Sweet and a little spicy

See, when the new Avengers relocated to the Watchtower after the whole New-York-Void incident, Bucky Barnes thought it would be... fine.

Not good or bad. He’d survived war zones, World War Two jail cells, and brainwashing facilities. He could handle modern roommates.

What he didn’t expect was you.

To be fair, Bucky thought you were pretty when he handcuffed you, along with the others, in the Utah desert, but the moment he walked into the tower gym to you cracking a joke while twirling a bo staff like you'd been born with it, Bucky was done for. 

It wasn’t just physical—though that alone had nearly made him walk into a doorframe more than once— you were good to him.

Bucky had worked with a lot of people over the decades. Most of them kept their distance… but you didn’t.

You teased him and challenged him in sparring. You brought him coffee when you knew he’d had a rough mission. You laughed at his dry sarcasm and offered to fix the squeak in his bedroom door and scolded Ava after she scared the hell out of him by appearing at the shooting range.

You were, in short, driving him absolutely insane.

And the others noticed.

Yelena, bless her blunt Russian heart, never let up.

“You look like a puppy every time she smiles at you,” she said one morning while Bucky was filling his coffee mug, trying to pretend he wasn’t staring across the room at you doing chin-ups in a tank top. “Just ask her out.”

“He won’t.” Ava joined in, walking past with a mischievous smile. “He likes the tension. It’s his new favourite form of self-torture.”

“Maybe he wants her to ask him out,” Yelena theorised.

“I’m right here,” Bucky mumbled, ears pink.

But you, though, were completely oblivious.

Whenever he stayed a little longer after missions, or when your shoulder brushed his in the kitchen, or when you offered to patch him up—you didn’t seem to notice his internal screaming.

“Thanks for watching my six, Buck,” you’d say during trips back from recon, grinning like his entire nervous system didn’t light up brighter than New York during New Years eve when you smiled at him like that. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

He was screwed. Fully and thoroughly screwed.

Still, you genuinely seemed to enjoy being around him. After all, you were the only person who could pull him out of his quiet funks. The only one who didn’t treat him like glass after a night riddled with nightmares.

You'd sit next to him during movie nights without asking and spar with him like you meant it. 

He kept waiting for someone to tell you how he felt. But Yelena and Ava just kept chuckling at him, teasing and watching his awkward pining spiral in slow-motion into a catastrophe.

So when you came bouncing into the common room one morning, announcing “I booked it!” he knew he was screwed

Everyone turned to you.

You looked so happy Bucky forgot how to hold his mug properly.

“Booked what?” Yelena asked suspiciously, already sensing danger.

“The climb!” you said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Outdoor, real cliffside, no fake plastic holds, I mentioned it last week, remember? It's two hours north, trail access only. I got us a permit and gear. I figured since we’re between missions, we could use a little team bonding!”

John raised an eyebrow. “You mean like… harnesses and crap?”

“Yes, John,” you said sweetly. “You know, nature.”

Yelena and Ava nodded, while Bob and Alexei gave you a look of approval.

Bucky was staring at you like you were a sunrise he wasn’t prepared for.

He thought to himself don’t say yes, don’t say yes, you idiot, but then you turned to him with that smile and his brain short-circuited.

“You in, Buck?” you asked, nudging him on the shoulder.

He should’ve said no. He could’ve said he had a mission, because really, heights, especially cliff heights, weren’t his thing. He should’ve said he’d meet you all after.

But you were brimming with excitement, and he hated the thought of you climbing some damn rocks without him there to make sure you were okay.

So he said, “I’m in.”

Yelena, from behind her coffee, raised her eyebrows.

Ava coughed a very fake, “Simp.”

He ignored them. He didn’t even care.

Because you had just looked at him like he’d made your day.

And all he had to do was ignore the panic curling at the edges of his mind.

Easy, right?

—

That day, Bucky was hoping it would rain and everything had to be cancelled. But no— of course the sun was high over the trees, as the team stood at the base of a massive rock face with harnesses on, ropes secured, and chalked hands ready. You bounced on your feet like a kid in a candy store.

“This place,” you said, gesturing to the rocky expanse above, “God. My friends and I used to come here every summer before—y’know, before everything turned to shit. This place has a lot of good memories.”

Great, Bucky’s stomach flipped.

“We used to camp here, eat junk food, climb until our arms gave out, then race down to the lake and jump in,” you laughed, “Honestly, some of the best days of my life were on that cliff.”

Bucky looked down at his hands.

You’d brought him here.

You wanted to share this with him. Well, him and the team.

He really couldn’t back out, right? This place meant something to you, and he wasn’t about to ruin that.

Yelena tugged on her gloves next to him. “You better keep up, Barnes,” she said. 

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered.

“You sure?” Ava called from ahead, already ten feet up and mocking John’s technique. “Because John here is about to cry.”

“I’m not—” John started, red-faced as his foot slipped slightly.

Alexei, climbing up already, shouted down, “This is nothing compared to scaling the Kremlin in winter while being shot at! And I didn’t even have fancy suit back then!”

“Alexei,” you called up calmly, “your carabiner’s backwards.”

“I live dangerously!”

Bob had, predictably, avoided climbing altogether by clipping his carabiner to Yelena’s and letting her drag him up like a puppy in a harness.

“You can fly,” she huffed, hauling him along.

“I’m choosing not to,” Bob said.

Happy thoughts, Bucky thought to himself, think happy thoughts. 

—

You were already climbing, muscles working like you were part of the earth. Bucky tried to follow—but every handhold felt like ice— every inch up brought the memories crashing down.

The wind.

The train. 

Steve calling out his name.

The fall.

He gritted his teeth, trying to focus. One foot in front of the other, he thought to himself. I can do this. I was the Winter Soldier. I’ve survived worse. This is just a rock.

Then he looked down— just a quick glance.

Big mistake.

Fuckfuckfuck, His stomach turned. It’s so high up.

And then—

He puked into a bush about twenty feet below.

No one seemed to notice. Thank god.

Until you did.

—

You were the first to reach the top, smiling from ear to ear as you pulled yourself over and unhooked from the safety line. It felt good to be here again. It felt even better to share it with new friends. 

You turned around, looking back down the face to see where the others were.

Yelena and Bob (still clipped together, still ridiculous) were making slow, but steady progress. Alexei was shouting something patriotic to a confused hawk overhead.

John and Ava were locked in a petty race, bickering as usual.

But Bucky—he wasn’t moving.

At first, you thought he was just taking it easy. But something about his posture set off alarm bells— his metal hand flexed like it was trying not to snap the cliff clean in half. You squinted.

Was he—?

Wait. Did he just puke into a bush growing from one of the cracks of the rocks?

Without thinking, you reached for your harness and snapped into the line you set. You rappelled down, feet bouncing lightly off the cliff, eyes locked on Bucky.

He didn’t even notice you until you came level with him until you were right there.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching out to the rock beside him. “What’s going on?”

Bucky jerked slightly, startled. “I’m fine.”

You gave him a look. “You do not look fine.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

“Mhm,” you said, squinting at the edges of his mouth, still stained with stomach acid. “Is ‘pacing’ what we call mid-climb barfing now?”

He closed his eyes for a second and sighed. “Can we pretend you didn’t see that?”

“Bucky,” You leaned on the rock next to him, “You really okay?”

He hesitated.

“I’m not good with cliffs,” he said finally, voice rough. “I… fell off one once.”

Your face fell like a switch had flipped.

Right. The infamous alps incident.

“Oh shit,” you whispered. “Bucky. Shit.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky took a deep breath.

“It’s not,” you said quickly, voice soft, steady. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, eyes fixed ahead. “You were excited. I didn’t want to ruin it. And I wanted to spend today with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Even though this is, like, your worst nightmare?”

He looked over, finally meeting your eyes. “Something like that.”

You inhaled slowly. Then reached out and gently touched his shoulder—right where flesh met metal.

“Okay. Hey. I got you, alright?”

“I’m—”

“Don’t argue, Barnes. Just listen to me for once.”

That got a small huff from him.

He wasn’t just afraid. He was trying so damn hard not to be.

And he’d done it for you.

“I’m so dumb,” you said softly. “I’m really sorry.”

He finally looked at you— and even scared out of his mind, he smiled.

“You’re not dumb,” he said. “Just… kind of… kind of….” he trailed off, not knowing what to say next as the wind howled in his ears, “Fuck, I don’t know. I can't think.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s nothing.”

“Fine,” you said firmly. “But I’m climbing with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m not leaving you alone on this rock.” He huffed a laugh that almost turned into a gasp, and you saw how hard he was still trying to hold it together.

So you stayed close.

“Okay, good. Right foot on that ledge,” you encouraged, “There you go. Don’t look down.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“I saw your eyes dip.”

