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meatonfork · 1 day ago

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Sleep, Honey

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x new avenger!reader

warnings: none I think. :)

word count: 2.9k

a/n: hi guys! I know it's been a FAT minute oops. this has been a wip for a bit haha. I hope you really enjoy! thanks for having me back! feel free to give me feedback seeing as i've been away for literally a year lololol. also, I MIGHT open my requests. but I am a very busy body haha

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A silent gasp tore from your throat as you sat up in bed at lightning speed, quick breaths taking over shortly. The soft blankets that covered your form sank down to pool around your waist, the leftover fabric tangled around your legs from your constant tossing and turning. Wild eyes staring into the distance, your hands shakily pushed the stray hairs that threatened to enter your mouth out of your face. The body next to you only moving from soft breaths that tug at their chest.

A quick look to your nightstand proved that you would, reluctantly, need to get out of bed to soothe your dry throat. Your hands pushed back the blankets with a soft nudge, and your sock covered feet gently plopped on the floor as you willed yourself to get up. The lack of fabric on your form prompted goosebumps to prickle your skin from the thin sheen of sweat that accumulated during your fitful attempt at rest.

The kitchen was quiet, only the soft patter of your feet sounded with your uneven and sleep riddled steps, and you quietly opened a cupboard above the sink to grab a glass. With a sigh, you dragged a shaky hand down your face, willing the thoughts racing through your head to just shut up.

They only crept in when you were comfortable. Finally settled into a routine. When you found your footing and allowed yourself to rest. When the sharp aching in your bones let up, and your muscles relaxed with the familiar burn of tension finally released. When your open wounds were turned to jagged, shiny scars that raised on your otherwise soft skin. It was unfair, you decided long ago, but life always proved to be. Constantly fighting for comfortability that never comes. Long days, and even longer nights. The washing machine eating your socks. Someone eating the last fruit snack and leaving the empty box in the pantry, only for you to find it and throw it away yourself with barely contained rage. Although, you should’ve been used to it long ago, the fitful nights and drenched sheets proved you wrong time and time again. Like a never ending cycle of memories you weren’t quite sure were actually memories, or something your mind made up to torture you again. The edges of them foggy, but the whole image clear enough to seem valid. Tangible. Real. Almost like the camera didn’t have enough time to focus before being forced to take the picture anyway.

You moved to the couch, your sweats slightly bunched at your ankles, laying on your side. Finally having chugged the glass of water and throat a little refreshed. Fatigue pulled at you, a war waging behind your eyes. To sleep, or not to sleep? Your eyes settled on a spot on the wall. Small pictures made with the uneven paint job Valentina couldn’t be bothered to have fixed. Because ‘who stares at walls close enough to see the bumps in the paint?’ You, apparently. In your peripheral, you caught sight of one of Bob’s many books dogeared and laid haphazardly on the coffee table next to John’s funny hat he insisted was cool. Teetering on falling off, but placed carefully enough to balance on the edge. Your mind went blank, and legs stretched along the cushions. Hair a little messy from where your head settled on a stray throw pillow you deemed worthy of supporting your weight. The fabric was kind of scratchy, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care enough to switch it out for one of the softer ones Ava insisted on having. The only light came from the moon peeking through large windows to your right. Floor to ceiling, and the faint sound of horns honking drifted your way. Not that you paid any mind to the disturbances on the streets below. In fact, you paid no mind to anything.

Until something blocked the view of the wall across the room from your unwavering eyes. You blinked, willing your eyes to meet those of the figure that had deemed the staring contest you had with the wall was pointless (you were winning). Blue met you head on. Nothing but sleep and concern swimming in them. HIs hand twitched a little at his side. Unsure if he should reach out, or stay in place.

“You okay?” His voice was soft, as it usually was when he addressed you. He never talked louder than deemed necessary when it was just the two of you. The valued silence was common between you. Never a push or shove to speak unless wanted. Comfortable in the unspoken, lingering silence. You weren’t loud, and he wasn’t unless he was talking to John or Alexie. He greeted the silence with open arms until you were ready to actually face what you were feeling. Because if you voiced it out loud, that meant it was real. And sometimes you didn’t know if you were ready for it to be something that could potentially be thrown back in your face, or something you couldn’t take back. You were more than well aware that your new team had their fair share of issues. And every single one of you knew and respected each others’ boundaries. But there was always that irrational fear, that if you let your thoughts finally take flight from your tongue, you’d face scrutiny. That was just something you didn’t think you could handle. The control of pace was nice, and made you feel a sense of foundation in your otherwise shaky mental state. And, in turn, you provided the same. It was the least you could do. With him - with all of them, you had a mutual understanding of spiralling. But Bucky? He knew what having your control stripped away into total helplessness felt like.

