#Nightmare marvel

[can-of-pringles]

Who was going to tell me that there's an evil discount Marvel version of Dream of the Endless /j

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

IN THE GRIP OF THE NIGHTMARE WORLD -- INTERDIMENSIONAL TERROR IS UPON YOU.

PIC(S) INFO: Resolution at 1002x1520 -- Spotlight on cover art to "Ghost Rider" Vol. 3 #30 ["Nightmares of Truth"]. October, 1992. Artwork by the father-and-son comic artist duo, Andy Kubert & Joe Kubert. Marvel Comics

PIC #2: Resolution at 798x1200 -- The same cover, with different color grading, and I've already got my copy. What about the rest of you?

Sources: https://vengeanceunbound.blogspot.com/2018/05/ghost-rider-1990-30.html, eBay, various, etc...

[chappellsroans]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN (2025 - ) I 1.04

[thes-hitoverlord]

art by STUPIDDEAD SKULLHEAD

[thenameswintergifs]

SEBASTIAN STAN as JAMES "BUCKY" BARNES THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021), dir. KARI SKOGLAND 1x04 "The Whole World is Watching"

[clairedaring]

Matthew...

DAREDEVIL Kinbaku | 2.05

[mischievous-thunder]

Wade, spooning a peacefully asleep Logan: Yes, my Logie Bear's a VIP.

Logan: *Subconsciously snuggles closer to Wade*

Wade, gently kissing Logan's shoulder: A Very Important Princess.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Late Nights

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky talks to you after you have a nightmare.

Disclaimer: descriptions of nightmares and blood. Little angst but mostly fluff. Bucky and Reader go to the farmers market and dance together in the kitchen. Not fully proof read.

It was late. That much you knew. 

The sky had long since darkened over the city, the street lights flickering on as the clouds moved over the stars and had started to cradle the moon. You kept the light off in the living area as you entered. The bathroom light was already harsh enough, you didn’t need more to hurt your eyes. 

Like every other night, you moved inside quietly. Nobody else was awake. They never were. So, you had taken up your usual seat at the floor to ceiling window that looked out to the rest of the city. 

Cars still drove by on the roads every now and again, most of them ubers dropping people home from the clubs and bars around town. 

You’d stacked up your case hours within the first couple of months so you had been put on desk duty by Hill and Barton until you’d be needed out in the field again. Which was good in one aspect. You worked a standard nine to five. However, just because you weren’t physically out in the field didn’t mean that your mind wasn’t. 

It happened every time you came back from a mission. For the first couple of weeks, you’d be okay. But once you were comfortable, and safe, your mind decided to start playing tricks on you. You’d wake with the smell of the jet engine still in your nose. The bruises and cuts could have healed months ago, but you’d wake and still fill that pain as if they’d just happened. Once you’d remember where you were, the pain would slowly float away. But in those first few seconds? It was as if no time had passed at all and you were still on the field. Still in your nightmare. 

Your hands smoothed down your wide legged sweatpants as you pulled your legs towards your chest. And for a while, you just breathed. Keeping your cheek on your knee, looking outside to the city that never seemed to sleep, you just kept breathing. 

“Can’t sleep?”

You turned your head to look at the door. You were just thankful you remembered to put your glasses back on when you got out of bed. Otherwise you’d be trying to guess which team member was standing by the kitchen island. 

“How long have you been there?” You asked Bucky. You hadn’t even heard him come in. 

“Not too long.”

“How specific.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.” He started walking towards you, his feet padding across the cold floor before stopping in front of you and holding out a loosened water bottle. 

“Thanks,” you replied quietly as you took it from him. Then he sat opposite to you, one leg propped up, the other dangling over the side to rest against the floor. 

“Still getting nightmares?” He asked you. 

You swallowed the gulp of water as you looked away from him. “Who told you I was getting them in the first place?”

“You did.”

You looked at him, your eyes landing on his. Bucky had this way of looking at people. You blamed it on him spending too much time with Sam. It was like he could see through you. Sam had been through a lot, but some of the darker stuff you could hide from him. Sam would know you were hiding something, but he wouldn’t be able to tell what exactly. 

But Bucky? 

It was as if he could see the tattoos on your heart. Like he could read them, even if they were in another language. He knew. But he’d always wait. He had patience. 

Bucky answered the question you’d asked silently. “You forget your room is next to mine. When your door closes, I hear it. It shakes the wall. I’m a light sleeper, so I notice.”

Bucky had heard how quietly you’d closed the door when you were trying to make sure nobody would wake up. 