“They didn’t dip.”

“They definitely did.”

You smiled at him, and he caught it—just for a second—and almost forgot to breathe.

“Hey,” you said quietly, “I’ve got you.”

He looked at you like you’d just anchored the whole world.

And when you finally got to the top, and he flopped back to the ground, panting, sun on his face, and—

He thought maybe cliffs weren’t so bad, not if you were at the top waiting for him.

“I feel like a dick,” you said as you laid beside him, ignoring Alexei munching loudly on his sandwich.

“You’re not,” he said, after a beat of silence. “You didn’t know.”

You gave him a crooked smile. “Still. I’m making it up to you.”

He turned his head slightly. “How?”

You chuckled. “You’ll see.”

—

Two days after the cliff climb, you led—no, dragged— Bucky by the wrist to the zoo.

He had no idea what to expect, until you turned the corner, and looked up at the sign like it was a gallows.

Arachnid Exhibit.

He blinked. “Wait.”

You said nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he looked at you, stunned.

You still stayed silent.

“You’re scared of spiders,” he pointed out.

Your teeth clenched. “Correct.”

“You hate them.”

“Obviously.”

“And we’re walking into the spider house?”

“...Yes.”

“Why,” His voice lowered in concern. “Are you doing this?”

You glanced at him, trying to smile, but your voice was shaky at the edges. “Because you faced your fear for me,” you took a deep breath. “So now I’m facing mine.”

He stared right into your eyes.

The same eyes that had glinted with joy at the cliffside— the ones that green worried when he was frozen mid-panic halfway up that wall of rock— were now doing their best not to show how you were descending into pure, sweaty, eight-legged hell.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but then you reached for his hand.

And even though you were clearly terrified, your fingers curled into his with no hesitation.

Bucky's brain short-circuited.

You were holding his hand voluntarily. Clinging to it, actually.

“Let me do this,” you insisted, and fuck, he could never say no to you.

So he nodded, and you both passed through the double doors and into the dimly lit exhibit, and the temperature dropped just enough to make your skin prickle. The air smelled like moss and mulch, like humid jungle air trapped under glass.

You were already pressed close to him, eyes darting around like you expected an ambush.

The place was quiet—only a few other visitors—and lined with glass enclosures filled with webs, branches, and heat lamps. Small signs read things like Chilean Rose Hair and Golden Orb Weaver and Brazilian Wandering Spider: Highly Venomous.

You stiffened. “Why is it wandering? What does that mean? Where’s it wandering to?”

“Probably not out of the glass,” Bucky said with a chuckle.

You scowled at him. “You don’t know that.”

He smiled again, gently. “I promise.”

Your grip on Bucky’s hand became vise-like.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“No I’m not,” you insisted. Your voice cracked. “Shut up.”

“We can leave,” He squeezed your hand a little. “Right now. Just say the word.”

“No.” You inhaled a sharp breath of oxygen. “You climbed a goddamn cliff for me. I can look at some spiders.”

Bucky looked down at you. Your face was pale, your lips set in a stubborn line, but your eyes were wide with unmistakable terror.

You were trying so hard to be brave, it was breaking his heart.

And yet—god help him—it was also the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.

He hadn’t been this flustered since the first time you smiled at him during training and punched him in the ribs so hard he saw stars.

You were pressed into his side, your shoulder snug against his arm, your breaths quick and shaky, and you were trusting him to keep you safe from spiders the size of a tennis ball.

Then you froze.

Right in front of the biggest enclosure yet.

Warm light pulsed softly across a faux jungle floor. Inside, crouched on a mossy rock, was the largest, fuzziest tarantula Bucky had ever seen.

It was the size of a dinner plate, stalking as its legs twitched slowly.

It blinked—at you.

Your breath hitched, eyes going wide. 

“Bucky!” You launched forward and buried your face into his chest with a whimper, arms locking around his ribs like a koala gripping a tree for dear life.

“It’s staring at me,” you whispered, your voice muffled by his hoodie.

Bucky didn’t even try to laugh.

He smiled, though, as his vibranium hand came up to rest between your shoulder blades, soothing. The other cradled your head instinctively, fingers brushing your hair.

He ducked his chin, his lips grazing your temple.

“Hey,” he reassured, “It’s okay. I’m here.”

And he meant it with every fiber of his being.

Because maybe it was just a tarantula in a glass box to the rest of the world—but to him— it was the moment you trusted him enough to hide in his arms. 

—

You staggered out of the Arachnid exhibit like a soldier limping off the battlefield, half-shaky, half-wired from adrenaline, with sweat sticking to your back and palms feeling like glue. 

Bucky was right beside you, hovering close, his hand brushing your lower back now and then like he wasn’t sure if you needed space or to be held up by the elbow. Honestly, both were correct.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, quiet—like you were a bomb he didn’t want to jostle too hard.

“I think I aged ten years in there.”

“You were great."

You groaned and shook your head. “I was cowering in your shirt.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, smiling a little. “It was cute.”

You looked up with a shy smile.

But he was already steering you away from the doors—past a group of giggling kids, past a sign for a butterfly exhibit (which would honestly have been a better time), and straight into the shaded little gift shop next to the spider building.

“I don’t need spider merch,” you groaned, “I need ice cream. Or a lobotomy.”

But Bucky had already wandered in.

So you reluctantly followed.

Inside, the store was air-conditioned and quiet, full of shelves lined with plushies, little resin spider paperweights, books with titles like The Eight-Legged Architects, and extremely cursed socks. The walls were painted dark forest green with cartoon spiders cheerily grinning from their corners.

Then you turned and saw Bucky standing near a rotating rack of stuffed animals, holding something in his hands.

A spider.

Not a real one, of course— a plushie.

It was round, soft, and adorable— black with tiny purple feet and button eyes. Its little smile was stitched into its face like it was permanently thrilled to be alive. It looked like something a toddler might bring to bed to keep them safe.

He turned it over in his hands, like he was inspecting it for quality control, then looked up at you.

“I’m buying this for you,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Something to hold next time you’re scared.”

You blinked again.

The plush was ridiculous. It didn’t even have a name, or a tag with facts. It was just a dumb, smiling, harmless thing— unlike the mortal enemies that lived behind the glass in the exhibit.

“Besides,” Bucky added, voice a little gentler now, “It’d be nice to replace a scary memory with a good one. Y’know, like you did with the cliff.”

Oh. 

Did you really do that?

You reached for the plushie carefully. When he passed it to you, your fingers brushed his.

“It’s… kinda cute,” you admitted, squeezing it gently.

Bucky noticed the tremble still in your shoulders.

“You’re okay, right?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“You’re still kinda pale.”

You nodded, tight-lipped.

“I’m proud of you, though.”

That made you look up. He said it like it mattered. 

You stared at him for a second. His eyes—so earnest, so gentle—did something to your stomach. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Before you could second-guess it, you reached out, grabbed his left wrist—his human hand—and gently brought it to rest against your chest, right over your heart.

Bucky’s breath hitched. “Oh—oh, wow. That’s—”

You made his palm press flat against you as your heartbeat pounded through your ribs.

“Shit,” he murmured, eyes wide. “You’re still freaking out. It’s… it’s still going.”

You didn’t break eye contact.

“That’s not because of the spiders,” you took a deep breath. 

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “…It’s not?”

You shook your head. “It’s you.”

Bucky froze for a second.

And then, he blinked. “Wait, what?”

You smiled, just a little. “I have a crush on you, you idiot.”

Bucky short-circuited, as if you had just punched the thoughts right out of his brain. “…What?

Your fingers were still gently curled around his wrist— his hand was still on your chest.

“You okay?” you asked, amused.

“Am I—are you joking?” he blurted. “You’re not—this isn’t some weird fever-dream side effect from spider fear, is it?” he asked, dead serious.

You reached up with your other hand and tapped the fuzzy tarantula plushie against his chest, snorting. “I faced my worst nightmare and the only thing I could think about was you. What does that tell you?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shuffling his feet. “You’re not—”

“Bucky,” you cut off.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not joking.”

His breath left him in a whoosh, like he had let the air out of a balloon. His eyes were so wide, his face so lost and amazed and unguarded, it almost made you break down.

“I thought—I’ve had a crush on you since… forever,” he said, voice cracking.

“Yeah,” you looked down sheepishly. “Yelena and Ava tried to tell me. I’m just dumb.”

His hand slid up from your chest to your jawline. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, your temple.

“You should’ve told me sooner,” he whispered.

“You were always brooding or bleeding.”

His chuckles, tilting his head.

“Can I…?”

You nodded before he could finish the sentence.

And then he kissed you.

It was gentle. Not a fireworks kind of kiss—but the kind that made your entire body sigh with relief. 