You gave a noncommittal shrug, it was awkward and uncomfortable with your shoulder digging into the cushions below you, but it got the point across nonetheless.

He let out a soft hum, lips pressed into a thin line, shifting his feet slightly before he reached a cold hand down to tap your arm. A signal to sit up so he could sit where your head had been laying. He moved the scratchy pillow and his body lowered to sit there before he patted his lap that was covered in sweatpants to let you know you were free to lay back down. You took him up on his offer with no hesitation. As you settled against his thigh, he reached his arm back, metal plates whirring lightly, and grabbed the soft throw blanket that was nestled against the back of the couch (thank you Alexie), and threw it over your form.

After he saw fit that the blanket was in the correct position, that same hand rested on your arm. Soft circles were lightly pushed into your plush skin, as his other, warmer, hand found purchase in your hair. Fingers thread through the unruly strands and lightly scratched at your scalp. The action, he learned long ago, was a sure fire way to help you calm down. To help chase away the rampant thoughts that bounced around in that pretty head of yours. He’d do it endlessly if it brought you even a lick of comfort. He was selfless like that, and you would forever treasure him for it.

Bucky felt your muscles relax under his touch as a soft sigh escaped your slightly parted lips. You threw an arm over his lap, trying to hug him closer. In turn, he gave your bicep a little squeeze. Grounding. Letting you know, ‘hey, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.’

“Do you want to talk about it?” He never stopped the ministrations of his fingers tugging lightly at your disheveled strands. Bucky’s hands only ever touched you with the utmost amount of care. Never angry or brash. Gentle touches to your lower back just above your waistband, fleeting brushes to your arm, a wrist held with such mindless care it nearly brought tears to your eyes. An arm thrown over your side as you lay next to him. Featherlight kisses pressed to your forehead, wrist, cheek, lips, you name it. If there was skin, he was kissing it. You could only recall a handful of times he had a stronger force behind his touch. Almost always on a mission when he had to tug you back with a force unmatched compared to those you fought, his eyes wild and lips barely parted as heavy breaths escaped his lungs. Shaky hands pushing into your flesh to slow the flow of blood with furrowed brows and curses reaching your ears through the brain fog. Picking you up as you inevitably fell as you dodged impending doom. Rushed movements in the bedroom beneath sheets, though, were more common. But, even in those dire moments, his touch was never angry or rough. And it never would be. He made sure of that.

You’d endured a menacing touch too many times by the hands of others. Evil imbedded in your skin in the form of bruising, scarring, and little knicks littering your skin. Even worse, the cracks in your mind. Splintered by untrue words, harsh actions, and even harsher punishments. But, never by him. Never. It was his own personal mission to remind you that touch didn’t always have to be something associated with pain. You’d done the same for him, he was just making sure to return the favor with soft, lingering touches full of nothing but love and adoration.

You set aside time within your own struggles to remind him of the same. A touch to his arm when you laughed so sweetly he swore his heart would beat straight out of his chest. A brush of your fingers over his cheek, straightening his jacket when it was shuffled. A kiss to a bandaged wound. Lips ghosting over exposed skin as you said rushed goodbyes. Fingers dragging through his hair as you lounged in the comfort of a secluded space, your nails lightly scratching at his scalp while your other hand helped you talk animatedly about anything that came to mind. Hands running up and down his bare sides as you whispered soft words meant only for him to hear. Fingers dancing where metal met skin, soft touches making him shiver in the best ways. Reaching for him unconsciously in your sleep only to subconsciously bury yourself in his chest, almost wanting to wear him as a second skin. He’d laugh when your hair tickled his bare skin, pulling a giggle out of your own mouth. A hand on his shoulder telling him to wait for the signal. You took care of each other. An unspoken agreement that the two of you had come to after years of knowing each other.

“I’m just so tired, Buck. I’m tired of trying to understand if what I see is real or not. It waits until I’m okay. It's not fair.” Your voice was soft, void of tears, but a slight tremble took action. He knew better than anyone else what you meant. Better than anyone you knew. He went through it time and time again. Truly saw you for all the depth you offered, and took it with stride. Bucky never feared your lows, or your abrupt awakenings. He held you through them. His hands would brush back your hair, and his lips would find purchase on the crown of your head as he pulled you closer, soft assurances muttered into your scalp.

His brows furrowed as a frown took over his features. Lips pursed, and understanding filled his eyes. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” And he did. His dreams often were plagued with the memories he too was not sure were real. But, they sure felt real. They were so real, he came to the conclusion to assume they were fact until proven otherwise. He would seek you out with the question, “Did this really happen? Yes, or no?” Pulling you closer, as if you were never close enough. And, if you knew the answer, you’d give him the truth. The thought of lying to Bucky had never crossed your mind. You told each other the truth. Always. Plus, you both had a tell. There was no use in even trying to lie to each other. You’d both know. Why try to hide something from someone who knew your soul inside and out like they created it themselves? Like they built the very structure that made you the person you were brick by brick.

You didn’t expand further, you didn’t need to. He understood. Almost too well. The silence dragged until he finally spoke, “Do you want to go back to bed?” His hand still buried deep in your roots.

“No. Can we stay here?” Your voice a whisper, but you might as well have been shouting with how quiet the room was.

“Of course, honey. C’mon,” Bucky shifted his body to lay against the cushions horizontally as he moved you to lay atop him. Your head flush against his chest as his chin found home on top of it. His arms curled around your back and shifted the blanket to lay properly on both your forms, one hand coming back to your hair as the other rubbed soothingly up and down your back in slow, steady strokes. Warmth immediately engulfed you both as you laid there. Breaths brushed over each as he fought to find words. Your body went fully slack against his with a sigh, and Bucky would never dream of complaining. It was one of his most favorite feelings. It let him know you were still there, still with him despite it all.

His chest rumbled under your cheek as he spoke, “Why didn’t you wake me, hmm? Woke up and you weren’t there. Scared me.” He wasn’t mad. He couldn’t recall a time he was truly mad at you without fear being at the forefront of his turmoil.

“‘M sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you. I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping. Plus, you can’t nag me for this. You’re a hypocrite if you continue,” a soft chuckle slipped past your lips and you settled further into his sturdy frame. His breaths gently raised you up and back down again.

“True,” a puff of amusement left him, “but, don’t apologize. I want you to wake me. I don’t care what time it is, honey. I only want to help you. You deserve help, even if your stubborn ass doesn’t want it.” He lightly pinched your side, eliciting a slight yelp from you as you shifted away from his teasing touch. A smile tugged at his lips knowing you were okay. Okay enough to still tease, to laugh a little.

“Only if you do the same,” you retorted sassily, “I mean it, Buck. Wake me up. I want you to rely on me when you want- need it. You need sleep too, you know. And, even if I’m struggling, I want to be someone you can turn to.” You softened. Your hand lightly ran up side, fingers brushing exposed skin from where his shirt had risen in your shuffle of positions trying to get comfortable. He let out a hitched breath as a shiver overtook his frame. Your touch always did something to him, and he loved it.

“Of course you are, don’t ever think you’re not.” His voice was firm, but gentle. Bucky tilted his head to meet your eyes. Nothing but honesty shone through his irises, and you held no doubt he meant every word.

You could only nod in agreement before pressing a soft, yet firm and lingering kiss to his lips. Your breath mingling with his. He let out a hum of satisfaction before you were shifting to rest against him again. “Deal,” the word slipped past your lips in a whisper.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart, I’m right here. You’re okay. You’re safe.” His lips moved against your hair as he spoke, hands still rubbing your back and the warmth of his breath met the top of your head. “And I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Your eyes closed, fatigue winning for the time being, “You too, Buck. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.” He all but whispered.

You were safe. You’d never been in a safer place than against his form. And if you woke throughout the night, Bucky was right there to help guide you back to sleep. Groggy words and hushed whispers. Soft, reassuring touches on skin.

And if Yelena and Bob took a dozen pictures in the morning with aggressively hushed squeals and featherlight slaps to each other's arms, only the group chat would know until you woke to numerous notifications of messages and reactions to each picture from John lighting up your lock screen. And if Bucky had saved them all to his camera roll with a faux scowl on his face, that was for him to know and only him to know.

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