremony, as well as tall tables placed around the building.Ā
A big highlight of the wedding was the scenery, honestly. The main building was where the ceremony is held, and then it wound a little ways outside on both sides, with food tables set up under canopies and resting resting areas set up on others, with polished stone paths and lanterns lighting the ways and perfectly trimmed bushes and flowers lining the edges of the paths.Ā
Unless youāre a part of the wedding party, you didnāt have to dress more traditionally, but obviously there was a dress code, considering the formal event. Gifts were cash only, and everyone left with the highest quality chopsticks, sake cups, and fans.Ā
Most likely a spring wedding? Beautiful weather, but nothing super warm or super cold. Very mild temps but nice sun.Ā
The Wedding
You both wore kimonos, and so did the wedding party, although they were allowed to bring a change of clothes if they chose to (again, something formal though). His kimono was black on the top, with an aesthetically designed white bottom, decorated with red and pink florals. Kaoru is a man with beautiful features, and he is certainly not afraid to show that off. His hair is silky smooth and in a low ponytail, tossed over his shoulder. Heās wearing his glasses, because they make him feel like Kaoru.Ā
Your kimono was entirely white underneath, and the top pieces were splashed with the red and pink floral pattern to match Cherryās, but hints of yellow and green were thrown into yours, making it still unique to yourself. The top pieces were removable, so throughout the night you would switch into that thinner, white dress with capped sleeves, and a waist sash that matched your top layers. Cherryās kimono also did this, just to a lesser extent. His underpiece was still a long-sleeved kimono, just thinner and more flowy, so you could stand the heat better.Ā
Your bridesmaids and groomsmen matched these, except the men were in black tops with white and grey underneath, and the women were in all red and pink, no white to match yours.Ā
You didnāt have the big headdress, but you did have a headpiece- a large sakura comb in gold from your mother. It was placed to the side right before your curled ponytail.Ā
During the ceremony, everyone walks down the aisle, (there is a shrine at the altar) including Kaoru. He doesnāt strike me as the type to have vows, recited or written, just because thatās very vulnerable and intimate, and he wouldnāt want that in public. The ceremonial drinking of the sake is your form of vows, symbolizing your union, and then your familiesā union. After this, the shinto priest does ask something like, āDo you accept this individual as your partner through life, your sun and moon, through peace and sickness, until death parts you?ā And there are āI doās. Then thereās kiss the bride, and thatās the ceremony.Ā
Your rings are handcrafted and unique. In silver, yours is a simple, thin band with tiny gems along it, and in the center is a large, round diamond. His is much like yours, but with a silver band with a weaving effect so it almost looks like two bands, with the same tiny gems all the way around.Ā
The ReceptionĀ
Everything sort of begins together with the reception. People are free to roam the venue, eat the appetizers, drink, etc.Ā
The most money probably went to alcohol. This great selection of all sorts of sake, wine, and more honestly half of it is stuff you put on the list after trying it at your bachelorette party. There is a limit, at least at the beginning of the party, partially because of the number of guests and the cost of the alcohol, but also for propriety, since there are clients and work people there.Ā
This limit lifts once the majority of them are gone and the crowd has thinned quite a bit.Ā
You and Kaoru have the outer layers of your kimonos removed after greeting most of your guests after the ceremony- after everyoneās had their greeting, itās your time now.Ā
There isnāt really a first dance, but there is cake, and itās served in small slices along with the food. Itās probably some like, expensive ass, melt in your mouth angel food cake that people die over.Ā
Mostly I see you and Kaoru spending a lot of time walking around and tasting everything. Feeding each other sips of wine, pieces of sushi, bits of cake, etc. Itās just a lot of really cute laughing and smiling and feeding each other things because you know itās fantastic, you bought it.Ā
He wouldnāt dance at first, but after youāve had a bit to drink and a lot of people have gone, heās the one who pulls you out there during a slow song, and then just continues during more upbeat songs. I wouldnāt say heās like, a perfect dancer, but heās very smooth. Slow songs are his forte, and the way he sweeps you around the flow is wonderful.Ā
