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what would a bat do | jason todd blurb

or jason finds you crying and decides to shoot first and ask questions later. gn!reader a/n: could be read as romantic or platonic

Jason is a lot like Bruce. He does not see this as a positive.

To be fair, "You're acting like Bruce" is the verbal equivalent of hitting below the belt for him and his siblings. Being compared to your parent is a devastating below in any sibling argument, but with their...respectively unique relationships with Bruce, it's downright lethal. Especially for Jason, who still hasn't found complete security with their father.

So, Jason only compares himself to Bruce with blinders on. He does it every time he snaps at someone just to get them off his case. He cringes every time he decides to go off the grid and shut everyone out instead of confronting his feelings. "You're acting like Bruce" echoes in his head as he draws a mental Venn diagram and desperately fills the opposing sides.

The worst is when he catches his reflection glowering back at him; if he had a nickel for every time he mistook it for Bruce sneaking up on him…

He only sees his father in himself when he's angry. When he's so blinded by the nauseating need for vengeance that the line between Hood and Bat start to blur. When all he can see is the mission. When he realizes just how much he’s chosen to isolate himself.

One of the reasons he hides as much of his face as possible is because then no one can tell him he looks just like a bat when he bares his teeth. He wears his emotions on his sleeve instead of leaving it to anyone's guess. He makes absolutely sure that there's no mistaking him for Batman.

All of this to mixed results, of course.

Because despite all of his valid issues with Bruce, deep down Jason knows that Bruce Wayne is still a good man.

And although he doesn’t quite realize it, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to admit that Bruce Wayne raised Jason Todd to be a good man.

Bruce is why Jason always holds the door open for the person behind him. Every time Jason buys a coffee, he pays for the next handful of customers, something he consistently watched Bruce do. Whenever a child talks to him, Jason always crouches to their eye level…that’s Bruce too.

That’s not to give Mr. Wayne too much credit. Jason Todd has had a good heart from the moment he was born. He never needed anyone to tell him to leave the world a better place than he found it. Just because he has an anomalous method of doing so doesn’t make that any less true.

But there are certain things, instincts, that Bruce cemented in his mind. Like knowing when to ask questions first and when to ask them later.

Like when he finds you crying just now.

He’d sent you a text earlier in the day. Something completely unrelated to your well being, something incredibly unimportant actually. Still, your lack of response made him anxious, so he went to check on you. Just to make sure you weren't, like, dead or something.

There's a split second of awkward silence as you both stare at one another. But you hardly have time to wipe your tears and blubber out, "Oh, hey, what's up," before Jason's engulfing you in a bear hug.

That's when you know you don't need to hold it together. That's when you know it's safe to completely fall apart.

Jason doesn't need to ask questions just yet. You don't need him asking questions. You both know he'll get answers, whether from you or his own investigation. For now he'll stay quiet, sans a few whispered comforts. He could try being a man of many words. He’s more than capable of waxing poetics. It’s just that he knows he can come across as mean and abrasive, even when he’s trying to be kind and soft.

Another way he’s like Bruce.

Nevertheless, he’s got two big strong arms that can speak for him. They’ve got you. They’ll protect you from whatever’s got you feeling like this.

One large hand anchors you to him. It holds you steady as your body shakes with sobs. The other cradles your head, every so often moving to pat your back whenever you hiccup.

You can hide your face in his chest. Ride along with the subtle rise and fall of it. Let the gentle sound of his heart beat drown out the sound of your stressors. He doesn’t care about the damp spot you’re leaving on his shirt. He just cares about you.

Jason is a rock, an absolute pillar of a human being. He can stand there for as long as you need. He can support your weight and hold you up if you’re too exhausted to do it yourself.

When you decide that you want to talk about it, then he tries to be all ears. He sits you on the couch and wraps an arm around you as you rest your head on his shoulder. Occasionally, his thumb drifts up to wipe your stray tears away.

He listens as best he can. He definitely would've dealt with your issue differently if he were you. In a different era, he would've let you know exactly what he would do - more likely, he would've just gone and done it for you. But he can recognize that this is probably a healthier way to deal with whatever upset you. And you know what, he can respect that too.

After you've vented until there's nothing left to say, Jason stays with you. It's that nagging voice that tells him that he has to make sure you're really okay, that you're not about to do something stupid as soon as he takes his eyes off you. After all, that's what he would do.

So he puts something on the tv. A show, a movie, a YouTube compilation, video essay - something he knows you like. He doesn't look away from you the entire time. He sits at the ready to catch any stray tears or soothe any sudden bursts of rage.

Until you fall asleep on his shoulder. He sits like that for another few minutes before he finally transfers you to your bed, tucking you in with so much care. The only sound he makes is a sharp gasp when he catches his reflection in your window.

Then he sits some more, still watching you closely. He watches until he's certain you're sound asleep, ignorant to the things that hurt you.

Then he slips out the window without a peep, off to get your justice.

That's exactly what Bruce would do.

Fic recs - oneshots

So I wanted to post some fic links since I got a very long list. Some of them are very well known but many deserve more attention. And I see people asking for recs in the tags all the time so I figured a few will like them.

[also I always like this kind of posts lol]

Like I said I have way too many links (last time I counted it was 200 but that was months ago...) so I'll make a couple of posts if anyone is interested.

also this is almost exclusively ghostsoap since those are the kind of oneshots I read, apparently.

Starting off with (some of the) sfw oneshots:

Peace by Metrokid - Ghost dies and has a chat with death (it ends up well dw!)

Pencil Scratches and Ink by Fluffykitty9000 - Ghost thinks Soap loves someone else and shuts him out; Soap thinks the worst.

A Lesson in Trust by mothbeast - Ghost never revealed his face to Soap and Soap feels hurt by it.

He has to Break by GalacticKraken - Ghost has to torture Soap in a mock interrogation, but he refuses to break.

(Don't) Need You to Protect Me by FreeToWriteForMe - Ghost is down, and Soap risks his life to save him. Ghost is pissed.

Beautiful Boy (To my eyes only) by Whyhellotherefriend - Ghost knew he was beyond the ability to be loved. When he starts pulling away, Soap has to do something.

You shine like the moon and the stars in the sky by C0nfused_cactus99 - Soap hasn't been sleeping much and after a mission gone wrong Ghost finds out why.

A Quiet Kind of Caring by bailish - Soap finds Ghost taken down with the flu, and feels the need to take care of him.

Broken Habits by bailish - Ghost finds Soap struggling with his greasepaint on his way to a mission, and decides to help.

Shadow of Him by goth_iterations - Ghost finds Soap's journal, and is pleasantly surprised at what he finds.

Grab On To Me by peachytea - 5 times Ghost grabbed Soap by his tac vest and 1 time Soap grabbed Ghost.

"Draw Me Like One Of Your French Girls" by SonTi - Ghost stumbles upon Soap drawing. The memory haunts him and he's intent to get to see it at least one more time (this isn't nsfw despite the title lol)

How dare you love me (like you've never known fear) by itwillcomeback (MandoKain) - 5 times Soap sang for others, and 1 time someone sang his own song back to him.

the broken dam & the starving hearts by iiruwu - Ghost has a bad habit of getting drunk and calling for Soap to take him home (this one is hurt no comfort btw)

Burn Bright by orphan_account - Ghost gets triggered in the shower after a mission, thankfully someone can always pull him out.