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and joined you in looking out to the rest of the city. “Nothing to be sorry for. You wanna tell me about them?”

You shrugged, keeping your gaze focused on the city and definitely not his reflection in the glass. “Just the usual, you know. Re-living the missions, rewriting the endings, seeing all the mistakes and wondering what would have happened if they didn’t happen. Or if they did. They go away eventually.”

“They go away, or they get replaced?”

You shook your head. “You spend too much time with Sam.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle. 

“What happened tonight?”

You looked back at him. “Why are you awake?”

“Got thirsty,” he told you, holding up his own water bottle. “And you didn’t come back to bed.”

Bucky, again, went on to answer your silent question. 

“I also know when you go back to bed. Woke up naturally to complete silence. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Bucky sayed quiet for a few moments, his gaze studying every inch of you. And then-

“You’re cold.”

Without another word, Bucky stood up and walked over to the basket of blankets that was hanging on the opposite wall. He pulled one through the bars before walking back over to you. With quiet gestures, Bucky had you lean forward and he placed the blanket over your shoulders.

Then he sat back down opposite you. 

“You know,” Bucky broke the long silence of just watching people turn lights on and off inside their apartments across the city. “If you ever want to talk about it, you can come and find me.”

“Thanks, Buck. But I think I’ll be okay.”

Bucky shook his head. “This isn’t a polite offer. I mean it. Three o’clock in the morning, or three in the afternoon. If you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you looked at him, taking his words in. He did really mean it. But you still tried your best to stay calm. Eventually, you nodded. 

“Thanks, Buck.”

There was another twenty minutes of silence and somewhere in them, you must have drifted off because you felt yourself being lifted up. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not sleeping against glass all night.” Bucky’s voice was soft in the silence of the room. “Just close your eyes. You’re safe with me.”

“Buck, I can walk.”

You heard Bucky’s breathy chuckle as he held you closer. “I don’t trust you to walk when you’re asleep. That’s like asking Scott to dance after he’s had one too many. Just close your eyes.”

You didn’t know if you compiled because you wanted to, or because your body forced you to but the next thing you remembered was waking up to the sunlight glowing softly in your room. The blanket Bucky had wrapped around you hours earlier was still in its place. 

It was the first time in weeks you felt rested. Not that you’d just slept well, but you were actually rested. 

Eventually you turned your body to look at your alarm clock. 10:02am. 

You were just thankful you had weekends off. 

That was when you noticed your phone. Plugged in, fully charged. You hadn’t done that. Had Bucky?

Then you saw the texts. 

When you wake up, meet me at the coffee machine. 

You took twenty minutes before dragging yourself from bed and heading into the kitchen. That was where you found him, completing his book of crosswords. 

“Hey,” he smiled, briefly. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have done in a while.” You poured yourself a coffee before topping up his mug. He thanked you quietly before taking a sip. 

“Thank you for carrying me last night. I don’t remember anything after Scott having one too many.”

Bucky just smiled. “You're welcome.”

“So?” You asked as you sat beside him. “What did you need?”

Part of you had expected him to say you were getting called into work for something. But no. Instead, he just pushed his crossword over to you. 

“Its theme is Greece. I can’t find the last few words.” 

“You texted me to help you with a crossword?”

“If I text Natasha, she’d just add it to her ‘old-man’ gags.”

You chuckled, taking the pen from him. “Hand it over.”

For the next twenty minutes, you and Bucky sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing the crossword. Artemis had been written diagonally and backwards. Hermes had been written directly across two other words and Aphrodite had been written directly down the middle. 

You and Bucky ended up spending the entire morning doing the next three pages together. And somewhere between the quiet deliberation, concentrated stares and shared laughter, you’d both ended up planning a day together. 

First the farmers market just outside of town. You’d picked up some fresh flowers and fresh food. Bucky had picked a different selection of things from some aged books he could wait to read, to fresh fruit and pies from one old lady’s stall. 

She’d mistaken you and Bucky for being a couple and had started talking about the cute dates her and her husband would go on when they were your age. Then she gave you and Bucky some locations that were practically destined to be date spots. 

Neither of you had the heart to tell her you were both co-workers and friends. And that Bucky, technically, was a lot older than her and her husband. 

So, you both went along with it. 

The hours that followed, you and Bucky ended up walking around the entire town just talking. A little about work, but mostly about your histories. Bucky’s memories of going to the fair with his sister and your memories of being dragged around farmer markets as a kid. 