He dips you at one point and you gasp do loud, youāre afraid it echoes. Honestly, everyoneās just as shocked as you. Joe fucking whistles.Ā
There is a moment after most have left for speeches, but you were pretty adamant about only close friends and family giving speeches. You really didnāt want them to drag on, and listening to people speak about you is really intimate. Kaoru almost doesnāt let Joe give one but he settles.Ā
This fucker is so sweet at the beginning, saying youāre such a beautiful couple and the whole thing is magnificent. Then he has to tack on something about letting loose on your honeymoon and wow Kojiroās off the stage now. Heās not wrong though, Kaoru is wild in bed fuck
Kaoruās secretly a little clingy. I feel like he only separates from you like, twice during the night, and then heās right back because you looked awe striking crouching next to the stream with sakura petals around you and is that Cherry blushing? Absolutely not, don't ever say that again.Ā
HIGHLIGHTS
You were giggling as your cousin walked your best friend to the car that had come to fetch them. You could see your best friendās boyfriend in the driverās seat, shaking his head with a fond smile as his partner shouted something unintelligible at the car. Just as soon as those blue doors slammed shut, another vehicle was pulling up the curb, one with familiar shock pink hair in the window.Ā
Kaoru stepped out and spotted you leaning against the doorframe, eyes lidded and heated as you looked him up and down, his own gold gaze calculated as he processed.Ā
āDamn,ā came Kojiro from the driverās seat, āthis is like watching wild cats hunt. Be careful in there, sheāll eat you alive.āĀ
Judging by the way Kaoru only shot his best friend an exasperated glare, he was in a good mood. His long legs began their ascent to the door, and you slipped back inside, still knowing through the soft lull of your head that he wouldnāt want you to make a move outside. And you were going to make a move.Ā
The door closed behind him, and you took the man in for real, unnoticing of how he was doing the same to you. Maybe you were like wild cats, sizing up their meal with the way you stared at each other. His eyes lingered on your bare shoulders and yeah, the gauzy excuse for a dress was a good choice.Ā
But him, goddamn, he must have gotten the full works. His skin was glowing, hair uncharacteristically loose and flowing down his back, nails perfectly manicured. You came in close, and noticed his eyes were a tad hazy, swimming with warmth. āWhat did you have?ā you asked, reaching up to caress his cheek. He hesitated, then leaned into the touch, his hand coming up to cover yours as his eyes burned into you.Ā
āJuyondai,ā he answered, and you were moving up to taste it on his lips.Ā
The kiss was careful and precise for all of three seconds, then he was using those refined muscles, grabbing your thighs and hitching you up the wall, revelling in the way you gasped unevenly. His mouth was heavy against yours, sake on his tongue as he swept it along your lower lip and dipped in, teasing, always teasing.Ā
āYou had fun tonight,ā he remarked, smirk tugging at his lips, āletās have some more.āĀ
***
Your grandmother was absolutely tiny standing in front of Cherry. Despite this, though, they complimented each other very well. Her white, coiled locks compared to his silky, pink ones; her proper kimono, not a crease in sight, next to his lavish one, fabrics imported from somewhere expensive. If you didnāt know better, they could be related.Ā
Your grandmother had always had very high expectations, and she had the atmosphere to match it. People always assumed her to be posh, strict, and harsh, all to match this perfect exterior. They were always surprised.Ā
āBaa-baa,ā you said softly, taking one of her wrinkled hands carefully, āhave you properly met Kaoru yet?āĀ
Cherry was probably the most gentle youād ever seen him, bowing elegantly and taking her hand from yours like she was brittle glass. ā_____-san. Sakurayashiki Kaoru. Itās lovely to meet you.āĀ
Your grandmother paused for a moment, squeezing his hand, and smiled so, so sweetly. āIāve seen you on TV,ā she said lightly, āYou have an artistās hands- so beautiful.āĀ
Cherryās mouth dropped open, features open and so touched. You could tell heād been expecting criticism -everyone did, typically- but people were always surprised at your grandmotherās kindness.Ā
***Ā
āOh my god. Kojiro made this, didnāt he?ā you moaned, taking another bite of the absolutely delectable cake. āWeāre the bride and groom, we can take more than one plate, right?āĀ
Cherry rolled his eyes, but you could see the amusement in the amber.Ā