Place To Rest My Head by Louffox - Soap disappeared after an exhausting mission and Ghost went looking for him.

Slipping Up by ElizaStyx, starryathame - Soap gets drunk after a harrowing mission and accidentally confesses a bit too much to Ghost.

Warm Me to My Core by EmpressCirque - Soap and Ghost have to share body heat. Simon realizes he might love Johnny.

To be a Fire by Hallow_fiend - Soap and Ghost get sent into the heart of Siberia and have to face an enemy they can't fight alone.

Heatstroke Heartbreaks by Cutleryy - Soap gets attacked by dogs and Ghost and him have to face a sandstorm (this is technically one chapter but it's 20k words. Extremely good though)

Alright that's enough for one post, this is about half of them. If any of the links don't work or if anyone is interested in more, don't be afraid to say so!

Jason Todd with a gf who isn't good at replying to messages. It's not that you mean to be rude, it's just that you're busy and often you forget about the notification that only lights up your phone's screen for half a second. Besides, if what you're being sent are memes and random tiktoks, then those can wait. But when Jason Todd jumps into the picture? That habit of yours is a problem. At the beginning, you were on top of things, replying in a timely manner—then you got comfortable, and the habit crawled back into your life. The first time you let a message from Jason go unanswered for nearly an hour, you were left with your door hanging off by a single hinge, the wood splintered. You purse your lips together, watching the door sway precariously. Awkwardness bubbles inside your chest, though you're half-convinced it's more of the desperate urge to laugh at the ludicrous situation you're in.

Turning slowly to face Jason with your hands on your hips, you grimace at the tense line of your boyfriend's shoulders and the tightness around his mouth.

"Um...well," you clear your throat. "We know that the door isn't okay, but are...you...okay?" Jason's sigh is laced with a wariness that's bone-deep and you wince, face scrunching as regret stabs through you. You throw him an apologetic, weak smile. "Sorry..." It's safe to say that you put in the effort to consistently answer Jason's texts, purely because you'd rather like your door to remain intact, and to prevent your boyfriend from using his body as a battering ram to get into your apartment.

(And to dodge the long-winded, passionate lecture about how important it is for you to respond to him. It worries him, okay?)

Familiar Touches

These were meant to be short headcanons, but then I thought, what if I just kept talking ~1k words

Jason tends to find himself averse to touch. He curls away from pats to his shoulders, stiffens at nudges to his arms, or brushes against his sides. From family to friends, it takes a long time for him to learn to relax into hugs, to not expect a knife in the back the second he lowers his guard.

But none of this is true when it comes to you. You, he can't get enough of. You, who he tears down his walls for without a hint of regret. (Because any pain would be worth it, as long as he can stay near you)

Jason is still learning to soften his edges, to drain the tension from his shoulders even when the two of you are alone. But there's some things he's already learned to love, some things that he lets himself bask in. And, namely, it's your touch. He has his favorites, the moments he can't get enough of, even if he can't admit it outloud.

He revels in the times you thread your fingers through his hair, slowly and mindlessly scratching at the base of his scalp. You tangle your hand in his soft, unkempt locks, and if he's lucky, you'll lightly and thoughtlessly pull this way and that while you watch whatever's playing on the tv. He goes a little weak in the knees every time, especially if you start to try and twist the strands in short, messy braids.

He adores when you fidget with his hands, bending his fingers and tracing the lines of his palms as you talk. It sends shivers down his spine in a way he can't describe, makes his stomach flip, and his heart skip a beat.

It's just so you. He finds himself curling his fingers with yours all the time, just for the off chance it reminds you that you can fiddle with his hands, his clothes, his hair– anything that's his– whenever you want.

Jason's found that he's developed a soft spot for holding you– or being held by you, depending on the day. Really any form of being wrapped around each other works for him, but he loves hooking his arms around your waist and hiding his face in your chest, just blocking out the rest of the world with the sound of your heart beat.

He loves coming up behind you, dragging his lips from the spot behind your ear that makes your breath hitch to the base of your throat to suck a bruise over your pulse, all while having his arms wound tightly around your middle, keeping you against his chest while you laugh and squirm.

He melts, inside and out, when you settle in his lap or throw your legs over his, your weight welcomed and warm as he tries not to show just how much his eyes want to light up– all because you're near him. It's grounding, connecting, to have you so close.

He'll indulge himself, sometimes. Let his hands wander to the back of your thighs, knead his fingers on your calves, drag his palms over your sides, and just linger in the feel of your skin.

He loves it– loves you– especially when you're the one who initiates it, when you're the one who drapes yourself over him like he belongs to you. (Because he does)

He prolongs the moments where he can press his forehead to yours, close his eyes, and just breathe in time with the rise and fall of your chest. He holds his palms against your face, wonders if it's all a dream when your hands gently grab at his wrist, your thumbs moving rhythmically back and forth over his pulse.

Jason wants nothing more than to stay like that for the rest of his life, every nerve and every cell of his attuned to you and the way you press into him in return.

He's really not picky, when it comes to being able to touch you, to letting you touch him. He looks forward to it, cherishes the memories of your soft skin, and even softer smiles, especially when he's away from you and on patrol.

He smiles to thoughts of you tucking your hands in the pockets of his hoodies, claiming it's warmer this way. He softens at memories of you hooking his arm with yours, insisting it's only because if you slip on ice, then he's going down with you.

He savors every touch, every passing contact he has with you. But Jason does, if you pick and tease at him enough to get him to admit it, have a touch he prefers above all the others.

Kissing you, stealing the air from your lungs as your eyes flutter shut, is the touch that he can never get enough of. Your fingers fisted into his clothes, his hand on the small of your back, drawing you closer, closer, those are the times he treasures the most, the memories he holds so tightly in his heart.

Kissing you, so lost in the feel of your mouth slotted against his and the smell of your scent filling his senses, quickly becomes something he can't live without.

He's gotten good at stealing kisses, quick and no-so-quick moments where he can't tell where he ends, and you begin. He's gotten even better at convincing you to duck into alleys and closets with him, all for an extra minute to be pressed together, so lost in each other that nothing else seems to exist.

He's enamored by you– by all of it. He didn't know he could so easily lean into someone else's touch, find refuge in a hug or a fleeting brush of your fingers over his knuckles. But he knows now, knows that everything he's ever wanted– could ever need– all comes down to you and the way you hold him close. Like he's something worth keeping.

And at the end of it all, it's a feeling Jason wants to fight for, a dream he'll never stop chasing, a cherished moment he wants to hold in the palms of his hands for the rest of his days.

Gaz being Gaz

am i the asshole?

