apollos-garden

[apollos-garden]

Accident

Word count: 1320

Summary: you cut your hand, flashback + panic attack ensues

A heavy bass fills your earbuds as you dump various vegetables onto the spacious kitchen counter. The Stark tower had a truly extravagant kitchen with oceans of counter space, a fridge stocked with every possible ingredient, and two ovens. Coming from a tiny NYC apartment where you sometimes had to chop things on the floor for lack of space, you intended to take full advantage of  every single square inch. 

Turning the burner on to heat oil pooled on the bottom of a large pot you found, you rinse a stalk of celery and dice it. Once the oil started to simmer, you poured the celery in along with a few diced carrots, garlic, and onion. Turning to the sink, you rinsed your hands and was about to move to the spices when you felt two hands suddenly wrap around your waist. You jump and rip your earbuds out, turning to see Bucky. “Jesus!” 

He grinned. “No, it’s me.” You sighed at the horrendous pun and swatted him halfheartedly with the towel tucked into the side of your jeans waistband. The bass of the song could still be heard tinnily pulsing through the mini speakers hung around your neck. “You know I can’t hear you coming with those in.” “I know. It’s cute when you jump.” Your eyebrow cocked up. “It’ll be less cute when I reflex-punch you one day.” 

Bucky moved over to the stove, breathing in. “What’s this? Smells good.” You finish toweling your hands off and join him, stirring the bottom. “It’s going to be vegetable soup. Come back in, oh, forty five minutes.” You tap the watch dial fastened to the inside of your wrist. “And no more jumpscares, please?” Bucky holds up his hands in an approximation of innocence as he backs away. “Promise!” 

Shaking your head, you turn back to the counter, grabbing the spice jars and moving to the counter. Thyme, pepper, salt, a bay leaf... hmm, maybe some paprika? You stir every powder in thoroughly, watching for clumps. Throwing in the rest of the vegetables and a good amount of broth, you lean back against the counter. That should be everything. 

You wash your hands and wipe down the cutting board, then reach for the knife and sponge. Noticing some unknown spots of something on the handle, you carefully hold the knife by the blunt side of the blade and scrub the handle too. Rinsing the handle under the water, you look out the window at twilit New York. 

From up here, the twinkling lights formed a mosaic of colors outlining the surrounding skyscrapers. Far off in the distance you could see the reflections of the river. Suddenly, you feel the knife slipping from your grasp. You mindlessly grab for the knife before you fully register what’s happening. And catch it you did- catch the blade right in the middle of your palm. A dull sting blooms up your arm as you blink at your hand, tap still running. Fumbling for the handle, you switch off the water and breathe deeply before gently lifting the knife up, setting it on the counter. 

The sting had gotten decidedly sharper and you fight back the familiar prick of tears. Then you made the mistake of looking down. Dark blood was pooling in the hollow of your curved palm. Fuck. You look back out the window and clench your fist, ignoring the sharp throb accompanying the action. It was dark enough to see your reflection in the glass, and you stared at the outline of your body as you try to keep the image of your bloody hand out of your head. 

You wrench your eyes shut, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. Against your best efforts, though, your mind dragged you back to the tundra forest you had tried so hard to leave forgotten in the past. Dimly, you are aware of yourself sinking down to kneel on the floor, but in your mind’s eye you could see perfectly the body of your friend motionless in the snow years ago. The gunshot wound had bled steadily despite the pressure of your shaking hands. Long after they were past the point of saving, you had knelt in the snow, staring at your blood soaked palms. 

The ringing in your ears grew louder as you mentally shake yourself, trying to pull yourself back to reality. Still, you kneel there like a statue, chest tightening painfully as tears leaked from your tightly shut eyes in silence. Over and over, you watch them crumple into the snow, leaving a pool of red that stained the knees of your pants. Their blood dripped from your cold hands. You couldn’t save them you couldn’t save them you couldn’t sa-

You flinch as a hand clamps onto your shoulder, shoving blindly in the direction it came from. Your hands hit against someone’s chest weakly. “Woah, hey, Y/N, what’s going on? Wait, what happened to your hand?” You swallow and take a shuddering breath. “It’s fine.” You heard Bucky shift and the floorboards creak through the ringing. His hand settled hesitantly on your back but you pushed it away gently. “Please, I- sorry.” 