āEat too much of that and youāll look like that gorilla.āĀ
You prodded him in the side easily, making the taller flinch, then brush his shoulder elegantly, trying to pretend he hadnāt moved at all.Ā
āYou say that as though you havenāt been downing those glasses like crazy,ā you said pointing at his nearly empty wine glass, āwhat is that, your 4th?āĀ
āItās my 3rd, thank you,ā he hissed impishly, lifting his head loftily.Ā
You picked up a small piece of the cake, raising it up. āTry it,ā you offered. He only side-eyed you in a way that you knew too well was contemplating. You hummed, murmuring, āTry, love.āĀ
Let him argue to anyone. Kaoru was weak to that tone of voice, to those pet names he claimed he despised so much. He leaned down and took the bite from your fingers, the brush of his lips against your skin warm and inviting.Ā
āItāsā¦ edible,ā he muttered childishly, switching his wine glass to the other hand so he could rest the other on the small of your back; the spot it had hardly moved from nearly the entire wedding. You snickered, shaking your head.Ā
āDo you think Mr. Tachibana brought that terrible girlfriend of his?ā you asked, āThe one thatās less than half his age?āĀ
At the mention of one of his less appealing clients, Kaoru smiled small but wicked, giving you that impressed and gratified look you were hoping for. āLetās find out.ā
I had an idea. Could you do a crossover thingy where Aizawa has a daughter and she goes missing and he comes in the next day looking worse than normal and then the broadcast gets sent out and Aizawa sees his daughter in it and he gets either happy sheās alive or sad because sheās in a war?
This is s great idea! Iāve never written a parent fic before, so this is quite a challenge. Hope it came out okay!
Title: Not This Time
Pairing: Dad!Aizawa x Daughter!Reader
!TW: VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, MENTIONS OF K*LLING, LIGHT ALCOHOL USE!
(Gifs not mine)
āAizawa-senseiās been sleeping a lot more than usual, have you noticed Iida-kun?ā Midoriya looks at his classmate expectantly as they make their way to the dining hall.
It was true, their rugged teacher had been sleeping in class a lot more lately. He had barely greeted his class before the yellow sleeping bag made its appearance.Ā
āIām sure its nothing, Deku,ā Ochako chimes in,Ā āThis is the first time in a while heās taught a full class. Besides, you know who he has to deal with.ā
Midoriya chuckles as his friend gestures to Kaminari, Bakugo and Kirishima - they didnāt mean to be, but they were one of the main sources of trouble in class 1-A.
Back kick. Block. Jump, kick, dodge. Bend the knees, feet to the floor. Breathe, start again.Ā
The thick material of your scarf is tight around your palms as you dodge attack after attack. You hold your hand out and erase the enemyās quirk, before landing a swift chop to the neck. Another one down. You handcuff them as fast as you can before dodging a beam of light. It just catches you ear, the scent of burnt hair becoming more intense as you roll to the side.
A stakeout operation gone wrong. A local gang that turned out to be something much bigger. You were fighting a war that had nearly run its course, and this mission was meant to be one of the last. That was, until your stakeout partner revealed she was working for the other team, a double agent.Ā
That left you in this mess. You wished your dad was there with you right now, but he wasnāt. Heād taught you to cope on your own, you told yourself. Youād manage.
Three days. No text, no call, no you. Shouta had waited in the living room all night, sipping coffee to stay awake. It had been three days since you walked out the door with a great big smile on your face, saying goodbye as you left for work.
Ten years ago, the seemingly heartless man had taken you into his care after saving you from your burning orphanage. The hero saw himself in you, especially since your quirks were so similar. He trained you himself, teaching how to use the capture rope alongside your fists.
You had enrolled in Shiketsu High, in order to separate yourself from your dad, and started your work studies with a mid-ranked but successful pro in your second year.Ā
Shouta was extremely proud of you, and made sure you knew it every single day.
But it was unlike you to stay out for days at a time without contact. The first night wasnāt so bad - maybe sheās at the bar with friends, Iāll see her in the morning, he thought to himself.
You werenāt there in the morning. He put it down to you staying over a friendās house - he was up pretty early after all, so youād be home later.
Nope. Nothing. He continued to make excuses up for you all night, and all the way into the morning too, only grabbing an hourās sleep before leaving for work.