"AITA for...?"

a series where tsukishima kei asks reddit users for their opinions on his problems.

warnings: english is not my first language so there may be some mistakes lol, you can read this as a stand alone or as a series, eventual smut????, fluff, angst, aged-up tsukki!

part 1 "AITA for pushing my best friend away?"

part 2 “AITA for asking my girlfriend to be quieter during a practice match?”

part 3 ""AITA for "stealing" photo booth pictures from my girlfriend?"

part 4 "AITA for telling my girlfriend I want to be with her for the rest of my life over the phone?"

part 5 "AITA for saying my 5-year anniverary is just another day, making my girlfriend mad?" “Hey Reddit, an update”

part 6 "AITA for telling my pregnant wife she should start wearing maternity clothes?"

afternoon ノ dr.ratio . fem!reader

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 4.7k — vague description of comfy clothes with open buttons and lace ノ either early in the relationship or unspecified BUT with feelings — reader is just visiting ratio in his home ノ oral . both receiving ノ long foreplay . fingering ノ it is so messy and domestic ノ doing it raw . cumming inside ノ sappy and sweet dialogues here and there ノ love confessions during a rough fucking session yum! ノ fluff . comfort . smut — the full course :)

the golden rays of the afternoon sun filter through the linen drapes, casting a warm, ethereal glow upon the house.

the classy furniture and one rug, woven with intricate patterns and vibrant hues, add charm to the overall rather minimalistic interior. throughout the room, various relics and books, both old and freshly published, infuse the space with a sense of elegancy.

veritas ratio thinks you fit the imagery perfectly, finding you exactly where he expected you to be — on the plush cushions on the sofa, adorned with rich fabrics and delicate embroidery, beckoning to sink into their soft embrace. the gilded mirror reverses the soft light, casting a golden glitter on the place where you sit.

you notice him in the reflection before you turn to face him. he looks magnificent with that charming smile of his.

there is something about your appearance that catches his eyes too — perhaps the way the homey clothing falls over your lap or the loosely open buttons that bring attention to your chest? or maybe it’s the lace that hugs your curves.

whatever it is, the fact is that he has always thought you beautiful, even though he rarely compliments anyone. and now you appreciate the peaceful afternoon in his living room as if it was your own.

“hi… how’s work?” you ask to start the conversation.

“work? challenging. however, i would not engage in it if it were overly facile. i enjoy mental stimulation.” his voice sounds proud yet elegant, his figure confident. he stands up straight as a candle, while the back of his hand is close to his chin. appearing more like a statue than a human being.

“mhm… taking a break, then? to clear your mind?”

“yes, indeed. there is only one thing that can help me relax at this hour… that one activity i dearly love when time is in abundance…” his grin is soft and smug as he walks closer.

his approach does not scare you — in fact, it is rather endearing.

enough time for you to put down the book you were reading before he leans against the headrest and asks for your hand.

the contact makes you embarrassed. veritas ratio keeps smiling and leaves a sweet peck on your knuckles. another one on your wrist. and then on your forearm, travelling up along your body.

before you realise, he is already kissing you passionately and finds a way to touch your waist under the comfy clothes, tickling and teasing the skin. when it comes to your attitude, you get shy when he touches you like that — a contrast to his unwavering demeanour, how easily you sway under his confidence.

as his hands trail down, caressing you in sensitive spots and brushing against your thighs, his lips never stop tasting yours, occasionally drawing little patterns along your neck.

he likes you, loves you in some ways even, though it would require another page of explanations — sometimes he just wishes to make sure you know of his fondness, while using you to get rid of the stress that occupies his brain.

“may i touch you? will you spread your legs for me?” he murmurs with that haughty smile of his.

it feels weirdly empowering to hear him say something like that, especially knowing he isn’t used to asking others such questions. you do as he asked, letting veritas’ long fingers slip past the thin layers of fabrics.

you shiver with delight and anticipation as his cool digits press firmly onto your burning flesh. his palm shifts carefully, just barely, testing out what his moves have on you. his other one is resting on your chest, pressing your body deeper into the sofa and holding it still.

in no time, one finger parts your pussy apart and penetrates you in the most careful manner possible — it’s gentle, almost too cautious to be real, ensuring that he’s not setting a pace your body cannot match until you’re warm and wet.

“mmh… that’s an unusual way to rest from work. you’re still thinking too much, you know?” you say with a dreamy sigh, starting to enjoy all these little sparks he extracts from your insides.

veritas chuckles.

“indeed, i am. however, my thoughts now are focused solely upon pleasing you,” he answers. “i must say… i prefer this state of mind.”

you moan softly, but immediately feel ashamed of your reaction, as if it were inappropriate for such sounds to be voiced. veritas looks pleased, though, watching with intent as his digit slides further into your core, easier. you wish you could reach out to touch him in return, but he’s sitting upright and away from your needy hands — so you resort to hugging a pillow close to your chest.

there is a sizable tent forming in his trousers and you wonder if he will allow you to taste him later.

the idea is so exciting and your inner walls squeeze his digit as it sinks with each slow thrust. the firm tip of his thumb rubs gentle circles on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure up your nerves. nothing gets past his cautious eyes. he peers at you intently, drinking in the sight of your squirming form.

instead of adding another digit, he lowers himself down the couch and parts your knees even wider, giving his head room between your legs.

the feeling of his soft, slick tongue slipping over your glistening pussy is heavenly, and your grip on the pillow tightens, as the motions become more demanding, exploring your folds and the area around your opening. his finger continues the agonisingly steady rhythm, guiding you into the bliss.

each flick of his wet muscle has your breathing speed up a notch. veritas doesn’t rush things though. he’s well aware of every move he makes and the impact it has on you — yet you can tell there is something about him that stays collected as he continues.

even through the haze of your lust, you sense that he’s trying to figure out if there are more ways in which he could satisfy you.

just when you think the stimulation will be enough to get you there in a few moments, his hands retreat and his mouth latches onto your sensitive bundle of nerves, causing the ecstasy to arrive immediately. the unexpected sensation has you cry out, and clamp your thighs around his head for a moment before forcing them back open again. he continues as if nothing happened and slowly coaxes a wave of arousal, swallowing hungrily as it spills onto his face. he does not cease his actions, not until your entire being trembles with release.

withdrawing reluctantly, he licks his lips before giving you one final, sweet peck on your slit, listening to your hiccups. then he rests his head against your lap and looks up with a smirk.

“given the look on your face,“ he comments before reaching for the wipes from under the coffee table and cleaning the mess off your folds and from his chin, “this was far more beneficial than i anticipated…”

“let me touch you too…” you whine weakly, still coming down to your senses, each caress of his palm on your inner thigh making you bounce.

pondering over your sweet plea for a moment, he moves up until straddling your chest, his muscular legs on each side of your frame and his pants in front of your face. the view makes your body tremble in excitement. working on opening his slacks, he keeps the eye contact with you, the amber of his irises warmly burning onto your face.

his cock springs out and slaps lightly against your cheek, his hips inching further down. you immediately grasp the opportunity to swirl your tongue around the tip and lap at the hot flesh eagerly.

not to waste any more time with what’s right before you, you start sucking until you hear a soft chuckle from him.

“quite lovely, this sight of yours.”

your lips pop around the hard girth and you smile while panting, his hand petting your head gently.

“hmm… you can use my mouth, if you want to,” with an adorable giggle, you kiss the glossy head and pump the base lazily with your fist.

his eyes light up at that idea as he slides his shaft more down your throat, making you groan with effort as you struggle to keep up without gagging.

the burning ache of your jaw, combined with his quiet praise, is enough to light the fire in your own core again, your fists clasping around his hips for support as he fucks your mouth in shallow thrusts.