“I hated it for a long time and then one afternoon in college, I ended up walking to the local one. And I’ve loved them ever since.”

Bucky smiled as he listened to you. You’d known each other for almost four years and despite sharing a bedroom wall and working together most of the time, it was rare he got to share these moments with you. 

Ones where you were completely relaxed. Ones where your mind wasn’t at least a little bit on work. Ones where you could smile and laugh and joke along with him. 

By the time you both got back home, the others walked in to find you and Bucky cooking dinner together. The radio was on, a familiar forties tune coming to an end just as Michael Bublé started to wash over the speaker. 

Bucky was peeling carrots when he looked over at you, your hips softly swaying to the tune as you smiled to yourself. So, putting down the peeler, he wiped his hands on the dish towel slung over his shoulder and reached for your hand. 

You were a little confused initially but once you realised what he was doing, you dropped the knife back onto the chopping board and started dancing around the kitchen with him. Laughter escaped both of you as he twirled you out and around before pulling you back in close. He surprised you at one point, dipping you down before lifting you back onto your feet. 

“We need to get dinner started before they offer us as a sacrifice,” you laughed out as the song eventually came to an end. You patted Bucky twice on the chest and looked away as you felt your cheeks heat. 

“Okay, okay. You might have a point.”

Pulling his sleeves a little further up his arms from where they’d slipped a little whilst you were dancing together, he got back to washing and peeling the veg before you chopped them and placed them into the pot on the stove. 

Throughout the entire time in the kitchen, you and Bucky seemed to be able to silently communicate. As he stepped around you as you reached for one of the spices on the spice racks, he turned the heat down on the hob. He handed you the stirring spoon before you could ask for it. You lifted the chopping board so he could wipe underneath them, he took them from you when he was finished before lifting the pan lid up to stop it from boiling over as you tended to the second saucepan. 

It was an entire dance within itself. 

It was also the first time you didn’t want to throttle someone for being in the kitchen with you as you cooked. 

It was nice. 

It was…

Homely. 

By the time you and Bucky had finished setting the table, everyone had returned from their days out or at work and you’d all sat down and talked over dinner. 

And for the following two weeks, everything ran in a similar way. You also found yourself sleeping longer, and deeper, than you had done in a while. 

All until two weeks later when a nightmare seemed to storm your mind. You had been happy in a dream, in a house you’d just bought, decorating the rooms with your friends until a paint pot got spilt. It had been blue in the can, but as it seemed out, it began to turn red. Then the red took over the room in a light and the paint became a river before it became blood. 

You looked up and found yourself back in your uniform, cuts across your knuckles, pain seeping into the bones of your body. A leaky roof was dripping and mixing in with the blood that was caked into your hair. Your vision turned blurry before you felt yourself beginning to fall. Only, you didn’t wake up. You’d fallen into another room. Another floor. Another punch. Another glare of the sun before a red light took over and a buzzer began to blare over your head. 

You tried covering your ears but it only got louder. Someone’s hands were on you, pushing you down. Pulling you up. Punching your gut. Gunshots started firing. Another room. Another mission. Somebody was yelling. A kid was screaming. There hadn’t been a mission with a kid. Or had there? Did you have to get them out? What was your mission? Another punch. Another room. Another alarm. Another fight. Over and over again. More and more pain. More and more voices. 

“It’s okay. It’s just me.”

Bucky had heard you shouting. You never called out in your sleep. He’d sprung from his bed when he realised it was your voice and not just his imagination. You were in bed, sleeping. You were in bed, getting caught in a nightmare. 

There was a cold sheen across your skin, your covers were getting tangled around you as you fought against whoever was in your head, your face was scrunched in pain and your hands were holding onto your head. 

He tried waking you but it wasn’t working. You needed to be brought back to reality. So, climbing in beside you, his arms wrapped around your body to hold you still. 

Your entire body was shaking underneath him. 

“It’s just me. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

One final throw from your body and you jolted awake, your hands not recognising the arms around you. 

“It’s just me. You’re safe. You’re in the tower.”

“Bucky?” Your voice was almost pleading as it shook. You could only pray it was him. 

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What…what happened?”

“You had a nightmare.”

You swallowed thickly, the previous images flashing through your mind before you pressed your hand against your head. “Yeah…yeah.”

Your breathing was still elevated, as was your heartbeat. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

You closed your eyes and nodded, feeling the tears hit you. “Please.”

Bucky didn’t need to ask twice. His arms already around you, he held you a little tighter as you turned over and curled your arm over his ribs and up his back. 

Carefully, he patted the back of your hair before pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

You didn’t know how, or when, but eventually you drifted off in his embrace with his thumb wiping your fallen tears away from your cheeks. 

The next morning, you continued to lay in his embrace. You were trying to make sense of your nightmares. Which mission they belonged to, why they’d hit you all of a sudden. 

“How are you feeling?”

You could think of any other word than, “Odd.”

“Talk to me.”

You swallowed once again and shook your head. “I…I don’t know how else to put it. They’ve never been that bad. It’s usually just one or two. But that was…” You blew some air from your lungs. “That was a lot.”

“Then start at the beginning. You need to talk about it.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. So, you started from the beginning. And he listened. He waited through every silence, no matter how long. And he didn’t try to leave or run away. Bucky stayed, holding you close to him.

“How long have you been having nightmares?”

You shrugged. “Couple of years, I guess. But they’re not frequent. Or like…that.”

“Are they always the same?”

“Similar. They’re all about missions if that’s what you mean.”

Bucky nodded. “Do you know what might have triggered it?”

You shook your head. “No clue.”

It was twenty minutes before you both decided to get up and when you did, you started stripping your bed from its covers. 

“I think I sweated through this.”

Without another word, Bucky walked over and opened up your window a little before helping you pull the pillowcases and fitted sheet from your bed. He helped you reach the covers on the very top shelf and helped you fit them back onto your bed. 

He made breakfast that morning as you made the coffee. It got easier through the day but by the time you decided to go to bed, Bucky slipped under the covers beside you without a word. Just quiet stares before you reached out for his hand under the covers and closed your eyes. 

That was the first night both you and Bucky had fallen into a deep sleep, being completely undisturbed by dreams or nightmares. 

[annabelle--cane]

magnus dice btw

[taw-k]

While I definitely think the mind stone had a massive effect on Loki in the first Avengers film he definitely wasn't under full control, in fact I don't even think that's how the mind stone really works, definitely not like Clint and Selvig were.

What I think happened was Thanos tortured the hell out of Loki, and here's a silly little gorey through for you, forced him to battle other beasts, and if he won, his prize would be dinner... He would be forced to eat his fallen opponent.

Anyway, this took a toll on Loki until he finally broke, and that's where Thanos stepped in with the mind stone.

See, Thanos is evil, but he's not stupid, and he knows that loyalty born from respect and admiration is stronger than that of fear, that's why people die for their loved ones as he's probably seen countess times while invading planets. So he took Loki's broken mind and twisted it, the torture, the pain, the suffering, removed everything, his entire memory of being tortured, but he kept the loyalty. He filled Loki's mind with peace, promises, and purpose because that's all Loki's ever wanted, to belong, all thanks to the glorious Thanos.

That's what the mind stone does, it grants you peace, and a purpose, it makes everything... quiet... it doesn't make you do things for the wielder, it makes you want to do things. That's why Loki never spoke up about his experiences, he doesn't know where the mind stone stops and he starts, and he doesn't remember the torture.

Whenever you disobey the influence you experience something like withdrawal, a deep sense of panic and fear, of loss, of losing yourself and your purpose. This was severely amplified with Loki as he already suffers from intrusive thoughts, hallucinations (when he's having a really bad episode) and having no sense of identity (especially after Thor 1).

Then years later on the ship after Ragnarok Bruce Banner gets the sneaking feeling that Loki wasn't behind the attack. He questions Loki, asks him things like "don't you remember throwing Clint off a building?" or "don't you remember when you held Natasha hostage?" things that never happened and Loki just agrees because it was all a blur to him. That's how Bruce finds out about Thanos sending Loki.

[pandapetals]

Nightmares

After dating for a while, you try to convince Logan to sleep in your bed despite his nightmares.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

Things between you and Logan had moved quickly after that long year of pining, flirting, and stolen glances that led to the inevitable confession. It had taken time, but once the feelings were out in the open, things fell into place—almost effortlessly. Logan was a gentleman, old-fashioned in the way he held the door for you or offered his hand whenever you stepped out of the car. 

While you appreciated all those gestures, what you longed for most was something simpler. You wanted to wake up within arm’s reach of him, to feel his warmth next to you when the early morning light crept through the window.

But that seemed impossible.

Everyone at the mansion knew Logan didn’t sleep much, and when he did, it often ended in nightmares—violent, heart-wrenching ones that sent his body into a battle of its own while his mind relived horrors buried deep within him. It had been that way for decades, and the others had grown used to the occasional sound of his muttering, the low groans that echoed through the mansion in the dead of night.