You took another deep breath and forced your eyes open, focusing on the cabinets in front of you. How stupid, to freak out over a little bit of blood. You were an Avenger for god’s sake. You thought about standing up, but your muscles wouldn’t budge. Your vision blurred over with fresh tears. “I couldn’t,” you whisper hoarsely. Fabric rustled and you felt the weight of Bucky’s leather jacket drape over your shoulders. “Should I stay?” Bucky asked softly, crouching down to sit next to you. 

You nod silently, clean hand absentmindedly fisting the soft cotton lining as you fight the pull of the memory of crimson stained snow. Gingerly, you turn yourself around, resting your back against the cabinet door. Your heartbeat pounded too fast in your ears and throbbed rhythmically in your palm. Bucky broke your tense silence. “You’re breathing too shallow. Here.” 

He shifts forwards, moving to sit crosslegged in front of you, and pulls your good hand to rest against his chest. “Breathe with me.” Quietly, you inhale and exhale with the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. It slowly became easier to focus on the warmth of Bucky’s hand over yours, the way his calluses felt against the back of your hand and the planes of his chest under his shirt. 

Eventually your breathing stabilizes. The relentless pull of your memories slackens and in the lull you become aware of how bone-achingly tired you feel. You swallow and wipe at your eyes, skin tacky with salt. A nagging feeling of shame starts to grow at the back of your mind and you shift your eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry that you, ah, had to see that,” you start to apologize, but you don’t really know where to take it. 

Bucky shakes his head. “No. You have nothing to be sorry for. I get them too.” He lifts your hand, examining the cut running across your palm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Standing, Bucky left, returning with a pack of cloth bandages. He carefully washes off the old blood with a damp towel and starts to wrap your hand with the gauze strip. You watch Bucky’s fingers fold the cloth precisely over the contours of your hand, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. 

“Thank you.” It was strange to have someone near you after an attack like this. Usually, you rode through it alone, curled tightly into yourself in your bedroom or leaning against a supply closet wall at the train station. Never had you really considered that you could allow someone to see you like this, that it was even an option. But maybe, you thought to yourself, you could learn to let the right person in. It just might be better this way.

[apollos-garden]

Sparring Partners

Word count: 748

Summary: you practice how to use knives in a fight with Bucky

The whir of the fan and whoosh of the tip of your rubber combat knife are the only sounds you register as you practice a flip-stab combo over and over, brows furrowed in concentration. You would catch it perfectly two or three times before misjudging the angle and just barely missing the handle, fumbling it. Frustratingly, you weren’t quite sure what you were doing wrong. It wasn’t the throwing speed or spin timing that needed fixing. Or maybe it was, and you just were fixing it wrong. 

“Hey, Bucky?” you called across the gym. The thwacking of a punching bag stopped and Bucky peered over at you, hands coming to rest on his knees. “Yeah?” “Could you help me out with this knife tactic?” Nodding, he made his way over to you. “What’s the problem?” You sigh. “I’m trying to do that spin sequence you showed me but I keep missing the point where I catch the handle, and I don’t even know what I’m doing wrong. Look.” You spin, flicking the knife into the air. Catching it the first time, you try again, bouncing the handle awkwardly off the back of your hand. “See?” 

“Could you do it again?” Bucky asked, focused on the motion of your wrist. You do, and he nods. “You’re doing the motion right but it doesn’t get enough consistent momentum when you’re just standing. If you try it in real combat when you’re moving I think you’ll be much more accurate.” Walking over to the boxes by the wall, Bucky picks up a similar rubber knife. “Let’s try it out.” 

You both settle into a combat stance on the mat. “Alright, so I’m going to come at you like this from behind and grab your knife hand, and you try and defend yourself.” Bucky positions himself behind you, grabbing your right wrist and hooking his other elbow around your neck. You still for a second, distracted by the feeling of Bucky’s chest pressed tight to your back before mentally shaking yourself. Focus. “Ready, doll?”

“...Right, yeah.” You breathe in, then pull his arm down, using the momentum to spin. Flipping the knife, you catch it squarely and drive it towards Bucky’s stomach, stopping once it touched him. You grin. “Hey, that worked!” Stretching your shoulder, you breathe deeply. “While we’re both here, do you want to get in a few rounds of sparring with the knife?” Bucky asks. You nod. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”  

Gripping your knife tightly, you bounce lightly on the balls of your feet as Bucky rolls his shoulders across the mat from you. Suddenly, he lashes out at your trunk with his leg, nearly knocking you off balance. You twist just in time to avoid Bucky’s fist colliding with your jaw and use the momentum to angle the knife at his ribs like you practiced. Before the rubber made contact, his forearm knocked your hand away. “Oh, so close there,” Bucky teased.