His lips were soft and warm and fuck— You were still shaking—but now, it was for an entirely different reason.

When he finally pulled back, it was gentle— like he didn’t want to go too far, didn’t want to break the perfect moment that had just happened. His forehead came to rest against yours, and you both just breathed for a moment—like the world outside this tiny shop didn’t exist.

Bucky looked dazed—like he’d just stepped out of a dream and wasn’t entirely convinced he was awake yet.

You didn’t trust your voice. So instead, you simply reached down, lifted the plushie from where it had been squashed between you, and turned it to face him. “I think I’m gonna call it Francis.”

“…Francis?” he echoed, blinking like the name alone had startled him back to reality.

You nodded with exaggerated solemnity, lips twitching at the corners. “Yeah. He looks like a Francis.”

A small, startled laugh escaped Bucky. He rubbed the back of his neck, fiddling with Francis' little fluffy legs as he glanced toward the front of the store where the counter still sat empty with a sign saying Cashier will return shortly.

“…I still need to pay for Francis,” he said.

You held up Francis like an offering. “Or you could just run,” you joked, “Make a break for it. No one would ever suspect the guy with the metal arm.”

Bucky gave you an amused look. “No girlfriend of mine is walking out of a store with stolen goods.”

Your heart did something that might’ve been illegal in several states. “Girlfriend, huh?”

“What?” For a second, Bucky froze. “Too soon?”

“I dunno.” You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, even as your cheeks burned. “I think I need to discuss it with Francis.”

Lifting the plushie to your face, you looked deep into his stitched eyes. “Francis,” you whispered. “Is it too soon?”

You answered in a high, suspiciously small voice: “He should take you out to dinner first.”

You turned back to Bucky, completely straight-faced. “Francis says you need to take me out to dinner first.”

Bucky exhaled a laugh, relieved and completely enchanted by your antics. “Dinner tonight it is.”

You nodded, lowering Francis to your chest like a seal of approval. “Francis has spoken.”

And Bucky—excited to make new memories to replace old ones with you—could only smile.

-end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault @average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @boy--wonder--187 @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

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@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life @rIphunter

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia 

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125 @buckybarneswife125

@imaginecrushes @phoenixes-and-wizards @94namkooksworld @maryevm @aggravatedburglary

It was now that you noticed he was shirtless because his tense muscles relaxed, Like the sight of you relieved him. 

“Bucky, it’s three in the morning,” you started with a hoarse voice from just waking up. 

He shifted his weight as he stood in front of you. You couldn’t read his expression very well, but you could still sense something was plaguing him. 

“Can you do me a favor?” He asked. His voice had a hint of desperation. 

You straightened at the tone of his voice. Concern filled you in seconds. 

“What is it? What happened?” 

He swallowed before making his request. “Can you go in my mind?” 

You froze at his question and stared back at him with wide eyes. The last thing you would’ve ever expected from Bucky, was not only him allowing you to enter his mind, but practically begging you for it. 

When Steve first introduced you to the rest of the Avengers, he described your powers as similar to Wanda’s. 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. 

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 “insufficient.” The only reason they kept you alive was to study you and your abilities to perfect their technique on someone else. 

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. 

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. 

But just like with Wanda, you quickly grew on them. Even Tony warmed up to you and called you Witch Jr (even if you weren’t 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 couldn’t 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. 

He started to fill the missing pieces that hydra tried to take from you. 

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. 

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. 

“So how does it work exactly?” he asked you. 

Bucky sat at the opposite end of the couch from you, slightly baffled that in the many weeks he knew you he still didn’t know the full scope of your powers.

“It’s kinda like Wanda’s, but more restrictive.”  The more you talked with him, the less interested you were in movie playing.  

“I know that part, but how?” he inquired. 

You shifted to fully face him, “I’m only a telepath. I can see into someone’s mind and alter it, but can’t move things with my own. And I need to make physical contact with the person to do it.”  

He stayed silent, waiting for you to continue. 

“I can see your thoughts, memories, emotions, fears, desires, anything and change them. I can alter your actions, but of course only if I’m touching you. I can plant myself in your memories and experience them for myself.” 

As he took in the information, his expression grew with curiosity. “You can change memories?” he asked in a slightly lower voice. 

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.

“I 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,” 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. 

“Completely erasing long term memories can be dangerous.” 

Bucky nodded after you explained, acknowledging he understood. 

“Got any other cool tricks up your sleeve?” 

“I can make someone fall asleep and enter their dreams. I’ve done that a few times. Knocked out a lot of people since joining this job,” you ended with a chuckle.

The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. “Sounds like a good cure for insomnia or nightmares.” 

“Pretty much,” you shrugged. “I actually did help Wanda fall asleep once. I don’t do it often but sometimes it can be really helpful if your dreams just get a bit too much.” 

“Sadly that’s a common occurrence for all of us.”  

“Unfortunately,” you mumbled. 

You were no stranger to nightmares. Every so often- more often than you’d 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 “nightmare?” and a nod as a response. 

“How hard is it to control?” he asked, still eager to understand the depth of your abilities. 

“I’ve pretty much got a good handle on it. I was offered a lot of,” you swallowed down the words hydra test subjects, “practice.” 

There was a subtle look of sadness in his eyes, like he silently told you he understood. 

“Except, there have been some moments when I’m in contact with someone and I can feel their emotions or thoughts without trying because it’s such a strong feeling. I don’t mean to, it’s just so overwhelming for the other person it seeps into me.” 

You immediately cringed at your own words. “That sounds weird doesn’t it?”

Bucky shook his head, “not at all. I think I get it. It’s like your empathy is cranked up to a thousand.“

You nodded to confirm his assumption. A tiny breath of relief left you. 

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” you whispered as your attention drifted towards your fidgeting hands. 

You didn’t expect the confession to leave you. But something told you that Bucky wouldn’t 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. 

“I’ve always been afraid that if I told someone, then they’d never want to touch me,” you continued, even quieter this time. 

“Hey,” he muttered to bring your eyes back to him. 

He reached his hand out towards you. You stared at it in confusion before he spoke again. You’d never heard his voice sound so soft and gentle before.

“I trust you.” 

Your heart nearly gave out from his sentiment. A soothing ache wound itself around your heart and squeezed it tight. 

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. 

“You don’t seem like the type to go digging around in my head.”

You gently squeezed his hand, “I promise I won’t.” 

This time he allowed the smile to grow on his lips. 

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. 

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, “You don’t want to look in there anyway. It’s a mess,” he joked. 

That’s 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. 

It was assumed that he would never ask you to look inside or do anything to his mind. 

Until now.

“Bucky what happened?” you asked, opening the door and gesturing for him to enter. 

He cautiously stepped inside. “I haven’t slept in days,” Bucky couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke. His voice sounded shaky and rough. 

“I thought I was doing better. I didn’t have a single nightmare for three weeks and then-“ 

He paused at a loss for words. He balled his metal fist so hard you could hear the metal adjust to the strength. 

“It’s been days. Every night. I can’t sleep,” he finished weakly. 

“Do you want me to erase it? Your nightmare?” you offered.

“No!” 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 couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want you to rid himself of the memory. But you assumed he wanted to keep you from witnessing whatever horrors he saw. 

The sight of him in this state was shattering your heart. 

“No, I uh … wanted to ask if you could help me sleep.”

You didn’t have to consider his request. You would help him in a heartbeat. 

“Of course.” 

His tense shoulders slightly loosened and his tight fist released. 

You moved back to the door to leave and he gave you a quizzical look.

“You wanted to go to sleep right?” you asked in conformation as you opened the door. 

His eyes widened for a second. “Right,” he muttered. 

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. 

“Sometimes the bed is too soft. I thought the floor would help,” he answered your question before you could even ask it. 

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. 

“Do you want to try sleeping here again?” 

He shook his head, “no, I don’t want you on the floor.” He grabbed the discarded pillow and blanket and placed them back on the bed. 

You held back from playfully rolling your eyes, sensing this probably wasn’t the time to tease him. “This isn’t about my comfort, Bucky. The goal is to get you to sleep.” 

He shrugged as he sat down. “Still.” 

The room fell into silence as you stood before him. Your body was frozen in place, hesitant to move closer. It’s not that you haven’t done this before. It just felt different this time. 

This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t 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. 

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. 

“So, you can lie down like normal and I can hold your hand,” you started, trying to hide the nervousness. “If you’re okay with that.” 

“That’s fine,” 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. 

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 couldn’t help him with these feelings swarming around and distracting you. 

“I’m gonna do this slower than when I knock people out during a job. To make sure you don’t get another nightmare I’m going to help you relax and then you’re going to slowly feel more and more tired. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he whispered back. “Ya know, you don’t need to use your powers to help me relax.” 

“It’s the least I could do.” 