When he came home to an empty house for the third day in a row, he started to panic for real. Texted you every hour, on the hour. Called a couple of times. Called your workplace, to no avail.
6:30 on the clock. Shouta chugged the rest of his coffee and slung his work bag over his shoulder as he noted it was day four now. Work was going to be a long one.
Your ears rang as your former partner delivered another slap to your face.
āThis would be over so much quicker if you told me where the boss is being held hostage, Y/N. Youāre making this so hard for yourself!ā
āGo to hell.ā
Wack!
A scream held back in your throat, your teeth grind together as you fight through the pain. The edges of your vision began to go black, and you almost considered telling the gang everything.
Shoutaās thumb was over the send button when he heard your name on the local news.Ā
Y/N Aizawa missing in action. Something about a fight against a gang, an ambush they said. No other details could be released for citizen safety.
The hero didnāt even realise heād slid off the couch to kneel in front of the TV. Missing in action. He rested his forehead on the box, his hair sticking to the screen due to static.
Missing. You were missing.
His legs carried him to the agency you worked with. His voice demanded to see your boss, begged for the details of your whereabouts.
They wouldnāt tell him.Ā āWe cannot release details to the public, its for her safety as well as theirs,ā your boss told him.
Shouta argued that he wasnāt the public, that he was a hero like you.
āThereās nothing more we can do, Iām afraid.ā
The ropes had begun to bite into your wrists as you hung from the ceiling. After deciding the initial interrogation was obsolete, the gang had taken you to a new building and strung you up. Your feet could almost touch the floor, but had given up trying to get free an hour ago. Possibly. You didnāt know how long youād been there. You were sure youād stayed awake, but even blinking felt like it took days in that dark room.
There wasnāt enough for you to piece together the crumbs of information. You were sure you were going to die at this point. So much potential, a great future ahead of you.
No, you canāt think like that! What would Dad do in this situation?
You couldnāt answer that one. Instead, you hummed a lullaby to yourself - your favourite that he used to sing to you if youād had a nightmare. This entire situation was a bit of a nightmare, so you thought it was appropriate.
The door opened before you, the bright light bringing tears to your eyes.
āSheās gotta be alright Shou, sheās tough! Besides, didnāt you go MIA all the time?āĀ
Hizashi did his best to comfort his friend, handing him a small glass of whiskey, which Shouta drank in one. He slammed the glass to the table with a dull thud.
āThatās different Yamada. I knew where I was, and I was never gone for long. I donāt know where she is, and itās been nearly a week.ā
The blond runs his palm down his face, not wanting to admit the he feared the worst too.
āSheās a hero Shou, bad things happen. You know the dangers and she does too, sheās not dumb.ā
āAnother whiskey please.ā
Hizashi refilled Shoutaās glass, and the liquid disappeared as quickly as heād poured it.
Your arms were freed of their painful restraints as your friends occupied the gang and, summoning as much strength as you could, dragged yourself to your feet, using your peer as a crutch. Your head turned to watch your team take on the four or five people that had taken you hostage, silently celebrating as you limped to the exit.
āSorry we took so long Y/N, it took us a while to figure out where theyād taken ya!ā
A tired chuckle escaped you as your co-worker apologised.Ā āAt least youāre here now.ā Your response wasnāt completely a joke, but you couldnāt blame them. This gang was good at hiding.
āThe whole operation is gonna be extended, thanks to the newbie. We had no idea she was a double agent- itās gonna set us back to square one!ā
Double agent. You scolded yourself for not catching on in time.Ā āIām sorry, I should have figured out sooner. Now the entire missionās been compromised.ā
Your peer sat you in the back of an ambulance that had come along with the police.
āDonāt beat yourself up silly! Even us pros didnāt know, there was no way a student could have guessed!ā
The fight was over relatively quickly, thankfully. After the criminals were handed over to the police for interrogation, you were escorted back to the agency to be patched up, and report to the higher-ups.
Eraser didnāt immediately jump up when the front door creaked open. He was a hundred miles away, trying to convince you to take a day off instead of going to work. Youād be home with him that way, smiling as you cooked your favourite meal in the kitchen. That smile... How badly he missed it.
He felt the couch sink next to him.