“i would prefer not to make you uncomfortable. this is enough…” he says with a dark timbre in his voice, staring right into your teary eyes.

unable to speak, you only take him deeper, his length tapping at the back of your throat and catching him by a surprise. breathlessly, but no less excited, he smiles and gets the hint that you wish to continue.

“very well then,” he begins to buck his hips, working his way to a better angle, taking care to not go too rough.

your nose bumps against his underbelly from time to time as he eases further. it’s an odd yet pleasurable mix of being choked and suffocating, but it’s the sight of him that’s driving you insane — someone who’s done everything with perfection is now panting above you, a peachy tint of blush on his face as he gets hot.

it doesn’t take much to bring him close to the edge — perhaps it’s been too long since he got some relief, or perhaps it’s your performance that impresses him. either way, it feels wonderful to witness how much he’s enjoying it, and even more, when silent moan slips down his tongue and he stills your head with his cock buried in your mouth.

it takes all of his endurance and patience to refuse to cum, the damp warmth of your throat and mixed saliva with his precum teasing too much out of him. especially when it runs past your lips in a single drop as you cough lightly…

slowly pulling out, veritas holds the head of his still hard dick to your face, stroking himself to ease the strain and the need for release. you blink innocently while he smears the drool around your mouth and cheeks, collecting some at his fingertips to let you suck them clean.

“mhm… very good,” he sighs. “i would ask for more from you… there are plenty of other things we could explore together, in case you are willing.”

he quickly kisses your forehead as you hum happily, nodding and agreeing.

“i will get you water, wait a moment.” he helps you to sit up.

when you drink from the glass he brought, veritas watches with a smile as if he were proud to see you gulp it down, waiting for you to finish.

“will you stay with me overnight? i would love to feel you close during sleep,” he asks with an unexpected, yet honest tenderness in his tone.

it makes your heart race to know that he’d want such closeness with you. you are about to give in when he continues.

“well, you know me — i never ask unless i need something. if you have anything planned, i can take you to your place instead… that is, if you are comfortable with that,” his words trail off quietly.

the last drops of water trickle down your throat and you cough once more to get rid of the sticky residue from the insides of your cheeks, but then you smile at him, flushed and glowing.

“of course i want to… i’ve been missing you quite a lot lately, you know?” you purr at him, cradling his face in your arms as you shift closer.

a pair of sharp brows quirks up with interest. the amber of his eyes shines in golden hues of the afternoon and you swear you can hear him chuckle softly. suddenly, the couch seems warmer, but it’s not from the thin rays of the sun that peek from behind the curtains.

“what an interesting reply. you cannot hide it from me anymore… your yearning,” he notes confidently.

“neither do you.” you point out.

at that, he flips you flat over his lap, your tummy resting on the sofa while your ass perks up nicely right under his hands. a firm slap on your butt has you yelping in surprise.

“true… it appears i cannot, though that was not the answer i was looking for, dear.”

the little squeaks you made only help his palm to fall more freely, spanking you like that — it meets your flesh again gently, playfully even, but he allows the sting to linger this time.

but he does not relish in granting you pain, even if so brief, so his fingers slide down between your legs again.

he can feel that you are still wet from your earlier orgasm — yet there is something in the way his touch makes you shiver, his deft digits trailing along your heated, slick skin, that makes him more eager to get you squirm in his hold again.

“what a marvellous thing you are… just where i want you to be.” he coos.

in a blink of an eye, you find yourself pressed against the embroidered cushions, your clothes once more doing absolutely nothing to cover you up when they get pulled to the side. all you can do is to cry out when his thumb slides inside and he starts circling your clit with his index.

“fuck!” you pant in disbelief, his clever digits setting the perfect tempo, slipping in and out easily while rubbing your sensitive button.

veritas doesn’t utter a word — he seems to be studying the way your body reacts to his movements, gauging your every gasp and twitch. when he finds a pattern that makes you moan louder and cling to the fabric, he does not stop until your pleasure bursts in its peak.

there is no break for you — he uses your thighs to grind his cock into full hardness again, enjoying the feeling of your velvety walls hugging his thumb.

then it stops abruptly, as he’s pulling out with a satisfied grunt.

“would you allow me to feel you in a different manner?” he asks with his chin on your shoulder and his breath ghosting against your neck.

he leans down and presses another kiss just below your ear, his teeth grazing on your sensitive skin, followed by his lips moving down your nape, his tongue licking and tasting as he goes.

“it will certainly take all my remaining energy to make this day unforgettable for you. i truly hope that you will forgive my boldness in that matter,” his whispers travel through the waves of your senses.

there is no strength left within you to lift your head or talk — the impression of his hands gliding over your flesh, massaging your back before sliding lower to cup your ass is maddening. your lips part in a soft groan of pleasure when you feel his naked erection pressing in between your cheeks, sliding languidly between your folds.

“may i?” his voice is tight, like his patience has run thin as he pushes the tip in just a few inches.

you whine helplessly, rutting against the pillows and the couch, desperately seeking friction. you can barely breathe properly, trying to speak while he slides deeper, the pressure of him stretching you against your limit already making you squirm.

“yes, please… f-feels amazing.”

without wasting any more time, veritas draws his hips back only to drive himself in and to pin your body onto the sofa with his weight. it is overwhelming, he fills you up just right, your body convulsing as he brushes a particularly sensitive spot.

there are no more coherent thoughts from you. you cannot help but keen in pure delight, clawing the cushion, his hands resting on your hips.

the first few strokes are slow and shallow, allowing you to ease into the new sensation and enjoy his manly frame surrounding you. he does not miss a single beat — it takes him mere seconds to realise you will probably bruise with his forceful grip on your body, and he backs off to hover over you again, leaving your backside exposed.

“ouch, thanks.” you gasp out in relief, freed from his strength, a moment later asking shakily. “you’re doing alright?”

“ah, well. i cannot complain… in fact, i would appreciate more of this tight heat around my cock… and i can surely fulfil your wishes as well,” he promises, his thrusts picking up the pace.

it is almost overbearing with how rough he treats you now, your clenching pussy spurring him on as he pounds you mercilessly. you squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip, while he forces you to accept each swift pump of his girth until you lose yourself.

“should i be gentler? make it more bearable for you?”

“no… really,” you murmur. “fuck me until you are content. please…” you whimper.

your heart is about to jump out of your chest as it thrums against the upholstery. veritas is right behind you, his grip returning on your hips, pulling you backwards each time he bucks his hips forward.

he’s much more demanding now, taking everything he wants from your body as he slams himself in and out with desire, fucking you faster and harder, yet his face shows nothing more than serenity as he continues, completely composed as his pelvis snaps against your backside.

he doesn’t respond, too focused on satisfying his need as he bounces your butt. the tension is rising in you with every stroke, as you bury your face into the pillows and drown your sobs into it.

veritas pushes in as deep as he can go, before slowing down until he comes to a stop, nestled comfortably inside of you.

his chest rests against your back and he finally moves his arms, wrapping them around you from above, pulling you close. you try to turn your head to see his face, but he won’t let you, placing soft kisses along your hairline instead.