You scoff and block a punch, driving your knee into his stomach. “Yeah?” You shove him hard with your shoulder, planting your feet, and Bucky stumbles backwards into the wall. Confidently, you raise the knife, touching the rubber point to the hollow of his throat. “How’s this for clo-!” Suddenly, Bucky grips your shoulder and throws all of his weight into it, slamming you where he had been only a moment ago. “Pretty close,” Bucky smirks, pressing the edge of his blade against your windpipe and pinning your knife hand to the wall. 

Your eyes locked as both of you tried to catch your breath. Swallowing, you were suddenly very aware of how close Bucky was to you. Up close, you could see the tiny swirls of dark blue in his eyes. Bucky’s eyes dropped to your lips and his knife fell to the ground, thudding dully on the mat as his hand came up to cup your face instead. Slowly, you pull him forward by his shirt into a kiss. 

When you pull apart, Bucky smiles softly. You smile back before gripping the knife you hadn’t dropped and pressing it just below his sternum. “I think you got distracted. Bad idea in a fight.” Bucky chuckled, pulling you in again. Finally, your knife joined his on the floor as your hands circled around his waist, tugging him closer. You could feel his heart hammer in his chest. 

Parting for air, Bucky rests his forehead against yours. “Ready for another round?” You grin. “So ready.” 

[apollos-garden]

🌾 🌼 Masterlist 🌼 🌾

Fluff

Sunwarmed

Interwoven

The Kitchen Table

Wollman Rink

Sparring Partners

Angst & Hurt/Comfort

Thrall

Accident

[apollos-garden]

Wollman Rink

Word count: 567

Summary: you teach Bucky how to skate at Central Park

Bucky ducks his head into the room as you shrug on your coat. “You ready?” You smile and nod. “Yeah, almost, just let me find my mittens. I swear I put them on the dresser...” The past couple days in New York had been freezing, and the ice rink in Central Park was in lovely condition. As you rummage in a drawer, Bucky shifts by the door. “Uh, Y/N?” “Yeah?” You reply without turning around, feeling the soft knit fabric in a dark corner. “I’ve never gone ice skating before, so I might be pretty bad at it. Just letting you know.” 

Finally retrieving the crimson mittens from the bottomless pit of your dresser, you turn to face him. “Wait, really? You’ve lived in New York your whole life! Isn’t that, like, what you guys do here in the winter?” Bucky shrugs. “I guess I was too busy keeping Steve out of trouble.” You laugh. “God knows that’s a full-time job.” Bucky holds open the door for you as you step out onto the street, linking your fingers with his. “Anyway, don’t worry! You’re gonna be great at it, I promise. I’ll try very hard to return you without permanent brain damage.” 

___________________________

Lacing up your skates on a bench by the rink, you glance over at Bucky. He had finished tying them up and was wobbling around on the blades, trying not to clutch at the rink wall too obviously. Shakily, Bucky turns around and makes eye contact with you before chuckling. “I feel like a newborn colt.” You grin as you stand up, moving over to him more confidently. “It’s a bit easier on the ice.” Gallantly, you offer your arm to him. “Shall we?” Bucky’s cheeks darken as he loops his elbow over yours.

Together, you move onto the ice. Bucky held his balance surprisingly well, no doubt due to his training, and before long was able to push off the wall without swaying worryingly. The early afternoon sky is pale blue and dotted with wispy clouds, and the sun shines brightly, if not warmly. The wind feels frigid against your exposed face but the effort of skating keeps you toasty warm. By this time, Bucky wasn’t leaning on your arm much and was pushing himself along quite nicely. You turn. “You think you can skate on your own for a loop?” 

At this, Bucky looked a little concerned but quickly pushed it away with bravado. “I can definitely do that.” You carefully extricate yourself from him and skate to the wall, turning to face him. “Alright, ready?” Bucky pushed off quickly, giving him lots of momentum. You carefully start skating backwards in front of him. Bucky scoffed. “Are you-? Showoff.” You smirk. “Hey, you’re doing really good!” “Yeah, this is easy- woah!” The point of Bucky’s skate catches on the ground, tipping him forward. 