Bucky fake smiles back as the meaning behind his statement is lost on you. 

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. 

“Close your eyes.”

He followed your command. You took a deep breath, and focused your energy on him. 

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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t breathe. 

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. 

Oh. 

That’s what he meant. 

With his eyes still closed, you didn’t bother to hide the smile on your face. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

“That feels nice,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Shhhh, be quiet. Go to sleep,” you whispered. 

That brought out a smile from the man across from you. He threatened to open his eyes, but you reached up and covered them. 

“Nuh-uh. Keep em closed.” 

Bucky quietly chuckled at your antics. 

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. 

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 didn’t 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. 

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. 

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. 

Except you couldn’t 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. 

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. You’d done it a thousand times before to other people.

But you really didn’t want to. 

Because he wanted you to stay. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

So you stayed. You told yourself it would only be for a few minutes longer. 

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. 

As he moved, your sleep shirt shifted, his touch was leaving goosebumps all over your skin and made your heart flutter. 

It took a moment, but you finally let yourself melt into his hold. Surrendering to the comfort and serenity it brought. 

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. 

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. 

You studied his features, mere inches away from you. He had an essence of calm you didn’t 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. 

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. 

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.

“I know you’re faking.” 

No response. 

“Bucky, I know you’re awake.” You tried not to giggle as you attempted to call his attention again. 

A small smile danced on his face as he opened his eyes. 

“Liar,” you playfully accused.

“Cheater.” 

You pointed a finger at him, “Wrong, I did not use my powers.” 

His cheeky expression softened the longer he looked at you. “You didn’t leave,” he stated the obvious. It was his way of asking why. 

“I fell asleep.” 

Technically it wasn’t lying. You fell asleep. You just left out a few key details. 

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. 

“I should probably go,” 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. 

“I really appreciate you doing this,” he thanked with quiet vulnerability. His tone reached out and pulled at your heartstrings. 

“I’m glad I could help and that you finally got some sleep,” you returned sweetly. 

Bukcky’s hand fidgeted with the sheets, “It did help, a lot.” He couldn’t quite grasp the right words he wanted to say. 

“If you ever need me, just ask,” you offered sincerely. 

A fond expression crossed his face, “I won’t hesitate.” 

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. 

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. 

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. 

It started to become addicting. His attention. His affection. Him 

It had been days since you spent the night. You were suffering from withdrawals and needed a fix. 

And it didn’t 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. 

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. 

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. 

He looked at you confused, “what’s up?” 

Your hands played with the hem of your sleep shirt. The words were stuck in your throat with no way out. 

He noticed the hesitation in you immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Did I wake you up?” you asked, ignoring his own question. 

“No.” 

“Liar,” you accused with a hint of humor.

He tried to resist smiling, but you caught the corners of his mouth lifted up. 

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” 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. 

“Can’t sleep,” you offered quietly as you folded your arms. “I uh, I know this might sound dumb, but I wanted to ask if- if we could-” 

“Yes.” 

You froze in response to his interruption. 

“Really?” 

He nodded, “Really. And It’s not dumb.”

The tight fists you didn’t realize you were holding loosened. 

“Thanks,” you said more bashfully than you intended. 

“Do you want to sleep here or in your room?” 

You honestly didn’t care at this point where you were. 

You just wanted to be with him. 

“We can stay here, I don’t mind.” 

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.

“Nightmare?” He asked, fixing the pillows on the bed from their messy position.

”Yeah.” 

“Well, I may not have any of your fancy magic, but I’ll help the best I can.” 

“Wanda’s the one with magic.” 

He deadpanned at you, but you could tell he found you amusing because of the glint in his eyes and the tiny smirk he couldn’t hide. 

You lightly smacked his arm- the real one or else you would break a finger- and walked to the other side of the bed. “C’mon, you know I appreciate your help.” 

He quietly chuckled as you both settled into bed. 

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. 

But it wasn’t just your sleeping habits. There was a significant change between you and Bucky. 

It was unspoken, but present. The bond between you was stronger now. You were closer, figuratively and physically. 

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. 

The team had definitely noticed this change in your and Bucky’s 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. 

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. 

Every touch, every glance, every word shared between you was feeding the yearning that ate away at your heart. 

It was borderline mean how he would rest his head on your shoulder when you’d 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- they’d 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. 

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 you’d do anything for him to make sure he was safe and happy. How you’d 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 you’d ever met and you would kiss him till you couldn’t breathe if he’d 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. 

But instead you kept that all to yourself. Letting it fester like a wound inside of you. 

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. 

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 he’d become less talkative. 

So, you never brought it up. Instead you existed in the space between friends and more than friends. 

“They look so cozy,” Yelena commented as she observed from afar. 

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. 

“Yeah, a little too cozy,” he teased. 

“God will they just kiss already?” She joked walking back to the kitchen island where Steve and Wanda were cooking. 

Sam looked at her like she had four heads. 

“Wait, I thought they were sleeping together.”

Wanda shook her head, “No, I don't think they’ve made it that far yet.”

“What are you talking about? I saw him leave her room at like 7 am yesterday. How would you know they haven’t even kissed yet?” 

“You can just tell,” Wanda answered without even looking up from chopping vegetables. 

Sam crossed his arms, “Okay, how?”

Yelena pointed towards the couple in question as she spoke. “He’s still holding back.” 

Sam looked at her in disbelief, “His face is in her neck. You call that holding back?” 

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. 

Yelena shrugged back at him, “I don’t know how to explain it Sam. There’s something in the way he acts around her.” 

“Not that it’s bad,” Wanda interjected. “It just seems like he’s scared of something.” 

Sam turned his attention to Steve who had still yet to comment on the matter. 

“What about you?” Sam asked him. “Did he tell you anything?” 

Steve glanced up from the counter and his gaze landed on the scene many feet away from them.

“I know he’s sweet on her.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, “Well obviously.” 

Steve cracked a smile at his friend. He lowered his voice, careful to not wake the couple in question, “I asked when he was gonna ask her out. He told me she wouldn’t want someone like him.”

“That’s complete bullshit,” Yelena argued as she sat on a stool and stole a chopped vegetable from Wanda’s cutting board. 

Steve shook his head and returned to preparing dinner. “I told him. He wouldn’t listen.” 

Steve didn’t know exactly what was going on in his best friend's head. But one thing he did know was that Bucky didn’t think he was deserving of love. 

“Well he needs a wakeup call.” Sam snatched a vegetable from Wanda’s cutting board as she swatted him away. 

Two hours later, the kitchen was abandoned. Dishes in the sink and leftovers, for the “love birds” as Clint called you, in the fridge. 

You and Bucky were still asleep on the couch. By now, one of your many roommates turned off the tv. 

You don’t 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. 

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. 

Only this was worse. 

A lot worse. 

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 wasn’t coming from your own dreams. 

Except, you didn’t 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. 

You saw it. 

You didn’t mean to. You didn’t 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 Bucky’s 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. 

Yourself. 

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. 

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 wasn’t holding back. Your strength was weakening the more you blocked off his attacks. 

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. 

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 couldn’t take one. From his eyes, you watched tears streamed down your own face and lips mouth a silent plea. 

“James please.” 

Seconds later your eyes fell and your body went limp. 

A gasp left you as you were brought back to the present. Back in your own body. 

Seconds later you felt movement and the man next to you woke up. 

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. 

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. 

You reached forward and placed your hands on his face. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t think to use your powers. You almost didn’t want to after what you accidentally witnessed. 

“Hey, hey you’re okay. You’re okay. I’m fine,” you cooed to him. This didn’t help him at all. His face was still struck with horror. 

“James, look at me.” 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. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe, I’m safe,” You comforted while stroking his face with your thumbs. 

His eyes darted over your face as he recognized you were there. You were tangible. 

You were alive. 

Bucky dove forward and engulfed you in a hug. His hold on you was tight, like he was scared you wouldn’t be there if he let go. 

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. 

“I thought I-“ he stuttered, voice still frail. 

“I know, I’m fine baby I’m right here.” You didn’t mean to let the term of endearment slip out. You hoped he wouldn’t dwell on it. 

And for a moment you were worried he did. There was no response from him for longer than you liked. 

Until he nervously asked, “did you see that?” 

You let out a small sigh, knowing the guilt would tear him apart. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise. It was just so … strong,” you apologized while your fingers dug in his hair as a way to comfort him. 

“I couldn’t … I couldn’t stop myself,” he whimpered. His hold on you tightened.   

“It wasn’t real. I know you would never hurt me.”

He whispered so quietly you wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close. His voice sounded fragile and small. “What if one day I did?” 

“But what if you didn’t?”

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. 

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.  

“I’m sorry,” he muttered with guilt etched on his face. 

“For what?” 

