To be transparent, you feared walking in Dr. Romanoff’s office today.

You’ve heard the horror stories, heard about the pain, and the embarrassment. Friends mumbling how they had to scoot down until it felt like they were going to fall to the floor just so their gynecologist could have a ‘good look.’

So you did your research.

You scouted the internet for doctors, reading hundreds of reviews, inputted the addresses into your phone and restarted when you saw they were miles away. Finally, you found Dr. Romanoff.

Stellar reviews, clean office, close to home, and a woman.

When a picture of a beautiful redhead loaded on your screen, a sense of relief filled your body. You figured everything would be more comfortable if your doctor was a woman, so that’s how you found yourself in a medical gown, panties neatly folded - hiding beneath your clothes on a lonely chair.

You tried to leave your panties on, but Nurse Maximoff insisted you took them off, stating it ‘makes things better for the doctor.’

The thin medical gown did little to protect you from the cold and did little to stop the breeze from hitting your backside.

“Are you scared?”

The voice makes you jump, still you reply softly, “A little.”

Not wanting to rip the disposable paper covering the medical table, you carefully turn your head to face the nurse. Still the paper rips and the first wave of embarrassment floods your veins.

“You could always hold my hand. For when it gets too much. How does that sound?”

Your eyes light up immediately by her kind offer and you shyly nod your head.

“Yes please, I’d like that. Personally, I’ve never heard of a great experience at the gynecologist,” you’re rambling, “but I saw Dr. Romanoff - well, I found her online and she had really good reviews…”

”It can be scary, but Dr. Romanoff is very good at her job. She and I will do our very best to keep you comfortable,” she winks.

The smile she sends you has you suppressing a giggle as she walks out of the room, she mumbles that she’s going to bring the doctor.

It isn’t long until you hear muffled voices behind the door, shortly after you hear a sharp knock.

“Come in.”

Oh gosh.

She even more beautiful in person.

Dr. Romanoff sends you a flirty smile. Her red hair is curled, unlike her picture. Long enough to rest just above her collarbones but short enough to let you read her embroidered name on her white coat.

“How are you doing today, sweetheart?”

On autopilot, the doctor washes her hands with proficiency, looking over her shoulder to hear your answer.

“I’m doing good, Dr. Romanoff,” you nod awkwardly as you fiddle with your thumbs.

“That’s nice to hear, sweetheart,” she pauses to look at the clipboard her nurse holds in front of her before looking up at you again, “And please, call me Natasha.”

You only nod, making a mental note to call her Natasha.

”I take it that my best nurse, Wanda, walked you through everything?” She assumes as she puts on a pair of latex gloves - careful not to break the sterile field.

Instead of answering, you stare at her gloved hands, mesmerized by their black color rather than their usual bright blue. The soft call of your name from Wanda has you shaking your head, bring your eyes back up to your doctor.

“Sorry, yes, she walked me through the process.”

“Legs up, feet in the stirrups, and then I need you to scoot all the down.”

The sound of the delicate paper beneath crinkling fills the room as you scoot down, looking up at Wanda who stands next to you. Her hand folds down, telling you to scoot even more, more, more, and stop.

“Just as a precaution we’ll need to strap you down.” Natasha leaves no room for discussion as she signals to Wanda to strap your thighs.

You watch as the nurse clicks the restraints, trapping your thighs - already minimizing your range of motion down to zero.

“Okay,” you mumble, however, your breath hitches when Wanda tightens similar buckles around your ankles, walking between your split thighs as she does. With your feet on the stirrups and the medical gown stretched over your bent knees, you feel exposed.

Wanda then walks back to you, taking your hands, tricking you into submission as she binds them to the table. She only sends you a soft smile as you gape at her actions - surely they didn’t need your hands tied, right? It has to be a mistake?

”It’s just a precaution,” Natasha reiterates with strong eye contact, soothing you by rubbing her hands down your thighs.

”R-right.”

You avoid eye contact the second you see Dr. Romanoff’s eyes peek between your legs. With your wrists locked in place you have no way of covering your face the second you hear the two redheads whisper to each other. Your muscles tense when you catch their eyes looking between your thighs.

“Oh no honey, are you shy?” Natasha coos at you as a latex-covered hand goes to your naked thigh to soothe you.