You weren’t used to it. You wanted to help. From the moment the two of you began dating, you had been determined to ease his pain. Yet, every time you mentioned it, Logan would brush it off, insisting that it was something he’d learned to live with. "It’s part of me, sweetheart," he would say, his voice low and gruff as if the weight of it all was too much to burden anyone else with. "Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it."

So, he kept his distance. Even as you grew closer emotionally, he kept you away at night, a silent barrier between the two of you. He feared hurting you—he feared himself.

One night, after yet another evening of him retreating to his own room, you had had enough.

"Logan," you said firmly, your voice a mixture of frustration and affection. "I’m telling you, I’ll be fine."

He was standing near the edge of the bed, his shoulders tense, the muscles in his arms coiled like he was ready for battle. He shook his head, not meeting your eyes. "You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice thick with that familiar rasp. "I could hurt you. When the nightmares come... I have no control. I can’t... I won’t risk it."

Your gaze dropped to his hands, those calloused hands you knew so well—hands that had held you gently, protectively. You also knew what lay beneath the surface. His claws retracted now, but always there, waiting. The thought of him losing control scared him more than anything.

"I don’t trust myself," Logan whispered, his voice barely audible now as if he was confessing a sin. "I’m sorry."

He turned to leave, but you weren’t ready to let him go—not this time. With a quick movement, you slipped out of bed, catching his arm before he could leave your room. "Logan," you said, your voice softer but firm, pleading. "Please. Just try for me. If it’s too much, I’ll sleep on the floor or... or whatever it takes. But just... be here."

He looked down at you, his expression torn, those stormy eyes filled with an internal battle you couldn’t even begin to understand. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded—barely, but it was enough.

The first night he stayed with you, you had sensed it even before he woke. The way his breathing quickened, his muscles tensed beneath the blankets—small signs that told you the nightmare was taking over. You didn’t hesitate. Slipping out of bed silently, you moved to the chair by the window, watching him carefully from a safe distance. You weren’t afraid—you trusted him—but you knew Logan would never forgive himself if he hurt you.

Moments later, his body jerked violently, a low growl escaping his throat as his claws extended with a harsh snikt. He woke with a start, sitting up and panting, his chest heaving as he tried to get his bearings. His eyes scanned the room until they found you sitting there, calm and patient, waiting for him.

"You... you moved," he said, his voice hoarse, the pain of the nightmare still lingering in his tone.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Just giving you space," you said gently. "I’m here, Logan. I’m not going anywhere."

He stared at you for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing as he realized you weren’t afraid. You hadn’t run. You were still here, waiting. It was then that he knew he didn’t have to explain—he never had to explain. While he rarely shared the details of what haunted him, on nights like these, when he felt safe enough, he would start to talk, his voice low and raw, as if the words hurt to speak aloud.

He told you about the wars, about the blood and death, and the faces that still haunted him. About the men he had killed, sometimes not even remembering their names. You listened, always listening, never asking more than he was willing to give. When he grew quiet, you would move back to the bed, curling up beside him, grounding him with your presence.

As time passed, Logan began to relax more around you, his nights spent in your bed becoming more frequent. The nightmares didn’t stop, but he learned to trust that you were there, that he wasn’t alone in the fight.

You made your room a safe place for him—a sanctuary of sorts. The dim light of the bedside lamp, the soft hum of a fan in the corner, and the familiar scent of vanilla from the candles you liked to burn. Everything in the room was designed to soothe, to ground him. 

Before bed, you created a routine—something simple but effective. You’d brew a cup of chamomile tea, and he’d drink it with that reluctant smirk of his, pretending he didn’t need it but secretly enjoying the quiet ritual. Afterward, you’d settle into bed together, and your favorite part came next.

"Alright," you’d say softly, pulling out a book from your nightstand. "What are we in the mood for tonight? Something classic?"

Logan would nod, his body already relaxing into the pillows. It became part of the routine, you reading aloud to him, your voice a soothing balm against the chaos that sometimes lingered in his mind. You’d start with a chapter or two, your voice soft and melodic, and by the time you’d finished, Logan’s breathing would have slowed, his head resting against your shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

Some nights, he’d drift off peacefully before you even closed the book, the tension in his face softening as sleep claimed him. You’d smile to yourself, gently placing the book on the nightstand, and press a kiss to the top of his head before turning off the light.