“For scaring you. That you had to see that.” 

The surprise of his apology hit like a brick to your temple. 

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. He’s more worried about you accidentally being a witness to it. He’s more concerned about you being scared than his own fear. 

If he wasn’t reeling from what he just saw you would’ve punched his arm for apologizing. But tough love wasn’t what he needed right now. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that. It’s not your fault.” You’d repeat it like a mantra to him until he believed you. “The only thing that scares me is seeing you like this,” you comforted with a soft voice. 

There was a small look of relief in his eyes, but not enough to show that he was fully convinced. 

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. 

“Can I ask you about it?” you asked cautiously. 

There was a brief pause before he nodded. 

“Was that like the nightmare you had a while ago? The one I helped you with.”

His eyes couldn’t quite reach yours. He looked down with a pained expression and swallowed before letting out a quiet whisper. “Yes.” 

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. He’d been having nightmares for days, but that night specifically he needed to see you. 

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 would’ve seen your own death. 

You would’ve seen him killing you. 

“You’re not usually in my nightmares. That was the first time I ever saw something like that. It’s been eating away at me ever since.” 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. 

His earlier question rang in your ears as realization dawned on you. 

“What if one day I did?”

You sat up straighter and leaned closer to him. “It was a nightmare. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore,” you comforted in a gentle voice. 

“I know but—” his eyes squeezed shut as the words he was trying to say got stuck in his throat. “I’m scared that it’s still a part of me. I’m scared that somehow it’ll all come back. And I could never live with myself if I ever hurt you.” 

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. 

He wouldn’t allow himself to fully enjoy your embrace in fear of getting too close and hurting you. He didn’t want to bring his frightening past with him and let it poison your life. 

“Buck,” you whispered to make sure he was listening. 

Bucky’s eyes opened back up and finally met yours. They were still red, glossy and full of fear. 

It was now or never. You needed him to know. 

“I trust you. More than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.” 

You placed a hand on his cheek and gently caressed his face. Instinctively, he leaned into your touch. It seemed like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“I feel safe when I’m around you. I don’t 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 can’t sleep.” You let out a gentle chuckle before your next words, “Hell, 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.” 

He resisted the urge to smile. He looked like he desperately wanted to believe you, but the darkness had a chokehold on him and wouldn’t loosen. 

You needed to dig deeper. 

“Are you afraid of me?” you asked in a serious tone. “Afraid of what I can do with my powers when I touch you?” 

His expression fell with absolute bewilderment, “No, of course not.”

“Then why would I be afraid of you?” 

Bucky momentarily froze as he realized the point you were making. He shook his head unconvinced, “That’s not the same.” 

“Is it really?” you insisted. “You said it yourself, you trust me. You barely knew me and you trusted that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

He muttered your name, about to counteract you, but you gently cut him off. 

“No, listen.” You grabbed his hand in yours. The warmth from your hand started to seep into the cool metal. 

“You would never hold the things I did at Hydra against me. Why should I do the same to you?” 

It seemed like you were getting through to him the way his jaw clenched. He wanted to argue back, but he couldn’t. 

“I’m not scared of you. I never was.” you spoke with determination in each breath. You needed the words to sink in.

“When I look at you I don’t 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 doesn’t want to admit it.” 

That made him chuckle. He almost appeared sheepish the way he looked at you in return.

“I need you to get it through your thick skull that you’re important to me. You mean so much to me and you don’t even realize it,” your hold on his hand tightened as your heart poured out into his grasp. 

Bucky sat there quietly. Wide pupils staring back at you as he took in what you said. His bright blue eyes appeared almost incandescent. 

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 you’d ever done. 

“Ya know, when I had that nightmare for the first time and I asked you to help me fall asleep, I didn’t really need you to use your powers on me,” he confessed. His hand traveled up and down your thigh as he spoke. 

“I just needed to make sure you were okay. I couldn’t go back to sleep without knowing you were safe.” 

He started to lean closer to you. The distance between you was slowly dwindling as he continued. 

“You mean the world to me doll,” he said softly. His voice dripping with devotion. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” 

You closed the space between you and him and rested your forehead against his. 

“I’m right here. I’m all in. The good, the bad, I don’t care. I want all of you.“

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.

“Can I-?” he pleaded in a low voice. 

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. 

“Just kiss me James,” you breathed desperately. 

He didn’t 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. 

Your mind was going fuzzy. You couldn’t 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. 

He sighed and smiled against your lips. His hand that was on your thigh traveled up and gripped your waist. 

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. 

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. 

“Get a room you two. I know you use them,” she teased before retreating into the hallway. 

As she left, you turned to Bucky and saw his face was bright red matching yours. 

“Oh god,” you chuckled, leaned forward and hid your face in his neck. 

He reached up and ran his hand up and down your back. “You wanna go somewhere more private?” he whispered close to your ear. 

You leaned back to face him again. “Why? You want to kiss me more?” you asked with a cheeky smile.

He offered you a smug grin as his eyes darted between your lips and your eyes. 

Walker laughs. “You really don’t see it, do you?” 

You glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“The guy’s in love with you, clearly. It’s disgusting.”

Yelena elbows him in the side. “Don’t be an asshole. I think it’s cute.”

“I don’t know, you guys…” 

Ava rolls her eyes and gives you a gentle shove. “Just go and ask him, idiot.” 

“Wait a minute—right now?” you stutter helplessly.

“Right now,” she repeats, nodding with a mischievous grin.

So that’s how you find yourself knocking gently on Bucky’s bedroom door, your heart rate skyrocketing. When he opens it, the smile that tugs at his lips as his eyes meet yours causes you to go hot all over. 

“Hi, doll.”

The pet name causes you to flounder for a moment. “Hi,” you mumble. 

Bucky’s face softens. “You all right?” 

“Yes,” you squeak. “I just—I was wondering…” 

“Wondering what?” he asks, tilting his head.

You let out a deep breath. “I was, um—wondering if you would want to do something. Sometime,” you finish, cringing internally. 

His brows furrow. “What do you mean?” 

Your cheeks grow warm. “I mean—Y’know, like—Never mind,” you say, voice smaller than you’d like it to be. “This was a stupid idea. I’m sorry for bothering you.” 

Before you can turn away, his good hand grasps your wrist gently. He tugs you back toward him until you’re inches away. “Hey, wait a second. Were you asking me on a date, sweetheart?” 

You wish that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. “I… Maybe?” 

Bucky grins. “Well, I can’t say no to a date with my best girl.” 

Your eyes widen, breath hitching in your throat. Bucky calling you his best girl has seemingly rendered your brain useless. “Oh,” is all you can seem to manage. He laughs softly. “What?” 

“You’re flustered. It’s cute.” 

“Stop it,” you whine.

“Okay, doll. I will.” 

Bucky noticed first. He always did. Watching people wasn’t just habit—it was an instinct. A soldier’s reflex, sharpened by a lifetime of reading danger in the twitch of a hand or the flicker of a glance.

He noticed how your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear into yourself, or how your arms folded across your stomach, elbows tucked in tight as if they were armour.

You flinched when anyone passed too closely behind your chair. You stopped walking through the halls with your usual spring—started hugging the walls, choosing longer routes that avoided high-traffic zones.

When Yelena clapped a hand to your shoulder in greeting, a simple, affectionate gesture—your entire body jolted like you’d been hit. Not just startled. 

Terrified.

The room had gone quiet at that moment. Even Alexei paused, a half-eaten sandwich frozen in his hand. Ava had gone still beside the mission board, her eyes narrowing slightly.

You recovered too quickly. Smiled too fast. “Sorry, nerves,” you’d said, brushing it off, grabbing the nearest file and practically sprinting from the room. But Bucky had already seen too much.

And then the bruises.

They started subtly. Shadows beneath the cuff of your blouse that could be passed off as bad sleep, maybe a knock against a desk corner.

You were clumsy sometimes—everyone knew that. A walking hurricane in heels, Yelena liked to tease. You once tripped over your own shoelaces in front of Val, and no one had let you live it down for a week.

But these weren’t accidents.

There was a splotch of purple just visible beneath your collarbone, dark and irregular. Faint, yellowing fingerprints on your wrist that looked like they were trying to fade, but kept stubbornly coming back.

A raw, angry mark that peeked out from your hairline one morning, like someone had gripped your jaw too hard—someone tall enough, big enough to loom over you, strong enough to leave a handprint in their wake.

Bucky saw that one when you bent down to pick up a report you’d dropped. Your blouse’s collar dipped slightly, just enough to reveal a line of bruising that trailed from your neck toward your shoulder like a hand had wrapped around you and squeezed.

His hand clenched into a fist on instinct.

He didn’t say anything right away. He knew better. But he watched. Quietly, intensely. Not just because he cared, but because something inside him roared with the need to protect you, something deep and territorial and dangerous.