āSorry Iām late Dad, I had one hell of a day at work!ā
Dad? He snapped back to reality as the words sunk in. He looked to where the voice came from - his eyes traced it back to you. Covered in cuts and bruises, dark circles adorning your eyes, but you all the same.
āY/N!ā The dark haired man jumped up and lifted you into his arms. You giggled and squeezed him back, giddy with relief.
āY/N Aizawa, you are grounded forever! What the hell happened to you?ā
He set you down on the couch as you began to explain as much as you could, without giving away classified information.
āBut Iām here now! Iāve got about a week to recover, because I wasnāt injured too badly, plus they did hold me in the recovery room for a day.ā
āA week?ā His shoulders slumped at the thought of you fighting.Ā āTheyāre sending you back out there?ā
āYeah. The mission isnāt over yet, we have to dismantle them completely.ā
Shouta ran a hand through his hair, and pinched the bridge of his nose.Ā āPromise me you wonāt go missing again.ā
āI canāt. You of all people should know that.ā
āHumour me.ā
Breaking eye contact, you sighed, before looking back at your father and smiling as wide as you could.Ā āI wonāt go missing this time Dad. I promise.ā
āGood.ā Shouta patted your head before standing up and making a beeline for the kitchen.Ā āYouāre still grounded forever.ā
āBut Dad!ā
āNo buts!ā
āEven if I make you some coffee? Maybe cook some yakitori?ā
āI may reconsider,ā he chuckled. You always knew your way to his heart.
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@ every white canadian, european, and austrialian who are looking at what is going on in the United States and patting yourselves on the back because āitās not like that hereā. It is like that in your country. Anti blackness and police brutality exist in your country just as much as it does the usa. To say otherwise is willful ignorance and turning a blind eye to abuse. Stop pushing your racism out of sight and fucking deal with it
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pt. 15: sokka made a typo, the biggest mistake of his life | what team au masterpost | ID by the lovely @ikkiiā
[ID:a fake screenshot of a tweet from Toph that reads: āiām fucking in luigiās mansion.ā Below, Jet asks, āwho?ā. Toph replies, āsome italian freak.ā She then adds, āoh you meant who am i fucking. your mom.ā
The second and third images are of a group chat labelled, āAang is a tree.ā The conversation is as follows:
Zuko: alright whoās gonna talk to aang
Toph: Someone with emotional range.couldnāt be me
Sokka: F
Suki: sigh. iāll do it i have class with aang tomorrow morning anyway.
Sokka: Y'all still go to lectutes????
Zuko: lectutes
Suki: lectutes
Toph: lectutes. my text to speech read that as lettuce ew
Zuko: whatās lettuce
Toph: itās that skin lotion
The fourth image is a tweet from Sokka. It says, āso toph and zuko can say lettuce is a ice cream meanwhile i get bullied for making one typoā¦ā Below that Aang replies ālectutes.ā Katara also replies, āchange your @,captain lectutes.ā Sokka finally replies to them both by saying, āyOU WERENT EVEN THERE.ā End ID]
reader where they're the youngest paladin???? (im 15 and pidge is just a couple months older than me) found family has been getting me thru this pandemic and it simply FEEDS me, i love it so much
My guy, I am so sorry that it took me forever to get round to this!
Paladins x younger!reader (platonic!)
- Oh boy.
- Shiro will IMMEDIATELY go into Protective Dad Modeā¢ whenever you are in the room.
- Heād be worried about letting you fight, teaching you combat skills as often as he can. (Itās still not enough for him)
- In all honesty, you could probably take on two opponents at one but nope
-not having it
- Youād always be accompanied by another paladin on missions
- they just donāt want to see their new yonnger sibling get hurt
- i feel like Pidge would be the most laid back, being young herself
- But she still is a lil protective
- Is this how Matt felt towards her?
-Lance would give you dating advice. Donāt take it
- Heād be more like a close cousin than a sibling, if that makes sense?
- Hunk on the other hand? Big Brother
- Heād always tell you jokes, help you bake, give you general life advice etc.
- Keith wouldnāt really bother with you, but that doesnāt mean he doesnāt love you.
-if anything were to happen, heād be the first to jump into action.
- all in all, theyāre protective as hell over you
- but when you kick ass all on your own? theyre proud as hell