“A little b-bit,” you stutter shutting your eyes, praying you can just disappear.

Unbeknownst to you, Natasha motions for Wanda to comfort you.

Once again, you jump when a hand reaches for yours. The friction caused by the same latex she wears on her hands feels silly, nevertheless, the soft circles she draws on your hand comforts you enough to open your eyes.

“Better?” Natasha questions from between your legs, only her bright hair is visible over your gown.

“Mhmm,” you nod smiling at Wanda, but choke on your breath when you feel fingers glide between your folds.

“Seems like she’s wet enough.”

”That’s good doctor.”

They speak to each other as if you’re not in the room. Nevermind that it’s you they are looking at, nevermind that it’s you they are touching.

Biting your tongue, your eyes widen when you see Natasha grab a rather large speculum, but lessen when she also reaches for the lube.

You don’t see her use the lube, but you feel it.

”Wanda?”

A pair of green eyes look up from your sex and into yours, you swear you almost see a look of awe on her face.

”Can I hold your hand?”

Your hands waves for hers and she is quick to follow your request, only this time she’s seems annoyed. As if you took time away her new favorite activity - admiring your pussy.

Sighing happily at the comforting hand, you relax enough to let Natasha continue only this time a soft laugh escapes Natasha’s lips when you shiver. Similar to before, her fingers glide between your folds, only thing time it’s easier. It’s obvious she was more than generous with the lube, something you’re thankful for. Again, you’ve heard the horror stories.

Wanda’s hand slips into yours more comfortably the same time Natasha whispers a soft apology when you hiss at the cold metal that’s forced between your legs.

Natasha tries her best to insert the speculum, but it doesn’t budge. She tries harder, pushing the tip inside despite your fluttering walls and the pained whine you let out.

It hurts.

Your hold on Wanda’s hand tightens enough to make your fingers cramp - you can’t imagine how her hand must feel. Restraints wrapped about your ankles and thighs only tighten with every flinch.

Trying your very best to stay quiet, you sniffle and fight the tears that form in your eyes. Wanda catches a glimpse of your tears and shakes her head at her superior.

“I’m hurting you too much,” Natasha sighs, defeated.

You want to tell her it’s okay, you can take it, but when you move to look down and reassure her, the tears fall down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. It won’t fit.”

”I know a way it will feel better, okay?” Natasha hums.

”Yes, Doctor.”

The relief is immediate when she carefully pulls out, only being shoved half an inch the pain is still there.

”Call me Natasha,” she demands sternly.

There’s no please, it’s an order, so you nod.

“And if that doesn’t work I have something else we can try,” she shrugs casually as she shuffles through a drawer next to her.

”Yes, Natasha,” you nod, blinking away your dried tears - anything but that.

Glossy eyes glance up at Wanda, even with her mask on you can see how beautiful she is.

Subconsciously your walls clench around nothing when she sends you another wink. Shy, you break contact and try to close your legs, again you hear Natasha’s familiar chuckle.

“Wanda?”

”Yes, Doctor?”

”Clean her up.”

Almost as if she’s excited, Wanda drops your hand and takes Natasha’s place.

You hear the plastic before you see it. You watch as Natasha hands a small pack of wipes to Wanda. You throw your head back connecting the dots. This has got to be the most humiliating thing ever.

You want to protest, tell your doctor and nurse that you’re more than capable of cleaning yourself, but your hands are tied. A second wave of embarrassment floods your veins when you feel it.

Wanda is gentle as she swipes the wet wipe over your inner thighs, then the lube that’s pooled beneath you left behind from your doctor.

Mentally, you count in your head, trying your best to block out the two intelligent women who seem to have no issue with your nakedness or discomfort.

“I know they look scary, but we will take it slow.”

Natasha’s words bring your attention to the package she holds in her hand. You barely have the chance to read the label before she tears the box open. With new sterile gloves, she sets the multi-colored, silicon inserts, which one more colorful than the last, on the table.

Mesmerized, you stare at the five rod-like devices, each longer, and thicker than the previous, yet all share the same rounded tip.

Before you can ask what they are, Wanda explains Natasha’s upcoming process or inserting the ‘vaginal dilators’ in rounds. You nod, but give your verbal approval when Wanda raises her eyebrows at you.

Finding her familiar spot, Natasha settles between your legs holding the smallest dilator in her hand.

She’s quick, mindful of time, she most likely has another appointment.

You gasp when she pushes the smallest dilator past your entrance. The stretch is minimal, almost non-existent.

The strong and bracing hold on the table loosen when you realize this is much easier.

Whispers are shared between the two scholars as they make the decision to up the stakes, switching to the second smallest.

There’s a sting when Natasha pushes it in. Your chest rises then falls when you feel the base press against your clit.

Despite this only be the second round, there is a fluttering feeling in your lower stomach. Experimentally, Natasha pulls out a few inches, then pushes it back inside you.

“Oh!”

Protected by your gown, Natasha’s smirk is hidden, but Wanda’s isn’t.

”Too much?”

“N-no, I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Instead of replying, Wanda hands Natasha the third dilator, taking back the glistening second.

The third one comes with a stretch. The blunt tip is pressed into your hole, but hardly budges, similar to the speculum.

Peeking down, you watch Wanda staring between your legs and Natasha’s curls bounce when she tilts her head towards you.

The gasp that falls past your lips is loud, your moan is even louder.

Following Natasha’s silent orders, Wanda presses her thumb on your clit. The embarrassment that floods your veins is replaced with pleasure as she rubs meticulous circles on your swollen clit.

Taking advantage of the pleasure that seeps through your veins, Natasha shoves the third inside. The two redheads watch as your walls clench uncontrollably around the thick dilator. The base glistens, similar to the two previous ones, with your wetness.

It feels like hours before Natasha makes the decision to try the fourth dilator.

Same as the large speculum, you get nowhere.

The pleasure fades and is replaced with pain once more.

“I can’t- hurts again.”

Another silent conversation is shared between the medical professionals. Wanda makes her way to the corner of the room, busy searching for something. As a way to distract you, Natasha’s hands sliding her hands up and down your inner thighs, almost in a soothing manner.

It works because you barely notice Wanda reappear between your thighs. Whatever she found is past to Natasha and you swear you hear a finger flicking thin glass.

“Okay, we are going to try that last thing I mentioned before, okay?”

“Yes, Natasha.”

”You’ll feel a small pinch,” she squeezes the meaty part of your inner thighs before continuing, “but we will give it a couple minutes to kick in and everything should feel better.”

You whisper a soft ‘okay’ and that’s when you see it, a large needle in Natasha’s gloved hand.

“Eyes on me,” Wanda calls as the needle disappears between your legs, “This is just going to make you feel relaxed. Your muscles will loosen up, some people say it makes them feel numb. It’s temporary and will allow for Dr. Romanoff to perform her routine check-up.”

You only nod then wince when you feel a painful poke which triggers immediate tears.

“You said a small pinch.”

”I’m sorry, did that hurt?” Natasha’s voice is taunting and dark as she smiles at your glossy eyes.

“That hurt a lot.”

”Promise the rest won’t hurt. Might feel good.”

Her sudden suggestive tone makes you look at the nurse who only shrugs playfully.

“How does that feel?”

Clueless, you look down at the woman between your legs, “Feel what?”

The three of you share a soft laugh, a laugh that’s cut short when you see Natasha reach for the fourth dilator.

Little do you know, the resistance that was there before is gone.

The stretch is painless as Natasha slowly pushes it inside, testing to see how your body accepts it.

It’s silly, how the pain is gone with the help of the relaxant.

Although you wouldn’t describe the feeling as numb, there is no discomfort, only pressure.

“You okay?” Wanda asks, looking at your furrowed brow.

“Uh-yeah. Just feels weird.”

Not only do you feel it, but you hear it.

Sounds of your wetness fills the room as Natasha thrusts the dilator inside you. You watch as fascination fills both Wanda’s and Natasha’s eyes. Even more so, when Natasha replaces the dilator with three of her fingers.

As if your wetness wasn’t loud enough, it’s even louder now. Like your body, despite not feeling most of the pleasurable sensation, is retailating to her touch, leaking at the act of her curling her fingers.

You wait for either of them to address it, but are only met with praise.

“Very good,” Natasha mumbles softly.

“Much better now, huh?”

You nod in agreement, dropping your jaw when you see Natasha stretch her glistening fingers to Wanda’s mouth.