The same thing that made him stare holes into the security cameras when you left the compound for lunch, or that made him scan every incoming message with a new, sharpened edge.

He began checking your schedule.

Not overtly. Just… looking. Noting when you left the compound. Who signed you out. When you came back, and what your face looked like afterward.

You used to return from errands with little smiles and tiny stories—“The deli guy gave me an extra pickle today,” or “Some lady on the street said I had pretty earrings.” But lately, you came back quieter. Shoulders tighter. And you always avoided his eyes.

One afternoon, he asked you if you were okay.

You smiled—again, that damn smile. So polite, so practiced. 

“Yeah. Just tired. Thanks for asking Bucky”

But being tired didn’t leave marks on someone’s throat.

And when you walked away, Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway and felt something cold curl in his gut. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

He knew pain. He’d lived it. Breathed it. Worn it like a second skin. But there was something worse about watching you endure it.

Something far more dangerous.

And whoever had hurt you?

They’d just reminded him exactly what he was willing to protect.

Still, Bucky didn’t act rashly. He waited. Watched. Gathered more than just bruises and broken glances. He needed to be sure—of what you were dealing with, of who was doing this to you, of how to approach without sending you further into yourself.

The wrong move could make you shut down entirely. He knew trauma didn’t unravel with questions—it needed patience. 

Stillness. Safety.

So he waited until the Watchtower cleared out for the evening.

The others had trickled out one by one—Yelena dragging Alexei into a sparring match he didn’t ask for, Ava and John disappearing into the training room, Val locked in her office for a late-night debrief.

The corridors fell quiet, fluorescent lights humming low overhead. Bucky lingered near your office, watching the shadows stretch along the floor, the door slightly ajar with the warm glow of your desk lamp spilling out into the hall.

You were still there. Of course you were.

You always stay late now.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into your office once the others had gone.

You didn’t jump—but he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. How your fingers paused on the keyboard, curling slightly as if preparing for something.

Your eyes stayed locked on the screen for a moment too long, and when you did glance up, they were wide and glassy with that familiar, haunted look.

The one he recognised too well.

The one he used to see in the mirror.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice stayed quiet, gentle—like coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding. He stood just inside the door, hands in the pockets of his black jacket, posture non-threatening but steady. He wouldn’t crowd you. He wouldn’t touch you. But the one thing he wouldn’t do is walk away.

You swallowed, throat tight, and gave a small nod.

“Sure.”

But the word was fragile. Like it had been stitched together with effort.

He crossed the room slowly, pulling the door shut behind him—not all the way, just enough to give the illusion of privacy without making you feel trapped. Then he moved to the chair across from your desk and sat, leaving space between you. Letting you decide what came next.

You glanced back at your screen, like you were searching for a reason to stay distracted. Like if you just kept typing, none of this would be real. But your hands didn’t move.

He waited a beat, then spoke, low and careful. “I’ve been noticing some things.”

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” he added. “I just… I’m worried about you doll”

Your shoulders tensed again. That flinch. That tell. He saw it before you could mask it. And when your arms folded across your stomach, hiding your bruised wrist, he knew.

You were protecting yourself from more than just a conversation.

“I know something’s going on,” he said. “And I don’t need the details if you’re not ready. But I need you to know that… you don’t have to do this alone.”

Still, silence. But your eyes were starting to shine, tears gathering at the corners as you stared down at your keyboard like it held all the answers.

“You’ve been flinching at every touch,” he went on, his voice nearly breaking. “You don’t smile anymore. You avoid everyone like they’re gonna hurt you. And those bruises—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked as the word came out, sharp and desperate.

Bucky’s breath caught. But he didn’t move. “Okay,” he said immediately. “I won’t push. I swear.”

The silence that followed was thick—trembling between confession and collapse.

And then your lip quivered. You shook your head once. “I didn’t mean for anyone to notice,” you whispered, voice so soft it almost didn’t reach him. 

“I thought I could handle it.”

Bucky leaned forward, slowly, carefully. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

Your chin trembled. “I didn’t want to be a burden. Everyone’s got their shit. Missions. Scars. Who wants to hear about the secretary who made the mistake of falling for the wrong guy?”

His jaw clenched so tightly he thought he might crack a molar. “Who did this to you?”

You didn’t answer.

But your silence was answer enough.

His tone darkened, low and steady like steel cooled in ice. “Tell me who put their hands on you.”

You shook your head again, fast this time, panic blooming across your features. “Bucky—don’t. Please. It’ll just make it worse.”

He stood up, jaw rigid, fists clenched at his sides. The chair scraped quietly behind him, but he didn’t move toward you. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there, vibrating with barely contained rage.

But it wasn’t at you.

“I would never let anyone hurt you again,” he said, his voice rough now, fighting to stay gentle. “But you have to let me help.”

Your eyes met his cerulean irises then. And something inside you cracked.

Because he didn’t look at you with pity.

He looked at you like you mattered. Like your pain mattered. Like he saw you—really saw you—and it didn’t make him walk away.

And something about the way he said it, like a lifeline broke you.

You told him everything.

From the first time it happened, when your ex shoved you against a wall during an argument over a text message. To the second time, when he slapped you so hard your lip split open. The cycle became normal. You had started covering up bruises like second nature, lying to your friends, flinching at shadows.

Two nights ago, he’d come home drunk, angry. He dragged you by your hair into the bedroom, wrapped a hand too tight around your neck, and left purple thumbprints beneath your jaw.

You had to call in sick the next day. Told Val it was the flu. She didn’t question it.

Tears streamed silently down your cheeks, but Bucky never looked away. His face was tight with rage, his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break a tooth. His metal hand had curled into a fist again, knuckles whitening where they met synthetic plating.

“I'm gonna kill him,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No,” you croaked, your hand reaching to grip his wrist. “Just… just get me out of there.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said.

He helped you out of the office, holding your arm with such care, like you might shatter if he used too much strength. He led you to his motorcycle, the matte black vehicle parked beside the Watchtower’s bay doors.

You hesitated. “I don’t—”

He handed you his helmet and said, “You’re safe with me.”

And you believed him.

The wind was sharp against your face, your arms clinging around his waist as he drove through the dusky streets toward your apartment. Your heart thundered the entire ride—not from fear of falling, but from the feeling of escape.

At your place, you let Bucky in and stood frozen in the doorway. Your keys shaking in your hands.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

You walked numbly toward your bedroom and began pulling a small duffel from the closet. Bucky followed, surveying the apartment with quiet calculation.

The broken picture frame on the floor. The hole punched in the hallway drywall. The cracked phone screen beside your bed.

You gathered clothes, toiletries, your journal, a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. Bucky packed in silence, folding your shirts neatly, rolling your socks with care.

When you turned to get your toothbrush, your hands were trembling too badly to hold it.

“I can’t…” you whispered, finally falling apart.

Bucky was there in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest.

“It’s over,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not going back there. I won’t let you.”

You sobbed into his shoulder, your body wracked with grief and relief all at once. For the first time in years, you believed it. 

You were leaving.

Bucky had decided to take you to his apartment, given how late it was—and how you didn’t want the rest of the team knowing about any of this. You couldn’t bear their questions or the way they might look at you differently if they knew the truth. What you needed right now wasn’t a spotlight—it was safety.

And Bucky, somehow, had understood that without you ever having to say a word.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, it felt like a sanctuary: minimalistic but lived-in, with dark wood furniture, shelves lined with old books, framed black-and-white photos, a few of them being Steve's, and soft lighting that bathed the space in warm, golden hues.

There were blankets folded over the back of his couch, plants that looked surprisingly healthy, and a record player in the corner with a small stack of vinyls beside it. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air—warm, masculine, grounding.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Bucky said gently, “and the guest room’s yours for as long as you want it.”

You nodded, wiping your face with your sleeve.

He handed you a folded pile of clothes—one of his blue Henley shirts and a pair of grey boxer briefs that would sit loosely on your frame.

“You can sleep in these,” he said. “I’ll set up fresh towels, and if you need anything—anything—you come get me.”

You changed in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. The bruises on your neck looked even more vibrant in the soft light. You touched them lightly, then pulled Bucky’s shirt over your head. It was warm from his hands, and it smelled like cedar and something unmistakably him.

You sank into the bed that night with clean sheets, the window cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air. Bucky’s home felt quiet in a way yours never had. Not silent from tension—but peaceful. The kind of quiet that comes with safety.

You curled into the soft mattress, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like him, and for the first time in two years, you slept without fear.

Safe. Protected. Free.

You woke up with a gasp.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to you like cobwebs—suffocating and sticky. Flashes of fists in the dark. That voice slithering in your ear, venomous and cruel. The oppressive weight on your chest, the cold dread of being trapped with no way out.