Your eyes widen. Leaning forward quickly, you manage to grab hold of Bucky’s shoulders, steadying him at the last second. He was heavy, though, and you slid back, making you cling onto him in return. Both of you teetered for a second before straightening. You grin. “Easy, huh?” Bucky flushes slightly and he winks. “Maybe it’s the universe telling me to keep holding onto you, doll.” You roll your eyes jokingly. “Sure, Bucky.” Even so, your hand finds his almost too quickly as you push off with him again. 

[apollos-garden]

The Kitchen Table

Word count: 732

Summary: you and Bucky play cards and bake some yummy rolls

The aroma of a baking poppy seed roll filled the kitchen as you and Bucky sat at a table in the corner. You placed your final card, a king of clubs, on the table, with a confident smile. “Get wrecked. Again.” Bucky slammed his handful onto the table, revealing a collection of low-level cards. “Are you serious? I taught you this game two days ago!” You smirked. “What can I say? I learn fast. Do we have time for one more round?” 

Bucky swiveled in his chair and leaned over to check the oven timer. “We got eight minutes. I think we can fit in a speed round.” You gathered the deck, shuffling it expertly. Bucky’s eyes lingered on your nimble fingers for a moment before flicking over to the window over the sink. The morning January sun shone brightly in, casting rays on the tiled floor, but didn’t manage even a weak warmth. Condensation lined the corners of the glass panes where the heat from the oven reached. 

The peace and quiet in the days after the mission ended had allowed Bucky to start processing. For the most part, he had been handling the whole time-travelling thing well, but every so often he would pass by a place he remembered in Brooklyn and get slammed with a wave of nostalgia. In particular, there was an old-world Yiddish bakery he and Steve had frequented back in the 40s that had the best mohnstrudel they’d ever tasted.

After eighty years, though, the cozy shop had been converted into a trendy hair salon, and neither one had ever been able to find poppy seed rolls quite like it. Steve had mentioned this loss in passing a couple days ago, and luckily you remembered an old family recipe your grandma had taught you as a child. One minor flour spill, a lot of kneading, and not a lot of measuring later, a loaf was baking in the oven. 

You dealt out six cards each, organizing them in your hand as Bucky made the first play. You countered it and drew another card. Fifteen or twenty plays later, you held the trump card and a jack of diamonds in your hand. Bucky looked decidedly resigned as he drew the last card. “Jesus, [y/n]. I swear you’re cheating.” You clicked your tongue and pushed the jack towards him. “You’re just mad I’m better at it than you."

 Perking up, he placed a queen of diamonds on top of it. “Hah! Fina-” You slid the ace of spades next to the two cards. “You were saying?” Never had you seen a face go from smug to stunned so fast. “...What?” Bucky slumped back in his chair, hands coming up to cover his face. From behind them came a muffled groan. Just then, the beeping of the oven timer filled the kitchen. 

You pushed back your chair and stood up, taking a towel hanging from the handle of a nearby cabinet as you went. The kitchen filled with a rush of hot fragrant air as you opened the oven door, grabbing the metal tray with the cloth and setting it down on the stovetop. Digging in a drawer for a knife, you cut two slices and placed them on a plate, handing one to Bucky and setting the other one down on the table. 

The kettle on the stove was boiling, and you poured black tea into mismatched mugs. Bucky bit into his piece as you sat down and his eyes widened. “Oh, wow.” You looked up. “Is that a good ‘oh, wow’ or a bad ‘oh, wow’?” you asked through a piece of roll, sipping some tea. Bucky shook his head, chewing.

 “It’s exactly like the one that bakery used to make.” Everything was there - the smooth poppy filling, the hint of plum jam, the lemon zest. You grinned with pride, cheeks flushing, and licked a drop of filling from the side of your finger. Bucky wouldn’t admit to himself how good it made him feel to make you smile like that at him. 

His eyes lingered a little too long on your lips, noticing how soft they looked before blinking away. Friends didn’t do that. Steam curled up from your mug and the radiator clicked on. In the kitchen that Saturday morning, Bucky didn’t fall in love so much as glide into it, slowly and surely.

[apollos-garden]

Thrall

A/N: in this, you’re an Avenger who has atmospheric / air manipulation powers. So basically you can move air, shove air, make a high/low pressure bubble, make a force field of wind, etc. 

Word count: 1878

Summary: mind controlled Bucky is ordered to fight you

The metal-paneled hallway was silent as you snuck along the side. You’d successfully retrieved the element core from under heavy guard at one of HYDRA’s last bases without notice. Just a bit longer, and you’d get outside. Tony’s quinjet was as close as possible to the base without triggering the sensors, about a 3 minute run. At the end of the hallway, you saw Bucky waiting to make sure you weren’t ambushed and cornered in the narrow corridor. You quickened your steps, eager to get away from the flickering fluorescent lights and eerie echo. Suddenly, the speakers in the ceiling came on with a crackle. 

Was that... Russian? “Желание. Ржавый...” You slowed in confusion, but Bucky’s eyes widened in horror before you could register the pattern. “No!” he shouted, plugging his ears in a desperate attempt to override the code, but the volume was deafening. “...Возвращение на Родину. Один...” In a last-ditch attempt to interrupt the sequence being read out, you sent a bolt of high pressure air hurtling towards the nearest speaker, crumpling it, but the others lining the hallway were more than loud enough to compensate. “Товарный вагон.” Silence resumed for a moment before Bucky straightened. “Я готов отвечать.” Ready to comply. 

Your heart sank. “Bucky, pl-.” You were cut off by the voice in the ceiling. “Dispatch subject in possession of element core and return it to the base center. Do not damage the core.” Bucky’s eyes locked onto you, and he raised his gun. Panicking, you threw up a force field. It held off the first spray of bullets, but in a confined and stuffy area like this, it wouldn’t last for long. You needed to get outside. The door was in your line of sight, directly behind Bucky. That was the problem. Strengthening the field as much as possible, you slowly began advancing towards him. 

As you got closer, the bullets’ ricochet paths started veering dangerously close to Bucky. Realizing this, he positioned the gun back across his shoulders and swapped to his knife. Bucky kicked the force field right in the middle, and although the winds spun his foot off, it wavered, weakened from the bullets. After absorbing another kick and two punches from his metal arm, the rushing air finally flickered down. You were completely unprotected. You had a knife in your belt and some explosive beads in a satchel, but even as you reached for the blade you knew you wouldn’t be able to hurt him. 

Bucky jabbed with the knife at your stomach and you sent a focused burst of air hurtling towards the blade, averting it at the last second. Your mind raced, trying to come up with any strategy to get to the door. Narrowly dodging an elbow to the face, you saw your window. Shoving him to the side with a gust of wind, you launched yourself past him, diving onto the hard floor. Rolling, you made a mad dash for the door. You heard a whooshing noise and your left calf erupted in pain, his knife clattering to the ground. Stumbling, you reached for the door handle when you heard the characteristic click of a gun cocking. 

You threw up a force field behind you, blocking a stream of bullets. You reached blindly for the door handle behind you, tugging it open. As you turned, a bullet ricocheted past the wall of wind and ripped into your right side as you almost fell outside, slamming the door behind you. Shaking, you reached for your radio. “Tony, Bucky got triggered and is trying to get the core back. I can’t hold him back for long. I need you to pick me up.” Not waiting for a response, you ran to a nearby tree, crouching behind it just as Bucky burst through the door. If you got the chance to form a low-pressure partial vacuum around his head, you might be able to make him pass out from hypoxia. You held out your hands, hiding them as best you could in the brush around the tree, and began to form the vacuum. Focused on tracking the blood drops you left in the muddy grass, Bucky didn’t notice the faint blurry film cast over his vision. 

The sound of the rain pattering on leaves masked your heavy breathing. Your vision was also starting to blur, but from blood loss and exhaustion. The bubble had sealed, and oxygen levels should have fallen enough to be noticeable. And noticed it was. Bucky clawed at the bubble, but since it was just air, there was nothing to punch through. Unfortunately, he realized that he needed to find you before his air ran out at the same time that the blood trail ended right in front of you. Your eyes locked. 

You formed your third force field just in time to block a kick that would have hit you square in the nose. It was stronger now, with the storm and free air, but you weren’t sure how long you could hold it and maintain the vacuum. Time to try something different. Hooking your foot around Bucky’s ankle, you took advantage of his air-deprived dizziness to flip him onto the ground, slamming his head onto a tree root. Summoning a concentrated force field around both his wrists, you kept both hands pinned to the ground. He strained against it and your head pounded with how much force you needed to exert to keep him there. Blood trickled from your nose. This could last for 10 seconds, tops. 

Your head snapped up as blasters started firing from the rooftop of the base at the approach of Tony’s quinjet. By this time, Bucky definitely should have passed out. You turned your gaze back to Bucky just to see his metal arm rip through its confine, and then the other one. With alarm, you saw no sign of the bubble you had put in place. It must have fizzled out when you had to focus so much power on keeping Bucky restrained. You raised your hands to cast yet another force field to hold until the quinjet landed, but they shook badly and all you managed was a feeble puff. Bucky unslung his gun from his shoulders and you dive away, but a round of bullets rip into the air and one lodges into your bicep. You look up to the quinjet to see Hawkeye on the hatch shoot an arrow into Bucky’s leg. The last thing you see before your vision fades to black is Bucky crumpling to the ground next to you and Cap leaping from the quinjet. 

________________________________

You slowly open your eyes. Your head feels pleasantly fuzzy, almost warm. As you open your eyes, some of that fogginess morphs into nausea. You’re in the quinjet. It’s quiet, the only noise the whir of the turbines and the splashing of rain on the roof and windows. Taking a deep breath, you push up onto your elbows. Your abs and arm burn, but thankfully the painkillers flowing down the IV line in your wrist numb most of the pain. “Woah, sit back down!” came a voice from behind you. You turn your head to see Natasha. “Oh. Hey, Nat.” 

“Lie. Back. Down.” Geez, okay. You settle back onto the medical cot. Natasha dragged her chair over to you. “How’re you feeling?” You smirked. “Actually, pretty okay. This is some heavy stuff. Maybe I should get shot more often.” Natasha just raises an eyebrow at you. The memory of what happened gradually returns as you shake free from the analgesic mental fog. “Um, how’s Bucky? I saw him get nailed by Hawkeye.” Nat sighs. “Well, he’s fine physically. That was a hollow arrow filled with a fast-acting sedative, just to get him out of Winter Soldier mode. Mentally... well, he’s outside. Do you want to talk to him?”

You nodded, biting your lip in concern. Natasha got up and dipped around the door, saying something. Once she was gone, you sat up, leaning against the wall for support. After a moment, Bucky’s head peeked around the door. He didn’t seem like he was going to move. “Hey, Bucky. You can come in, you know.” Slowly, he walked in, stopping near the door. He hugged himself with one arm, holding onto the bicep of his metal arm. He didn’t make eye contact. You tracked his gaze, eyes fixed on the bandages wrapped around your waist and arm. “Don’t worry about those. Bruce used some of his cell matrix regeneration support bandages. I’ve read about them in journals. Bullet wounds don’t even scar over if you get one on fast enough.” Bucky nodded. “Could you maybe come here? I would move but I’m tethered.” You motioned to your wrist. Reluctantly, he walked over and sat where Nat had been.

Bucky still wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Hey. It’s okay. You couldn’t do anything, and I don’t blame you for it.” At that, his eyes snapped up to meet yours. His eyes were red. “Why didn’t you stop me?,” he asked hoarsely. “If Tony had got there any slower, I would have killed you.” You sighed. “I knew if I tried to really hit you, I would have pulled my punches. So then I wouldn’t have made any real attack and I would be close enough for you to really mess me up. Just holding you down and blocking was the only way for me to get out alive. Anyway, we both made it out.” 

“It was this close to only one of us making it out!,” Bucky exclaimed. “I don’t get it. You almost died! Because of me!” His shoulders sagged and you could hear his voice crack. “I thought I lost you.” Bucky looked back up at you, blinking back tears. Some managed to escape and trail down his cheeks. Your own eyes stung seeing Bucky like this. “I’m right here, Bucky. I’m alive and so are you.” You pulled his head forward to kiss his forehead, then wrapped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay.” Bucky let himself be moved without resistance, but his hands wavered before settling on either side of the cot, not wanting to further hurt you. Silently, you lower one hand and intertwine your fingers with his, resting in your lap. 

Eventually, Bucky’s back stopped shuddering with sobs and his breathing evened out. You wiped away residual tears with the back of your hand, gently tugging him next to you on the cot. The combined effect of keeping yourself upright with damaged ab muscles and the steady flow of the painkillers was beginning to take a toll on you, and you leaned a little into Bucky’s side. His brows furrowed in concern. He remained still for a moment before cautiously guiding your head into his lap. “Sorry, I guess these drugs are pretty strong,” you mumbled. “ ’S okay,” Bucky replied, running his fingers through your hair. 

After about thirty seconds, you were already dead asleep. Bucky tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Your pulse was slow but strong and he could just barely feel the beat on his thigh where your neck rested. You both stayed like that, still and safe, until the quinjet landed.

[apollos-garden]

Interwoven

Word count: 323

Summary: you vibe to some ocean documentaries and play with Bucky’s hair

The glowing screen of your computer illuminated the room as the sun set and twilight set in. You sat with your back against the headboard of your bed and Bucky in between your legs, head propped up on your chest. It had been a tough mission, and binge-watching Blue Planet documentaries was just what the two of you needed. 

“Jesus, what is that thing?” Bucky exclaimed as a closeup of an anglerfish filled the screen. You chuckled. “Honestly, I think some things should stay in the ocean. Why does it have so many teeth??” As the documentary went on to describe how the anglerfish uses bioluminescence to hunt, you found yourself absentmindedly running your fingers through Bucky’s hair. He stilled. Fearing that you were annoying him, you moved your hand away only to have him pull it back. “No, stay,” he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. 

“Alright.” Reassured, you began weaving pieces of silky hair into a braid. “Your hair is so soft.” Bucky smiled, leaning a little into your hands and closing his eyes. The commentary of the narrator faded into the background as you listened to his slow breathing and the faint sounds of traffic far below the Stark Tower. 

The monitor had gone to sleep and blue light cloaked the buildings outside your window in heavy shadows when you finished your work. Bucky’s head was adorned with a crown of two French braids joined at the back. He was too far gone to appreciate it, though. His head drooped when you lifted your hands away, and he was snoring softly. Smiling to yourself, you carefully extracted yourself from under him and laid down beside him, tugging the comforter up to cover both of you. Bucky’s hand twitched slightly and his lips formed silent words. Burying your head in the side of his neck and hugging his waist slightly, you drift off to join him in sleep.

[apollos-garden]

Sunwarmed

Word count: 410

Summary: sleepy Bucky wakes up next to you

Bucky took a deep breath, squinting slightly as he woke. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in your blinds and pooled on the comforter. Lifting his head slightly, he squinted to read the clock from across the room. 7:43 a.m. He didn’t have to get up until training with Steve at 9. Dropping back onto the pillow, Bucky turned his gaze to you. 

You had your back to him and your hair had come loose from its braid in the night, fanning out across the pillow. The sunlight glinted off each burnished strand. Your chest rose and fell gently and uniformly, and your body remained limp. Burying his head into your neck, Bucky closed his eyes and tightened his real arm around you. His fingers wound back into yours. The faint scent of your shampoo filled his nose and the sun’s rays warmed his back. 

Mornings like this made the memories of HYDRA and all the trauma he had had to endure fade away to nothing. All that remained was a soft sense of warmth, of love and contentedness. Lost in the blurry space between sleep and reality, time flowed leisurely like honey. 

Some time later, your breathing hitches slightly and then becomes quieter. You sleepily tuck Bucky’s hand closer under your chin. “Mornin’,” Bucky mumbled, his voice gravelly. “Hi,” you whisper back. After a moment, you let go of his arm and turn to face him, blinking at the unexpectedly bright sunshine. 

Bucky’s face was still relaxed with sleepiness this early. No sign of the usual wrinkle between his eyebrows remained, and his lips curved gently upwards. You reached up to cup his stubbly cheek with one hand, your thumb stroking his cheekbone softly as you press a kiss to his lips. “It’s so bright today, huh?” Bucky laughed quietly. “Yeah, woke me up too.” A strand of dark hair fell onto his face, and you reached up to tuck it behind his ear before hiding your face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. He smelled like cinnamon and brown sugar and faintly, the metal of the arm below him. Sleepily, you weave your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Bucky sighs and hugs you a little tighter, kissing you lightly on the top of your head. “Love you, doll,” he mutters into your hair. “Love you too” came muffled from his shoulder. The sun continued to stream steadily and complete peace resumed.