One night, after you finished reading, Logan murmured sleepily, his voice rough but content, "Don’t know how you do it, darlin’."

"Do what?" you asked, brushing your fingers through his hair.

He shifted, tightening his hold on you. "Make me feel...safe."

You smiled in the darkness, your heart swelling at his words. "Because you are safe, Logan. With me, you always will be."

In the quiet that followed, with the moonlight streaming softly through the window, Logan finally let himself believe it. 

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompts 228

"Dad."

"I am not your father, ghostling- and you cannot attempt to use that to take my sword."

"… Mom!"

"Oh Realms help me, No-"

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"...LIVING IN YOUR DREAMWORLD IS NOTHING BUT A NIGHTMARE."

PIC INFO: Resolution at 1652x2285 -- Spotlight on a splash page extradimensional demonic entity and Ruler of the Nightmare World in the Dream Dimension, Nightmare, from the pages of "Incredible Hulk" Vol. 1 #298. August, 1984. Marvel Comics.

"Good evening. My name is... Nightmare. And this is my realm. The Nightmare Realm. You've been here before. Oh, yes, you have! Of course you may not remember -- not in detail, not with specificity -- the numerous occasions on which you've been my... guest. No, but you do recall the sense of dread that so unnerved you the morning after that you woke sobbing into your pillow and clutching your bedsheets in terror. My, but we've had some fine times together, haven't we?"

-- NIGHTMARE breaking the fourth wall (Earth-616)

Story/script by Bill Mantlo

Pencils by Sal Buscema

Inks by Gerry Talaoc

Colors by Bob Sharen

Letters by Joe Rosen

Sources: Monsters and Magazines! (blogspot) & https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Incredible_Hulk_Vol_1_298.

[okscallion-4221]

The characters I currently like, will add more when I get more

There’s too many tags ugh

[vertigoartgore]

1988's Marvel Fanfare Vol.1 #41 cover by cover artist Dave Gibbons (he did the interior art too).

[crowsofdarkness]

You have a Christmas surprise for Bucky while he's away on a mission.

CW(so much tooth rotting fluff, Soft!Bucky with his anxious gf, Christmas activities, slow dancing).

*originally posted on my old blog*

“Doll?”

Turning swiftly on my heels, I nearly dropped the basket of Christmas Ornaments to the ground when I saw that familiar face staring back at me.

“You’re early! You weren’t supposed to come back until tomorrow night!” I nearly whined.

Bucky's dark eyes tracked all of the bright lights and colorful decor before landing on the tree in the corner of the room, next to our bed. A soft tune from the 40’s played on the record player, basking us back to a time where Bucky was in his prime, as he would say.

He was still dressed in his tac gear, just returning from his mission which is why I was so upset he was back. I missed him dearly since he’d been gone for over a week but I hadn’t finished setting up our room in the compound yet.

“What’s this?” He asked while setting his bag on our bed.

With a slight frown, I set down the box next to it and sighed. “I was setting up the Christmas decor. I was hoping to have it finished before you got back. I know our room here at the compound is small and I can’t do much but I wanted it to feel like Christmas.”

As much as I would have loved to have a large Christmas tree, we shared one of the smaller rooms in the new compound so I was left with a small 4 ft tree that was shoved in the corner next to our bed. I had colorful string lights hanging along the ceiling and on the television was one of those videos of a fireplace.

“You did all of this?” Bucky pointed around with a still unreadable look on his face.

I shifted on my feet, suddenly nervous I overstepped. We’ve only been dating for less than a year and while we shared a room together, I thought maybe it would have been best to ask him beforehand. He was still dealing with the aftermath of everything, leaving Hydra and trying to do good in the eyes of the public. The last thing I wanted was to set him back in his progress.

“Do you not like it? Maybe I should have asked you first. This was stupid.”

I began reaching for the tree, ready to take it down when vibranium fingers wrapped around my wrist to bring me into his chest. Those eyes started down at me, a slight smile playing on Bucky's lips.

“I love it, doll. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

I ran my fingers through his short hair as our bodies began sweating softly to the music. “Yes I did. You mentioned how you hadn’t celebrated Christmas since the 40’s. You deserve to feel the Christmas magic again.”

My giggles echoed in the room as Bucky spun me before dipping me low, his lips capturing mine in a tender kiss.

“I love you. Thank you,” he brushed his nose against mine after he brought me back up straight.

I clasped my hands behind his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “I love you too, Bucky.”

We slow danced for the next while as the music played and the snow began to fall outside, the scent of peppermint lingering in the air