Your heart thundered, breath tearing in and out of your lungs like you were still running, still being chased. Your skin was damp with sweat, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you pushed the covers away and bolted upright in bed.

The room swam around you—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp outside, walls painted in shadow. The silence rang too loud.

You couldn’t stay.

Before you even registered the movement, your bare feet found the cool hardwood floor, each step down the hallway echoing softly. You didn’t knock. You didn’t need to.

Bucky’s door was cracked open.

He was awake. Sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, his metal hand cradling the back of his neck like it ached. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. The soft light from the city cast silver lines across the sharp angles of his face, tracing the tension in his jaw, the furrow of his brow.

Your voice trembled, more breath than sound. “I had a nightmare.”

His head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto yours. The shift was instant—soldier to protector. In two strides, he was in front of you.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

His hands came to your shoulders—not forceful, just present. Anchoring. His touch was warm and steady, and it sent a tremor through you that wasn’t from fear this time, but release. Like your body finally allowed itself to feel how shaken you were.

Your lip quivered. “Can I stay?”

He nodded before you even finished the question. “Always.”

You didn’t hesitate. The bed welcomed you like a long-lost memory—soft sheets, a comforting dip in the mattress, the faint scent of his soap clinging to the pillow.

You curled into the center of it, small and tentative, feeling like a ghost of yourself. Like you might disappear if the shadows swallowed you up again.

Bucky moved with care. He didn’t rush. He pulled the blanket up over your trembling frame, tucking it gently around your shoulders. Then he slid into the bed behind you, close but not suffocating, the heat of him already beginning to thaw something frozen inside you.

His arm hovered behind you for a moment. He didn’t assume. Didn’t take. Just waited.

When you shifted ever so slightly—just enough for your back to press lightly against his chest, his arm came around you. A quiet, protective barrier. His metal fingers splayed carefully against your stomach, grounding you in the here and now.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your eyes slipping shut for the first time all night. The tension in your body began to unwind, thread by thread. His scent, clean and faintly earthy filled your nose, mingling with the sound of his heartbeat against your spine and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And then he whispered it, his voice barely brushing your ear, soft and sure and steady.

“I’ve got you.”

The words sank into your skin like warmth, like truth. No promises he couldn’t keep. No hollow reassurances. Just a vow, solid and unspoken, in the way he held you like you were something worth protecting.

You blinked slowly, a tear slipping free and soaking silently into the pillow.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you believed it.

You were safe.

Not because the nightmares were gone—but because Bucky was here when they came.

The morning sun filtered gently through the blinds of Bucky’s apartment, casting warm strips of gold across the hardwood floors.

For the first time in over a year, you hadn’t woken up with your heart pounding in fear. No yelling, no slamming doors. Just the subtle hum of city life beyond the window, and the distant sizzle of bacon in a skillet.

You padded out of the bedroom in Bucky’s oversized shirt and boxers, clutching the sleeves around your palms. The faint scent of him lingered in the fabric—cedar-wood, leather, and something warm, like late summer.

Bucky stood by the stove, his hair damp from a quick shower, grey T-shirt clinging to the breadth of his shoulders. When he heard your footsteps, he turned slightly and gave you a soft smile.

“Hey, sweetheart” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You nodded, grateful, eyes stinging. It was in the little things—the way he slid a cup of coffee toward you without asking how you liked it, because he already remembered. 

Later that day, the team found out.

Yelena had noticed first. She cornered Bucky in the Watchtower’s armoury after morning briefings. “What’s going on with (y/n)?” she demanded, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “She barely said five words. She jumped when Alexei dropped his water bottle. I know bruises when I see them.”

Bucky hesitated, jaw tightening. But when Yelena added, softer this time, “I care about her too,” he gave her the truth.

Word spread in a ripple. Quiet, but powerful. By the end of the day, the team was different.

It started with your phone. You were sorting through mission reports in the comms room when it buzzed beside you, and you flinched hard enough to drop a pen because without looking, you already knew who it was. Him.

John, usually, cocky caught the look on your face and immediately picked the phone up himself.

“Give me your passcode,” he said steadily.

You hesitated. “Why?”

“Because if this asshole’s still texting you, I’m blocking him. And if he’s tracking you, we’re disabling it right now.”

You blinked at him, lip trembling. John just held your gaze, patient. Protective.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Ten minutes later, your ex was blocked. His number, email—gone. John handed the phone back like it weighed nothing, but you knew it had been a thousand-pound chain.

Bob, quiet and sweet, began programming something on the side—a digital firewall. One you didn't even ask for, but he gave it to you anyway.

“If he tries anything online, you’ll be notified. But he won’t get through. I made sure of it.”

You could’ve cried.

Ava began walking with you more often. No words. Just always there—on your way to the labs, when you stopped by the kitchen, even when you headed out to grab lunch across the street.

“I know what it’s like,” she said one day while the two of you sat on a park bench eating sandwiches. “To feel hunted.”

You looked at her, stunned. Her face was unreadable, but her hand brushed yours for a moment, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then there was Alexei. Loud, boisterous, intimidating. He walked into the common area one afternoon with three grocery bags in hand and plopped them dramatically onto the table.

“You like those little orange cracker fish?” he boomed showing you the goldfish crackers he had gotten. “I bought five bags. And some juice. Juice is important.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I don’t—”

“Shush little one,” he said, winking. “You part of us. Thunderbolts always feed Thunderbolts.”

Your laugh broke out before you could stop it. It felt foreign. Strange. 

But real.

Alexei beamed like he’d won a medal.

Slowly but surely, the team wrapped you in something new. Something stronger than fear. Stronger than pain.

When you needed to go to the mall for more clothes—things that weren’t tainted with memories—Yelena and Bob went with you.

Yelena stuck close to your side, pretending to be indifferent but always scanning the crowd. Bob carried all the bags with a goofy grin. He even helped pick out a new hoodie. It was soft and warm and maroon.

“You should feel safe in your skin,” Yelena said simply, handing you a matching beanie. “Even if you’re still growing into it.”

Back at the Watchtower, life began to feel... lighter.

You started laughing again. At Alexei's terrible jokes, at Yelena’s savage sarcasm, at Bob’s quiet mutterings when tech didn’t work. Even John, in all his arrogance, could make you smile.

There was a movie night every Friday now and Bucky always sat next to you, sometimes with a pillow between you both to give space, other times with his shoulder a solid warmth at your side. You’d found yourself leaning into him more. Not because you had to. But because it felt right.

And he never pushed. Never demanded. Just let you exist next to him. Sometimes he’d hand you a blanket without saying a word. Sometimes he’d offer half his popcorn. Sometimes, his fingers would brush yours, warm and careful, and linger just a second longer than necessary.

You slept more. Ate more. Laughed more.

One day, Ava caught you humming in the hallway, arms full of supplies. She stopped in her tracks.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re glowing,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “I—I am?”

She gave a rare, small smile. “Like someone who remembers what sunlight feels like.”

One night, after Yelena dropped you off, you returned to the apartment Bucky always insisted was open to you. You let yourself in with the spare key. It was late, and he was half-asleep on the couch with a book in his lap. He stirred when you closed the door.

“You okay sweetheart?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said.

He nodded, eyes drifting shut again.

You sat beside him, curling your legs up, and rested your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask. Just reached for the blanket draped over the armrest and pulled it gently over you both.

It was the safest you’d ever felt.

It had started out as a good night.

One of those rare moments where the city lights felt warm rather than harsh, where laughter didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

The team had dragged you out—gently, persistently, lovingly.

“C’mon,” Yelena had said, slinging her arm over your shoulder. “Burgers, milkshakes, greasy fries. We deserve it. You deserve it.”

You hesitated. It had been a while since you went to any public diner. Too many memories. Too many shadows. Too much risk of seeing him.

But tonight? You nodded. Just once. Just enough.

The diner was loud with neon buzz and the clatter of plates, the kind of classic joint with red booths and checkered floors. Bucky slid into the booth beside you while Yelena and John sat across. Bob and Ava took the seats at the edge, Alexei immediately requesting the biggest burger they had.

Jokes flew easily. John was ranting about ketchup crimes. Yelena argued that mayonnaise was the superior condiment. Bob kept trying to order fries but the waitress only seemed to hear Alexei’s booming voice.

You were laughing. Honest, soft laughter that made your chest ache.

Then the door jingled. And just like that, the warmth bled from the room. Laughter dimmed. The sizzle of the grill and clatter of dishes became distant, muffled by the sudden roar of blood in your ears.

Bucky stilled beside you.

Your ex stood in the doorway, flanked by two men you didn’t recognise—thick-necked, sneering types with clenched fists and hooded eyes. But it was him you saw. Him, with that awful smirk, like nothing had changed.