“you should get used to it by now. i want you to remember the feeling of me inside of you… for quite some time, at least. besides, we both know you prefer this position, don’t you?” his voice is warm as he speaks in a whisper.

“i love this,” you answer with a struggle. “ngh… you make me so happy,” you add, nuzzling the pillow with a fire dancing on your cheeks.

a rich chuckle resonates in his chest. he lies perfectly still for a while, his length throbbing against your core and bringing a strange comfort with it — in moments like this, it is almost hard to believe he could be capable of being mean.

just when you think you’re getting drowsy, he presses another sweet kiss against the crook of your neck.

“i am delighted to hear that.” he shifts, his tip nudging your inner walls once again and making you whimper. “i do hope i am doing well in treating you appropriately, though. if there is anything you wish for, tell me.”

“well… perhaps you could move.” you wiggle your bum a bit, brushing your swollen core against him.

the sound of his laugh is music to your ears, especially as his gentle hand pulls away to take a firm hold of your butt and starts caressing the supple flesh.

“alright.”

with deliciously slow motions, he rocks his hips forward and back. the slapping sound of his skin against yours growing in volume, despite your own wailing. incredibly tight and sensitive in the cage of his arms — you yield.

“want you… please, yes…” your moans seem to spur him on even more.

veritas pulls back only to snap his hips into you in one strong thrust, the base of his thick girth crowding you entirely, your arousal providing more than enough slick to take him in. your thighs quiver with every stroke, but you feel delirious as you eagerly take whatever he decides to give.

a quiet mewl escapes your lips when he reaches an angle that allows him to rub his shaft right on all the sensitive spots — the sensual massage makes you weak and unable to form words.

the other hand is resting on your nape, keeping your face planted firmly into the pillows. the gentle hum of his voice only adds fuel to the fire igniting deep within your loins, but you can’t deny the pleasure you derive from listening to his ranting, his velvety tone vibrating in his throat.

“hmph, and you shall have me…”

it is possible to tell, even through your pleasured haze, that you have started to satisfy his needs — your tight, soaked cunt gripping him in a way that has him craving for the finale.

he places his lips next to your ear and sighs before his next words.

“i cannot be lenient with you… it seems i really am attracted to that naive individual whose actions brought us to this very desperate situation.”

this makes your heart flutter with affection towards him, yet you do not move. his tender touch and loving words, however, are enough to make you swoon as he keeps speaking, his eyes falling half-lidded.

“this is not the first time i found myself thinking about how beautiful you look while lost in passion. and i really, really would like to help you to come undone. soon.”

the last thing he says before focusing solely on driving his hips flush against yours.

each long thrust is paired with a grunt from him as he rams in and out of your abused hole, your body trapped under him as you lay limp against the plush sofa, while he pins you down.

you feel him everywhere, his hands groping you wherever he finds space between the pillows, his cock pumping relentlessly between your legs as his lower abdomen rolls smoothly against your butt.

you try to suppress your wailing, but a choked moan still slips from between your lips. his chin resting on your shoulder while his cheek rests on your head, close, almost like cuddling. your legs are already shaking, the sensation is so overwhelming that it brings tears to your eyes, your clenching pussy driving him absolutely crazy, the muscles spasming around him forcing his eyelids shut as he begins to breathe heavily.

veritas drops his voice an octave, whispering against your hair as he keeps up the fast pace, not giving you time to recover. he’s close too — your whole body trembles beneath his weight.

“yes, come on… cum for me,” he says with a raw, husky tone.

without the support of the pillows, your forehead sinks into the sofa and you feel him curl his fingers in your hair. he tugs softly at the locks as he holds onto you and uses his other hand to keep you steady for him.

there is no way for you to prevent your legs from twitching violently as the wave hits you at full force, your entire frame shuddering while he fucks you through your release.

his movements get jerkier with each thrust, but he does not pull out to spill onto your skin — instead he rides your high while chasing his own until he stiffens, releasing himself deep into you with a groan.

he collapses on your back, panting heavily as he covers you completely. the room is spinning as he drifts in his pleasure, his palms roaming across your body while you feel your toes going numb, the muscles of your pelvic floor throbbing painfully.

veritas doesn’t seem to pay any mind to the mess you’re both lying in — as long as he stays inside you, he cares not what happens to the couch, it shouldn’t be that bad. his breathing is shallow as he peppers soft kisses over your neck and shoulders before moving up your nape to nuzzle your hair.

his arms encircle your waist, pulling you close, his chest against your back. your head is dizzy, and the room seems to have gone dark as your lids drop down.

“hey, sleepyhead. are you okay?” veritas mutters when you shift slightly beneath him.

you hum quietly, too spent to talk yet, and wrap your hands around his wrists to stop him from sliding them any further than they already have. he presses a soft kiss into your temple and turns your head sideways.

his fingertips brush along the line of your neck before settling against your skin, rubbing tiny circles. you take a few breaths before lifting your lashes to find yourself staring straight at veritas’ face — he is watching you all the same with soft eyes and hot flush on his cheeks.

“did i hurt you?” he whispers, concern showing clearly in his voice.

you shake your head gently. he doesn’t let you speak yet, his pads continuing their path downwards along your spine until he stops with one palm against your lower back, soothing the quivering muscles.

“it was intense for you,” he states rather than asking.

a shiver runs through your body. veritas gives you a warm smile and slowly eases himself from your battered cunt, a squelch following the action and making you both laugh softly.

“how do you feel? better now?” you ask once your thoughts become clear again, looking at him as he props himself up to clean the mess, again.

“a lot, actually.” he responds. he gets a bit flustered when your gaze stays fixed on him. “and i apologise for my rough behaviour. you know i wouldn’t dare to—”

“i enjoyed it. a lot, too,” you interrupt him mid-sentence, though with your weak voice it was more of his mercy to pause to let you talk.

“really?” he looks surprised, incredulous.

“i always have… enjoyed everything you have done to me,” you tell him in all honesty and sigh softly, your eyes flickering up and meeting his as your body sluggishly turns to the side. “you’re just very considerate in bed. the opposite of selfish. you put me first every time, and that makes me happy,” you smile through tired expression.

veritas purses his lips. instead of answering immediately to your unexpected confession — that made him quite flustered, which he wouldn’t like to admit — he focuses on wiping you clean from the slick mix of essences leaking out of you and running down your legs, while humming thoughtfully.

you bite your lip, staying silent. your hand finds its place on his thigh, resting there in a calming manner, his leg trembling under your touch.

when he speaks again, it is nothing more than a whisper.

“i am pleased to hear that you’ve noticed,” he says with a total composure laced in his words, his fingers holding a bunch of tissues between the two of you.

you hum contently, taking his free hand into yours and raising it to your lips, planting soft, little kisses on the back of his palm, trailing his knuckles and then the sides of his wrist.

you can tell he is stunned, but doesn’t seem to mind, or show any sign of displeasure. he returns to his original task after a second, carefully cleaning you before standing up and fixing his pants, placing a loving kiss on your cheek and excusing himself to make some tea for you to drink, since it will soon be dinnertime.

he goes back into the kitchen while you lie undressed on his couch, your heartbeat finally starting to calm down. through the high of satisfation and tiredness, you notice the details on the rug, small indents in the threads where the coffee table was placed before. and the golden embossing slightly worn from the covers of the books he’s reading, probably from the touch of his pads.

you like this place, it feels like your home too.