You watch, mortified, as Wanda’s tongue peeks out just seconds before her lips wrap around Natasha’s dripping fingers. You don’t know what you’re expecting, but you most certainly do not expect her to hum and rush to jot down her notes on your file.

Similar to her nurse, Natasha hums rather loudly at your taste.

Your gown has found its new home bunched around your hips, giving you the perfect view of the doctor who stares between your legs, lost in deep thought.

Her fingers dip inside you once more, getting another taste, she hums again, scribbling the words ‘tastes sweet’ next to Wanda’s vulgar words.

Finishing with their notetaking, Wanda moves to point, “Doctor, what about this area, here?”

Pointing to the bud that sits, swollen, begging for more attention, Natasha is quick to follow. With her gloves soaked with her spit and your wetness, her fingers almost slip over your clit making you jump.

“Oh, looks like the injection didn’t work here,” Natasha pouts with deceptive tone. Still she rubs her thumb over your clit, making your eyes roll back and your mouth fall open. “Sensitive, huh? But that doesn’t seem to be a problem.”

Her words barely register in your head as you struggle against the tight straps pinning you down, suddenly realizing what position you’re in. The pressure between your legs builds rapidly.

Panic starts to set when you hear the wet noises paired with Wanda’s encouraging words.

“She’s so wet.”

Your whole body rocks with each thrust of your doctor’s fingers, jolting at every circle she rubs on your sensitive clit. It’s too much.

“Too much? If I didn’t know any better I’d say she’s a whore.”

You shake your head at Natasha’s words, pleading for her to stop, just to give you a second to gather yourself.

“Look here, she can’t even control it.”

You can’t bear it. The way the two woman have no shame in disregarding your begs.

“Wanda?”

”Yes, Doctor?”

“Bring over a mirror,” with a mocking tone she continues, “and bring a tissue for your sweet patient.”

Naively, you mistake her words for love, sniffling your tears and look at her as if she offered the world and Wanda was the one to give it.

Her touch is gentle as she dabs away your tears, shushing you softly until your heart rate goes back to normal. Assessing your calm nerves, Wanda follows the doctor’s next order, holding a round mirror just above her curls - giving you the perfect view of yourself.

You watch, in real time, Natasha’s fingers shove inside you, not three but four of her fingers. You see the way your body reacts to her touch, to the stretch. Your hole strains to fit them.

Again you watch your hole clench involuntarily around nothing when she pulls her fingers out. Wearing the same face of fascination, you stare at your gaping hole. A sinful view that only makes you want to shut your legs.

“Nowhere to hide,” Natasha tuts when you strain against your restraints. “Just look at how pretty you are and come for me.”

Before you can ask her what she’s talking about, her fingers slide inside you. Her other free hand rubs firm circles on your clit that has your body jerking once more, chasing the pleasure.

Without knowing, your eyes fall shut from the overwhelming feeling in your lower belly. As a result a firm slap lands on your clit, “Eyes on the mirror.”

The heat and pressure grow as Wanda whispers encouraging words, urging you to let go, humming on how you’re such a good patient, so good at following orders as you whisper a soft, ‘Yes, Natasha.’

You see Natasha’s fingers curl faster, watching as a clear liquid squirts onto her palm. Finally getting the reaction she wants, Natasha praises you.

“Come on, sweetheart, you can do it.”

Masking her order as encouragement you’re forced to listen. She holds all the power, she’s the one calling the shots.

Nodding your head you try your best to listen, but it’s not enough. As if Wanda can read your mind, she whispers something short in Natasha’s ear. As a result, the view of yourself is blocked by her curls. 

Innocent eyes search for Wanda’s, yearning for her gentle comfort. 

Like the good nurse she is, she drops the mirror and goes by your side. Her fingers intertwine with yours as the pleasure builds. 

This time a loud moan escapes your lips when you feel Natasha’s lips wrap around your clit. She’s brutal. Laps her tongue on your clit without warning, desperately seeking out your orgasm. 

The heavy coil threaten to release as expert fingers repeatedly hit the sweet spot inside you. Pressing against the spot that triggers more tears to paint your cheeks. 

“I’m gonna come!”

Her tongue only perfects her rhythm, rolling over your throbbing clit, teasingly letting her teeth join the mix. Looking down you see the hunger in her eyes, craving everything she’s forcing you to give her.