Like he still owned the air you breathed.

Bucky noticed the way your body tensed, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. “Hey—”

Your ex’s eyes landed on you, and he stepped forward, raising his voice.

“Well, look who it is. Didn’t think you’d crawl this far downtown. Guess word spreads when you’re spreading your legs for every man in New York now, huh?”

The sound of the booth creaking was the only warning before Bucky stood.

Yelena’s fork clattered onto her plate.

John was on his feet in seconds, positioning himself directly between you and your ex.

“Take that back,” Bucky growled.

Your ex only sneered, moving closer. “What, you gonna fight me in front of your new playgroup? Cute. Didn’t think the Winter Soldier was into charity cases.”

You flinched.

Bucky didn’t.

“I know what you did to her,” Bucky said, low and lethal.

Your ex chuckled, but there was unease in his posture now. “What? You mean the bruises? Bitch liked it rough. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Yelena stood up behind John, her face carved in steel. “The next time you touch her,” she said flatly, “will be the last time you have hands.”

Your ex stepped forward as if to challenge, but John didn’t move an inch. “Try it,” he warned. “Give me a reason.”

You saw it—the twitch in your ex’s jaw, the way he coiled his fist. He swung at Bucky.

But Bucky didn’t just dodge. He caught the punch mid-air.

With his metal hand.

The crunch of bone was audible and a gasp ran through the diner.

Before anyone could react, Bucky gripped your ex by the front of his jacket, lifting him clean off the floor. The metal arm locked around his throat with frightening precision. The air stilled. Your ex's feet dangled.

“If you ever look at her again,” Bucky snarled, voice sharp and shaking with rage, “if you so much as breathe in her goddamn direction—I will rip your spine out and hang it from the Watchtower gates.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was full of restrained fury. Of violence barely held back. His eyes had darkened, steel-gray and burning.

Your ex gurgled, his hands clawing at Bucky’s grip.

“Do you understand me?”

A choked nod.

Bucky dropped him like trash.

Alexei stepped forward then, looming over the two henchmen. “You want to try luck?” he asked them casually. “I haven’t punch anything in weeks.”

The men looked at each other, then down at your ex, now coughing on the floor. They backed away.

“You’re not worth it,” one muttered, and the other practically dragged your ex toward the exit.

Your heart was thundering. Your breath short.

Bob slipped into the seat beside you. Ava stood near the door, eyes scanning the street for any lingering threat.

Bucky turned to you, jaw tight, shoulders still trembling with adrenaline. But when he looked at you, his expression softened immediately.

He crouched in front of you, hands open. “You okay?”

You nodded shakily, tears welling.

Yelena handed you a napkin. “He’s gone,” she said quietly. “He’s never coming near you again.”

John was still standing like a human shield, arms crossed.

And Bucky... Bucky cupped your cheek with his hand. It was warm, comforting, his thumb brushing away the tear that escaped.

“He doesn’t get to touch you. Not now. Not ever again.”

You leaned into him, trembling.

“I was so scared,” you whispered, barely audible.

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not while I’m breathing.”

And for a moment, even in the shattered remains of what should have been a peaceful night, you were wrapped in a shield stronger than steel.

You had them.

You had him.

You were safe.

You didn’t speak on the way home.

No one made you.

Bucky drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against your thigh—anchoring, grounding. The rest of the team took a second vehicle, giving you space. After what happened, you needed it.

You stared out the window, watching the neon blur into streaks of yellow and red, feeling like you were floating somewhere outside yourself. Somewhere between fear and relief.

The silence between you and Bucky wasn’t heavy—it was steady. Like the calm after a storm. Like quiet waves still curling back from the shore.

When he parked outside the compound, he turned to you slowly.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You shook your head.

He didn’t ask again. Just took your hand gently, led you through the compound, through the hallways, up the stairs. When you reached your room, he hesitated at the door.

“Can I stay?”

You nodded.

Inside, the room felt untouched by the chaos of earlier. Soft lamplight, a rumpled blanket on your bed. Familiar, safe.

You kicked your shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting in your lap. Bucky crouched in front of you again, like at the diner, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’re not weak for being scared,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened. You nodded.

“But he’s never going to get to you again. I won’t let him. None of us will.”

You looked at him. The way his eyes held yours, soft but strong. The way his presence wrapped around you like armor. The way his touch was always careful, like you were something breakable but worth protecting.

And then you whispered, “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

Bucky leaned forward. Pressed his forehead gently to yours.

“You don’t have to. Not right away. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll fight it together.”

You closed your eyes.

And when he climbed into bed beside you, when his arms wrapped around you and pulled you against the steady thump of his heart, you believed him.

Not because the fear was gone.

But because for the first time in so long, you weren’t carrying it alone.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. Whispered something you didn’t catch—but it didn’t matter.

It sounded like safety.

It felt like home.

a/n: this fic is one i hold close, because i have experienced abuse/dv in my previous relationship, and i had no idea how to leave, and writing this helped, a lot. i do hope that every person that is trapped in this cycle will find their bucky—someone who makes them feel safe and loved. i am grateful i found mine. if you're a victim or know someone who is struggling, please don't be afraid to seek for help. i promise it does get better once you leave. (google dv helpline, your country's hotline should appear)

“Daaarrrrliiiiinggggg…..” you yelped when a heavy figure literally crashed over your body on the couch disrupting your peaceful reading session.

“Ow ow ow….Lokiii….god you’re heavy….” You yelled trying to push him away but he snuggled you more tightly in his arms. You looked up before you to Thor who was standing there with a sorry face.

“Y/N….” Loki giggled softly nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, hugging you, nibbling your neck.

“Is he drunk?” You asked bit worriedly to Thor.

“Sorry …” He nodded at you before leaving the room.

“I missed youuuu….my looooveee…”Loki’s voice was slurring making you chuckled this time. It’s been a while you have witnessed him this drunk.

“Loki…You saw me few hours ago…” you chuckled softly, stroking his hair and he hummed in response resting his head on your chest. He was heavy so you tried to push him aside little bit to adjust your position but he huffed annoyedly.

“NO…cuddle me…” he mumbled. You smiled looking down at him. Usually you’re the clingy one always sticking with him like a Koala. But seeing him like this was rare.

“My head hurts…”

“Why did you drink so much?” You asked.

“I was sad…” he mumbled.

“Aww… why…?”

“See… we are together for a long time right?” He asked lifting his head up to look at you. You nodded in response.

“And I never really did anything nice for you…” he confessed sadly making you confuse.

“Loki wha-”

“Shhh…don’t interrupt your god…” he said placing a finger on your lips.

“You love me right?” He asked.

“Ye-“

“Ahh…I said don’t interrupt me…” he said glaring at you and you rolled your eyes.

“So…I feel so bad that I never even asked you to marry me…” he said thinking. Your eyes widened, a amused smile plastered on your lips.

“Loki…you ” but he placed his hands on your mouth.

“Shh…you talk way too much…As I was saying…I know I’m gonna be an awful husband…” he said laying back over you again.

“Umm hmm…” you hummed in approval, playing with his hair.

“You know I’m so bad around kids…” he scoffed.

“That you are…” you said again stroking his hair.

“Don’t interrupt me Y/N… I know I will just annoy and tease you all the time…cause problems…”

“You do that…”

“Again…”

“Sorry… please continue…”

“I will get unnecessarily jealous and possessive over youuuuu…” he lifted his head up again looking at you. You’re grinning at him cheekily. He was looking so cute like this, cheeks bit flustered, voice slurring little bit.

“Don’t smile…I’m trying to be serious here…” he said bit angrily and you immediately make a serious face trying hard not to laugh.

“ I will probably forget our anniversaries even…buuuut…..” he slurred.

“Buuuut?” You asked smiling again.

“Will you still Marry me Y/N?” He asked finally with so much hope. That’s when you chuckled at him. God how much you love this idiot.

“Y/N…I’m not joking….I might be little full..little bit..” he said emphasising with his finger little bit and you nodded.

“But I genuinely love you…” he said.

“I love you too…” you giggled placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“So will you marry me?”

“But I’m married already…sorry…” you chuckled showing him your wedding ring. Loki got up in disbelief.

“How can you do this to me…” he mumbled softly not believing your words, then looking at the ring.

“Omg Loki…I am married to you…” you laughed at your husband’s drunken state. You’re so happy inside as he proposed you again.

“We…we are…married already…?” He asked astonished.

“Yes next month gonna be our one year anniversary…” you smiled at him.

“ Omg I’m an awful husband …” he yelled this time hiding his face in his hands in embarrassment. How could he forget about marrying you, the love of his life.

“Aww…come here…” you giggled pulling him again in your arms , cuddling him as close as possible.

*************