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . author’s note ノ if i missed any mistakes, i will cry, editing this took years off my life. BUT i really hope it was sweet and worth reading <3 i personally think this is my new favourite fic of mine, i got too emotional writing and fixing it :’) but i love this man so so much — so it was worth it!

Filthy Fingers.

summary: You check on Bucky after the mission in Madripoor.

warnings: Angst | TFATWS!Bucky | PTSD episode | Sexual trauma | Mentions of SA & SH | Slight SH | Vague descriptions of medical procedures | Swearing

a/n: Back on my bullshit with angsty fics. I wish the series had done something more than brushing this scene off as nothing. I have similar trauma with his experiences, so I sort of put my heart into this. I hope you enjoy, he needs a hug. Unedited. ;; wc: 4.4k

It horrified you, even if you knew about it prior.

After the mission, you searched for Bucky upon returning to the safehouse that Zemo had insisted on using. Bucky had already retreated to the bedroom you both shared, locking himself inside. You knew something was wrong, you knew him better than anyone honestly. He had barely muttered a few words about feeling exhausted before withdrawing from the group. The locked door and his sudden disappearance had you concerned about his well-being, especially considering the shitty mission you had done.

Zemo pushed Bucky to act as the Winter Soldier again, the man took great pride in being his handler and controlling him like a puppet, just as HYDRA had done. He relished in ordering him to attack and heel like a dog, and his cruel comments about using his body, about selling him in exchange for information, made you furious. Sam didn’t quite get the depth of the situation, though he had a good idea, he just didn’t know the extent. He didn’t want to ask.

Bucky’s behavior back at the house seemed unusual, even for someone typically reserved like himself, and you couldn't decide what to do, debating whether to check on him or give him the space he seemed to desperately need.

You also had to fight the urge to break Zemo's jaw.

As deep night fell over the city, a hush descended upon the streets. Sam and Zemo, too, decided to call it a night, bidding their farewells before retiring to their respective rooms. You found yourself alone in the kitchen, the sudden quietness of the house sounded so loud in your ears. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you made the decision to head towards the bedroom. Your footsteps echoed softly in the hallway as you approached the door.

Your knuckles gently rapped against the wooden surface as you announced your presence. The sound seemed to hang in the air for a moment before you slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open. You stepped into the dimly lit room, your eyes immediately fell on Bucky. You weren’t surprised that he wasn't asleep; sleep often eluded him, and considering the memories that undoubtedly came back to him after the mission, you didn’t blame him.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, his back pressed against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. His gaze was fixed intently on the wooden floorboards, tracing the intricate patterns etched into their surface. The silence in the room was heavy and Bucky remained motionless, not even lifting his eyes to acknowledge your entrance.

You closed the door with a gentle click and cautiously made your way towards him, your footsteps barely audible on the floor. As you approached, you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. "Hey..." You began, your voice barely above a whisper, carefully considering each word as you prepared to navigate this situation.

You took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders as you shifted your position, crossing your legs where you had been kneeling. Your eyes never left Bucky's face, searching for any sign of acknowledgment. He remained motionless, his lack of response hanging heavy in the air between you. But his stillness was preferable to a negative reaction. At least he wasn't pushing you away or lashing out in his distress.

"I know this is stupid, and it's probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but..." You paused, weighing your words carefully before continuing, "Do you want to talk about what's going on? About what happened?" The question left your lips in a gentle, non-pressuring tone, leaving the decision entirely up to him. You sat there patiently, ready to listen if he chose to open up, or to simply provide a comforting presence if he preferred silence.

Bucky remained silent initially, his gaze fixed intently on the floor. He drew in a shaky, uneven breath, his eyes noticeably bloodshot and surrounded by dark, heavy circles. It was obvious that he had been struggling with sleep, but you knew that even a small amount of rest would be beneficial compared to none at all, especially dealing with the Flag Smashers and all the bullshit you were both thrown into again.

"Why don't you try to lie down and get some rest? I'll stay right here with you," you suggested gently, your voice filled with concern as you waited patiently for any sort of reaction from him. After a moment of hesitation, you added, "I know you might not feel like sleeping right now, but we have so much shit we have to do tomorrow.” You mumbled, “A few hours, at least.”

Hoping to appeal to his practical nature, you attempted to persuade him to sleep by emphasizing the logical reasons for doing so. However, your efforts seemed to fall on deaf ears as Bucky remained unresponsive. You sighed, your arm stretched up to reach for the blanket that lay haphazardly across the bed, intending to cover him and provide some comfort if he wasn’t going to sleep. Just as your fingers brushed against the soft fabric, Bucky's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"I felt it," he murmured, his words so faint that you had to strain to hear them, the pain and vulnerability in his tone made your heart stutter.

You turned to look at him, your hand still grasping the edge of the blanket, and you settled back down fully on the seat. Your eyes met his, searching for understanding as you softly inquired, "Felt what?"

"Hands," he muttered, his gaze flickered momentarily before meeting yours again. "I felt... hands. On me. They weren't his," Bucky spoke slowly but with a certainty that sent a chill down your spine. He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Not Zemo's hands, but I would have preferred if he didn't touch me at all during the damn interrogation." His words trailed off, hanging heavy in the air between you.

You watched as his brow furrowed deeply, his eyes growing distant as he seemed to retreat into the labyrinth of his thoughts. A maze he still couldn’t get through, he’d always be lost, stumbling upon memories randomly and losing others he had a grip on. The silence stretched on, filled with unspoken memories and the weight of past trauma.

You nodded, remaining silent for a moment as you processed the situation. The anger bubbled within you, fueled by Bucky's own emotions. Zemo's arrogant behavior had struck a nerve, his deliberate attempts to provoke Bucky were infuriating. The man was more than just an asshole in your eyes and words; he was a calculated manipulator, intent on unraveling all the progress Bucky had made.

His creepy obsession had drawn tension between the group. Zemo had persistently tried to breach Bucky's defenses, attempting to draw out the Winter Soldier persona that lay dormant within him. His tactics were cruel and precise, aimed at undoing years of healing and dragging Bucky back into the darkness of his past.

What made it so much worse was Zemo's obvious familiarity with the red book - that cursed tome that held so many of Bucky's painful secrets. You were certain Zemo had pored over every page, absorbing all the horrific details it contained. The book was a comprehensive record of Bucky's torment: control words that could strip away his free will in an instant, precise actions that would render him a puppet, and graphic descriptions of the punishments HYDRA inflicted whenever Bucky showed the slightest hint of disobedience or failure. The thought of Zemo possessing this knowledge, wielding it like a weapon against Bucky, made your blood boil.

"Bucky..." you began, your voice soft and laden with emotion. You paused, searching for the right words to convey the depth of your empathy. "I'm so... sorry. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult this is for you. It's just…not fair…that you have to endure all of this. You never asked to be pushed into this shit again." There was clear frustration in your voice with a mix of anger at the circumstances and deep concern for Bucky's well-being.