With a sob you whine Wanda’s name, you’re not sure what for, but she seems to know the answer. 

A soothing hand is pressed against your cheek and Wanda tilts your head to face her. Just as you’re about to give your doctor a second warning, Wanda’s lips press against yours. 

The kiss is messy, her tongue moves like Natasha’s. Licking at your lips, pressing against your drooling tongue, sucking it into her mouth with a soft moan. Spit dribbles on your chin, it’s exotic and has you falling off the edge.

Your thighs shake within the constraints, your pussy clenches around Natasha’s latex-covered fingers that still expertly curl inside you. The coil snaps and you spill onto her tongue, so much you drip between your thighs and onto the floor. 

“Such a sweet girl.”

It’s hard to ride out your orgasm, panting into Wanda’s mouth, your hips stay in place - still they try their best to squirm away from Natasha’s torture. Maybe if you play nice.

”Thank you, doctor.”

Your thanks fall repeatedly past your lips, a beg for her to stop, to pull away from between your legs. Tuckered out, you collapse onto the table. 

Oh, you are quite the sight. 

Your pussy is drenched, inner thighs glisten under the harsh light above. Your chin is wet with a combination of yours and Wanda’s spit, and your eyes flutter close as the wave of exhaustion hit you.

You don’t know when your eyes fell shut, but your attention is back on the woman when you feel the straps loosen. The skin that was bounded is decorated with indents of the buckles that held you down. Knackered, you make no move to cover yourself, make no move to stand.

“Is that usually what happens during your routine check ups?”

Your serious question is answered with a serious tone, “Always.”

“When you’re ready you can schedule you next appointment with Wanda at the front desk.”

You felt it before you saw it, and when you did see it, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. It was the embodiment of all your nightmares and grievances, slowly reaching out like black ink soaking up the room in a void. Your void. 

Your first instinct was to run, avoid it, hide from it. 

But some part of you knew it was futile. That this darkness you somehow knew so well, would not stop until it ate up every single aspect of you. 

So you grabbed your phone and dialed a number—Bucky’s number. You watched the darkness spread through the apartment you and Bucky shared, inching back into the next room as you listened to the ringing of his absence. 

You hoped at the very least you’d hear his voice through voicemail. But you didn’t. Your phone went black and clattered to the ground as you splashed into nothing more but a shadow on the floor. 

You awoke to your own reflection, but not the one you’ve come to know. It was devoid of the light you worked so hard on getting. 

You remembered these mirrors. They surrounded you at every angle in the shape of a large cold room—a ballet studio. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed incessantly, all but the one hovering above you. You lingered in the dark alone. 

“Hold it! You mustn’t falter even for a second.” 

Instincts surged through your body as you whipped around, seeing two new figures in the room. You were so much younger with so much fear painted in your eyes. Your body shook and tears began to fall down your cheeks, terrified to drop from your position in fear of meeting the sharp edge of your instructor's blade. It was positioned right under your thigh, barely even grazing your skin. 

“Your emotions are pathetic.” 

You were only six. 

“Your body is pathetic.” 

You were malnourished. 

“You are the weakest in your class, you will not survive long.” 

You endured 24 more years in the Red Room. 

A force possessed you, pushing your feet closer to the memory you’ve succeeded in evading for so long. You watched as your instructor lifted the blade at an angle, slashing and grazing your skin. 

Younger-you might not have moved but you did. In a moment of impulse, you pushed between yourself and your instructor, shoving them away wordlessly with tears in your eyes. 

In the seemingly endless numbers of times you’ve relived this dream, it never happened like this. It almost offered you a sense of justice. 

Almost. 

In just a blink, your instructor stood in front of you, charging now at you with their blade. You tried to fight but it was fruitless. Before you realized it, you were being shoved through the glass of the mirror and into cold, wet water. 

You were drowning. 

Some part of you wanted to. 

How easy it would be to just let your body go limp, give into the darkness and just give up. 

But it wasn’t that easy.

It was never that easy. 

A force pushed you out of the water, shoving you into the memory of your surroundings. It was the woods you grew up in. The tiniest ounce of freedom restricted by the threat of death or any worse punishment. 

You were on the shore of a lake whose image you yearned to forget. 

A whistle blew, echoing through the forest and ringing forever in your ears. From the other end, you can see more figures, gathering around the two who just jumped in. The top of their class—you and Anya Petrov, a girl you’ve come to know well. 

You began to run as you watched the two swim in competition to the other, chasing after a flag planted in the center. 

“No!” Your voice was loud and raw, but no one turned to you. Everyone watched as the two neared closer, you clearly in the lead. 

You didn’t know what you’d accomplish by running, but you never stopped until you saw yourself grab that flag and hold it high in the sky. 

You knew what came next. 

So you ran. 

Into the freezing forest, ignoring the cold you’ve become accustomed to. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t escape the gun shot that deafened everything. 

When you turned around, you saw younger-you, watching as Anya’s body floated limp in the water, surrounded by the scarlet hues of your success. 

You were frozen to the place you stood, unable to move, barely able to breathe. You could only crumple to the ground as your knees gave in below you. 

Maybe if you stayed still and gave up, it would all go away. You’d be at peace in the pain and learn to grow numb to it again. Maybe if you forgot the world, the world would forget you. 

But it didn’t want to forget you. Not this world at least. The world crafted by your void. 

The darkness of the shadows grew darker, larger. Like talons, it reached out for you, slowly but surely. At first you didn’t fight it, but when it grabbed you so harshly and began to drag you across the snow, you clawed for anything in your reach. 

You should’ve learned by now that fighting the darkness didn’t do anything. Running from the darkness wouldn’t do anything. You were alone. You were never going to win. Maybe you never will. 

No matter how hard you fought it, it still dragged you down into the hole at the trunk of a tree. Dragging you into another forgotten remnant of the past. One shoved down so deep, you barely recognized it at first glance. 

It was a simple room. 

No tests. No lakes. No mirrors. No knives. Just you and a box of files. A very large box of files. 

You remembered this moment, the moment you wanted to forget the most. It was recent, only 2017. You were free now because of Yelena Belova. You could do whatever you want—breathe air, find a home, live a life that is your own. 

But instead you were in your small newly acquired apartment with so many files. Files with your name on them. 

Each one of them held at least a quarter dozen people. Women and men alike, no matter what age, they all had ‘Terminated’ written over their information in big red letters. 

You tried to count how many were in the box. How many lives and how much blood was on your hands. But it was too much. 

You lost count. 

You watched over your own shoulder, numb as the pages flew by. You knew what was coming next, who was coming next. 

The pages stopped on a woman. She was young and beautiful. A scientist and clearly very brilliant in her field. You watched as recognition sparked in your eyes. 

The woman's eyes, her smile, even the crinkle in her nose. It mirrored yours perfectly. Like a reflection that only showed your sins. 

You couldn’t bear to sit and wait for your reaction as the horror sank in. You left your side and found a door. Closing the door so gently, you let yourself slide down the door and onto the ground as the echoes of your sobs rattled the walls. 

“No more,” you begged, plugging your ears. “Make it stop, please make it stop.” 

The darkness never stops. It only fades. 

You don’t know when it happened or how, but when you opened your eyes again, you were on the floor of you and Bucky’s apartment. 

Your phone was ringing. With shaking hands, you reached for it. 

“Hello?” Your voice felt like it should have been sore and raw, but it wasn’t. 

“What the hell is going on?” 

You had never been so thankful to hear the sound of Sam’s voice. 

“I leave you and Bucky alone for one minute and suddenly there’s a black ink spreading across the whole city and something about The New Avengers.”

“...what are you talking about?” 

“It’s all over the news.” 

You hear Sam’s voice continue on through the phone, but it’s all static to you as you flip the TV back on, finding a news channel where Bucky stood next to Yelena and a few others you couldn’t focus enough on to recognize. You hadn’t even realized that Sam was calling your name. 

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” 

You heard him pause, taking a deep breath. “Are you okay?” His voice lost his aggression and demand, heavy in vulnerable worry. 

You hated it. “I have to go.” 

You don’t know how long you sat there, watching staring at the television. You were lost in your own mind and spiraling thoughts. You only felt afraid and numb and afraid of anything that came to interrupt the numbness. 

Your fear ate at you, driving you to reach for your gun when you heard the jiggle of your door not—your gun that you no longer carried. 

When the door finally burst open, it was like the white light at the end of a neverending, blackened tunnel. Bucky. 

He spoke no words, only engulfing you in an embrace so tight. His left arm wrapped around your waist, the other finding solace in cradling your head so carefully. 

“Thank god,” he uttered into your forehead, as he kissed it, grounding himself into you. “I didn’t know wh–I couldn’t tell.” He let out a final breath. “Thank god you're safe.” 

You wished you could melt into his embrace like you always did. You wanted to as he held you so close, your hand finding his chest and feeling his steady heartbeat. But you couldn’t. Your body tensed uncontrollably. Just as it did so many years before. Something you had to unlearn with him. Something you relearned so easily. 

You wanted to cry. 

But no tears fell. 

You could only let yourself be embraced by him and comfort him. 

“Are you okay,” he asked eventually. 

The two of you were in bed now, side by side on the edge after he explained the surreal events that unfolded in so few hours. 

You smiled softly, your hand finding the turn of his jaw and cupping it. You prayed he couldn’t feel the way your fingers quivered. “As long as you’re here, I’m okay.” 

You brought your lips to his, kissing him tenderly in hopes he didn’t see the lie streaking across your face. 

You awoke, not with a startled gasp, but with silent tears in your eyes and the echoing screams of all the innocents haunting your dreams. 

The feeling snuck up on you again. The cold, dark, hopelessness you faced today. But no dark void reached out of the shadows for you. It was only the void your mind created to punish and isolate you. It was working. 

With a ragged sigh, you slipped past Bucky’s embrace, ashamed that you were selfish enough to leave him on a night he could finally find sleep in a bed instead of the floor. 

You wanted nothing more than to climb into that bed with him, forget all of your worries and let them fade into his embrace. But the darkness didn’t work like that. Not to you. 

It would only infect him. 

You couldn’t do that. Not when he’s come so far. 

So you excused the room and let yourself haunt the halls and stalk into the kitchen. 

Your movements were numbing and monotonous. Like a routine. Open the cabinet. Grab a glass. Close the cabinet. Get water. 

You don’t even remember doing these actions, only the empty taste of water on your lips. 

You were content with staying in the room, letting the silence be just silence around you. But the silence grew loud. It screamed at you, called your name. Layering voices on top of another. The voice of your instructor, the voice of Anya, your mother, glass shattering. 

You didn’t even realize you dropped your cup until the glass came splashing up at your legs. No matter how careful you were with the shards, it was useless. You only kept cutting yourself as you reached for the next and failed. 

“Doll, stop it, stop it.” 

You didn’t even realize you had woken him up. You didn’t want him to see you like this, a never ending flow of tears running down your cheeks as you now cried so openly. You had been vulnerable with Bucky before, but not like this. You let him in a little at a time, never all at once. 

“I was doing so well. I sto-I stopped thinking about it, everything I’ve done. Every they–” 

Your breathing became uncontrollable now, your voice scratched up and raw. 

“I thought I was done James,” you finally released with a sob. “Why can’t I be done?” 

All of the pain, the hurting, the anguish. It all came out in that moment with nowhere else to go. You shoved it down so much that it could only ever explode, taking you with it. 

You expected the worst from Bucky. For him to grab you by the forearms and tell you to suck it up and push it back in. For him to leave you in your own shattered glass and close the door behind him. You didn’t expect him to take you in his arms. 

His hold was different now. Gone was his tight, impossible squeeze. It was replaced with this, a hold so gentle yet firm. It was a hold that said he understood. 

“There’s no such thing as done.” His words were slow, a mere whisper as he pieced them together meticulously. “You have to carry it. Forever. You can’t get rid of it, no matter how hard you try. No matter how deep you bury it. Your mind will always know what you try to hide.” 

You felt the wet tears he shed falling onto you. You felt the dampness of his shirt as you clutched it, afraid he’d disappear. You felt it all as the two of you cried together. 

“But…you don’t have to carry it alone. You never have to carry it alone. It may be your past, but it is not your burden to bear. But you need to open up. Let me in. ” Once more, your hand found his chest, sitting right over his heart as you felt the rhythm of his heart, reminding you not only that he was alive, but that he was here with you. You weren’t alone. Not anymore.

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@casp1an-sea

Bonus piece posted here: light in the dark