Your mind drifted to the apartment you shared with Bucky, while he wasn't always at his best there either, it was a vast improvement compared to situations like this. The space was familiar. He was surrounded by sights and sounds he knew, Bucky found a measure of peace inside the walls, mostly because you were there with him. He still struggled with his demons, but within the safety of your home, he could face them without the added pressure of external threats or responsibilities that weren't rightfully his to bear.

But it seemed that no matter what, the outside world was determined to drag him back into conflict.

In your apartment, there were no manipulative villains, no reminders of his painful past, no hidden ulterior motives to hurt him, just the warmth of your presence and the promise of a better future than past. He had you, and you were always there with him, helping him navigate through the storm that always threatened to pull him down again.

"M'used to it," he mumbled weakly, his voice devoid of emotion, carrying the weight of resignation and defeat. The words fell from his lips like heavy stones of the burdens he had borne. "I've had worse than simply being traded away for sexual favors."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't just be used to it," you countered, "You didn't deserve anything they put you through. I don't care what justifications they gave or what they forced you to do. You, Bucky Barnes, are a good person. You, at your core, are pure and untainted. You are the one in control now. Not the soldier they created, not HYDRA with their manipulation, not anyone else. It's all you."

Your eyes locked onto his, your gaze gentle yet unyielding, radiating unwavering belief in him as you tried so desperately to let him see how much faith you had in him. "You've already won over their programming, Bucky. You've reclaimed yourself."

"Then why won't his memories go away?" Bucky croaked out, his voice cracking under the weight of suppressed emotion. "I want nothing more than to...to forget. It's...it's so hard, doll," his voice wavered, the floodgates of emotion threatening to burst open despite him trying his damnedest to keep it all in. "Why can't I forget the bad, and why can't I remember the good?"

Bucky sounded completely worn down, his voice cracking with heavy emotion as he spoke. He couldn't bring himself to raise his head, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and self-loathing washing over him. The weight of his perceived inadequacy pressed down on him, making him feel incredibly pathetic and foolish.

Your support through numerous similar episodes didn’t shake off the intense feelings of guilt and self-deprecation that consumed him during these moments. It was as if he viewed himself as nothing more than a heavy burden, a complex problem that you were obligated to solve time and time again. Even a glued vase is still cracked and much weaker than an untouched one.

No amount of reassurance or comfort seemed capable of mending his fractured psyche. He’s still broken, no matter what you do to help.

In his mind, he was irreparable, his former self having been long gone. Hell, he's not even whole. The prosthetic arm, the threatening object that he despised with every fiber of his being. Vivid, haunting memories flooded his consciousness as he recalled the moment HYDRA had finally attached the mechanical limb.

The sensation was overwhelmingly unpleasant - the arm felt unnaturally cold against his skin, its heavy weight throwing off his balance and coordination. In his disoriented state, he could feel the lifeless metal appendage hanging limply at his side, dragging him down both physically and mentally. The phantom sensations of drills and saws assaulted his senses, causing him to relive the trauma of the procedure.

Wide awake.

He was desperate to rid himself of the foreign object, so he clawed frantically at the point where metal met flesh, feeling the cold, unyielding surface beneath his fingertips. The memory of being forcibly restrained to prevent him from damaging the prosthetic flashed through his mind, the clinical indifference of his captors etched permanently behind his eyelids. It was clear to him that their sole concern lay with preserving the integrity of the mechanical marvel they had created, with no regard for the man to whom it was attached.

He was nothing more than a vessel for their prized creation - the arm was their priority, not the broken soldier who bore it.

Then their hands came.

Never-ending hands on his body, everywhere.

They always came when he couldn't fight back.

Teasing, pinching, groping, twisting, penetrating.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Make it -

Bucky's loud thoughts were abruptly interrupted as you reached out and gently grasped his flesh hand, your voice filled with concern as you spoke, "Bucky, hey, hey, stop... It's alright, you're safe now, it’s just you and me." The urgency in your tone was notable, yet you managed to keep it soft and reassuring.

His brow furrowed deeply, a mix of confusion and realization crossing his features as he slowly turned his gaze from you to his hand, which you now held firmly in your own, having pulled it away from his body. A searing hot sensation radiated from his scar, and with a sinking feeling, he realized what he had been doing.

He had been scratching at the old wound, hard. Clawing, digging, as if trying to remove something from his skin. His arm, the metal - titanium, vibranium - did it matter?

"It's okay, you're fine," you whispered gently, your voice acting like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. Your hands worked carefully but firmly to keep his own from returning to where he had been clawing. Your thumb gently rubbed circles on his inner wrist in an attempt to keep his mind grounded. You were always scared during these moments, worried for his well-being as the rooted fear threatened to overwhelm you.

But you pushed it down, maintaining a calm and composed demeanor for his sake. Your voice remained steady as you continued to comfort him, "It's okay... you're doing so good, Buck Buck..." The silly name slipped out naturally, reminding him of where he was and who he was with. You always called him Buck Buck instead of just saying Buck once, you knew that endearment made him think of Steve. And he didn’t like doing that with Steve being gone.

"Breathe," you gently instructed him, guiding him to take slow, deep breaths as the memories and vicious flashbacks gradually began to subside. "You're doing great, just like that. Keep focusing on your breaths." You continued to offer words of encouragement and carefully guide him through the breathing exercises, your voice soft yet steady. His eyes, now rimmed with red, glistened with moisture, the strain of the moment evident in his features.

Delicate streams of tears traced paths down his cheeks, tiny rivers carrying his pain and guiding it out of him. The sight tugged at your heart, but you remained a pillar of support and strength for him to lean on.

"Make it stop," he rasped out to you, his voice thick with desperation and fear. "Make it stop," Bucky repeated, his body instinctively moving towards you as if seeking shelter from an invisible storm. "They're on me," he added, his words barely above a whisper, laced with a haunting mixture of panic and pleading.

You immediately wrapped your arms around him the second his body touched yours, enveloping him in a protective embrace. You would always wait for him to make the first move closer, respecting his space and not wanting to inadvertently exacerbate his episodes. Your touch was gentle yet firm, grounding him in the present moment.

"No one is touching you but me, baby," you assured him, your voice steady and filled with warmth. "And I'm not doing any of those awful things. I would never. You're safe here with me, Bucky. We're getting through this, you’re doing so good. Just focus on me and taking those breaths okay?"

Bucky remained pressed against you, his body tense and trembling as he desperately attempted to hide himself inside your smaller body. His hand darted up to his shoulder, fingers curled as if to claw at something unseen. Then his hand quickly moved to his neck, desperately grasping and pulling at an invisible entity.

The frantic movements sent a chill down your spine as you watched him struggle against phantoms of his past, it never ceased to horrify you to see him react to the glimpses he was shown again from HYDRA. You tried not to let your imagination run wild, but the implications were clear and it only made you feel even worse seeing him play it out.

You felt helpless.

All you could really do during these episodes was be there for him.

Holding him close, enveloping him in a gentle embrace that provided a sense of security and reassurance, something so simple yet so luxurious in his life. Your touch was carefully calibrated, always mindful of his boundaries and sensitivities, ensuring that every contact communicated safety and understanding. You learned what he liked, disliked, what made things better and worse. You would soothe him with those very tender caresses, running your fingers through his hair or tracing calming patterns on his back, grounding him in the present moment.

Bucky really liked when you rubbed his back.

You would speak words of encouragement, your phrases were carefully chosen so they’d break through all the rampant thoughts flooding his mind. You reminded him of his resilience and progress. You whispered affirmations of his worth, validate his feelings, and reassure him of your presence and support throughout the episode.

“It’s not real, Bucky. No one is here, no one is touching you. It’s just me. You are safe.”

The efforts you put into comforting him so tenderly often felt mediocre or not enough, you always felt like nothing was ever working or meant a thing. But for Bucky, they were his lifeline, you helped him more than you could possibly fathom. Having endured these episodes alone for so long, the contrast of facing them with your loving support made them significantly easier, more manageable.

You held him for a while, gently cradling his body against your own. Most of the time, he just needed this physical connection to be brought back to reality, to feel grounded and secure again. Your arms enveloped him in a protective embrace, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. Sometimes you’d wrap him in a blanket, but you didn’t think Bucky was going to let you move to grab one.

Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hands up and down his back just how he liked. Your fingertips tracing intricate, soothing patterns across the fabric of his shirt, random shapes and swirls, sometimes a letter or number that he’d weakly repeat into your chest. The repetitive motion seemed to have a calming effect on both of you, a silent reassurance that everything would be alright.

As you continued to hold him, your gaze wandered towards the window. Through the thin, gauzy curtains that hung there, you could make out the blurry silhouette of the city in the distance. The lights twinkled like earthbound stars, their glow softened and diffused by the cloudy barrier between you and the outside world. It created an almost dreamlike atmosphere in the room, emphasizing the intimate bubble you two had created. It reminded you of home.

Still whirling from the events that led to this moment, your mind gradually began to quiet. Bucky appeared to be much more relaxed, no longer breathing heavy and shaking as terribly during his attack.

"You okay?" You inquired softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The darkness of the room cast a deep, night blue hue, partially dulling the angry red blotches that you knew still marred Bucky's face from your sight. Bucky’s sweet, rosy nose glistened from his recent emotional turmoil.

He turned his face fully into your chest, burrowing against you as he sniffled. Amusement colored your voice as you gently teased, "Are you wiping your snot on me?" Your tone remained cautiously gentle, not wanting to upset the fragile calm that had settled over him.

Bucky's response came muffled against your chest, a small chuckle that vibrated through you. His voice was barely audible and tinged with a hint of sheepishness. "Maybe..." he admitted as he pulled back and finally looked you in the eye.

You rolled your eyes, casting a concerned glance back at him as you gently used your thumbs to caress his cheeks. The tender gesture was comforting for him. "Are you okay?" You repeated. You wanted—no, needed—to hear the truth directly from him, to gauge his emotional state beyond the façade he often presented.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, finding solace in the warmth of your hands against his skin. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, almost involuntarily, as he drew in a deep, shaky breath. The contrast between your warm, caring touch and his own clammy cheeks made him shiver. He allowed himself to be vulnerable with you, to absorb the comfort you offered.

"Yeah... I'm..." Bucky started, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused, reconsidering his words. "I'm fine." Another pause. "I mean, no, I'm not but... you know. I'm good." The contradiction in his statement was painfully apparent. He cleared his throat, as if trying to dislodge the emotions threatening to spill out verbally, and slowly opened his eyes again.

They met yours, a swirl of conflicting emotions evident in their depths. It was a typical answer from him, a reflexive response born from decades of forced conditioning and denial of feeling. You had expected it, of course, knowing his tendency to downplay his struggles, but that didn't make it any less concerning.

"Well, it's late. Maybe we should try to get some sleep?" Your lips softly kissed his forehead, tenderly giving him some affection. As you pulled back, you looked into his eyes and reassured him, "If you say you're alright, then I believe you. I trust your judgment, and I want you to know that I'm always here for you, whenever you feel ready to talk about it. There's no pressure, no rush. And in the meantime, I'm more than happy to simply be here, to be your comfort, your support... your pillow, if that's what you need."

"You're too good to me, doll... you really shouldn't have to deal with all this," he said softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and guilt. He rubbed his nose a little with the back of his hand, a nervous habit he'd developed over the years. "You've got more than enough on your plate already. Your own struggles, your own dreams to chase. You don't need my baggage weighing you down too."

"Hey, now. I won't hear any of that," you insisted, your brows furrowing slightly in concern. Your voice was firm but warm, you understood why he felt the way he did, but you didn’t like it. "I love you, sweetheart. That means I love every part of you - the good, the bad, and everything in between. Taking care of you, making sure you're okay... it's not some burden I'm shouldering. It's not something I'm just 'dealing with' because I have to."

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. "I'm here, by your side, because that's exactly where I want to be. Because you deserve love, support, and care. And because giving you those things brings me joy. It's as simple as that."

You squeezed his hand softly, your eyes meeting his with a look of pure, unconditional love. "So please, don't ever think you're too much or that you're burdening me. You're not. You're the person I choose, every single day. And I want to be here for you, through thick and thin."

"I love you too, doll... I don't know what I'd do without you," Bucky replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He was still avoiding your gaze, but you didn't mind. Vulnerability was difficult for him and you appreciated his honesty even in his discomfort.

"Let's get comfortable, we need to rest for whatever shit is going on tomorrow," you said softly, your voice filled with care and concern, yet a small bite for this ridiculousness of the mission. You were still annoyed you and Bucky had been dragged into this mess.

You began to shuffle the comforter and blankets on the floor, creating a cozy nest beside the bed. Bucky's brow furrowed as he watched you meticulously prep the area, his eyes following your every move with curiosity and confusion.

"You're not planning on sleeping on the floor with me, are you?" he questioned, his voice tinged with disbelief as he observed you fluffing the pillows to ensure maximum comfort. The idea seemed to both perplex and touch him deeply. You had before, of course, at home. But he always insisted you go back to bed after his nightmares died down and he could fall asleep on his own. He didn't like the idea of you sleeping on the hardwood floors with him at night, especially when you could have the bed all to yourself.

"Of course I am," you replied without hesitation, your voice firm but gentle. "You think I'm gonna just let you sleep by yourself after this? Nope, that's not happening. I'm gonna be right by your side, supporting you through this. That's a promise, Bucky, and I intend to keep it." Your words were filled with determination and unwavering loyalty, leaving no room for doubt about your commitment to him.

He let out a deep, resigned sigh, fully aware that you wouldn't budge from your decision, despite the presence of a perfectly comfortable bed in the room. You'd pick sleeping on the floor with him over the warmth and softness of the bed any day. Bucky inched closer and settled into the makeshift sleeping area you had prepared.

Once situated, he gently pulled you towards him, enveloping you in a tender embrace. No words were exchanged, but he carefully repositioned himself, shuffling down slightly to rest his head against your chest, seeking comfort in your presence.

He wanted to be held tonight, and that was perfectly fine with you.

Thank you for reading. -em🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest