#perennial pt08

[shreddedparchment]

Perennial Pt.08

03/16/2022

Heat of the Moment

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 2,614

Warnings: sexual harassment trauma, angst, pining, fluff

Featured Flower: Cornflower

A/N: This chapter was actually never supposed to exist. While Bucky was always meant to sleep over, I hadn’t planned to write out what happened between them this night, HOWEVER...because so many of you wrote me such sweet comments expressing your excitement for their little sleepover, I was moved to write it out for y’all. So legit, as amazing as I find this chapter now, those of you who sent me little exclamations of excitement for Bucky coming to sleep over are the true heroes. lol I hope you enjoy! xoxo

Don’t steal, rewrite, translate, or repost my fics on any other platforms.

Don’t be an asshole.

The knock on your door makes you jump.

Slightly panicked, you scurry over to it and look down at your pajamas and wonder if maybe you should have changed. Again.

You’d finally settled on a simple pair of striped red shorts and a slightly oversized gray t-shirt. While you were picking you seriously regretted not having purchased some nicer sleepwear. Something matching and cute with lace or bows or maybe in pink?

Bucky feels like he’s more a blue guy though…

What the hell are you thinking? He has a girlfriend.

You'd put these thoughts behind you! Why are you regressing?!

There’s a second set of knocks and you jump again but peek through the peephole to make sure before opening the door.

“Sorry, I was in the bathroom.” You shove your thoughts about your pajamas as deep down into yourself as you can and keep Kali's name at the forefront of your mind. It helps.

Bucky waits a moment, frowning before moving past you with a simple duffel bag in his metal hand. He drops it by your tiny kitchen island and heads to the window in your living room.

“Was this the window?” He checks it, making sure that it’s locked before drawing the curtain shut.

“No. It was the one in my bedroom,” you tell him softly, staring intently at him because you’ve never seen him look so upset. Not even when you were giving him attitude when you'd reconnected.

He huffs through his nose, moving into your bedroom and making a beeline for that window.

He checks the lock on that one then draws the curtains shut.

“Why was your bedroom window open?” he asks, moving back around your bed and following you into the living room.

You sit down on the sofa but he doesn’t join you.

“I had just taken a shower and the bathroom was really steamy so I just wanted to air out the room. I wasn’t expecting a drunk man to show up out of nowhere.”

Is he trying to say it’s your fault?

“It would be weird if you had been expecting it. I’m not saying this was your fault. I just wasn’t sure how much balls the guy has. He could have just broken in even if the window was shut. I just wanted the facts.” He puts his hands on his hips, softening the frown on his face as he looks you over.

“It wasn’t your fault. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No. And yeah,” you agree, feeling a little silly for thinking he was trying to blame you. "I'm fine."

Shoving your hands between your knees, you look at the TV still playing some random movie you’re not paying attention to, then turn back to your unexpected guest.

“I made up the sofa for you,” you tell him, patting the seat beside you to indicate the sheets and blankets you piled on to make it more comfy.

Bucky sits beside you, startling you as you turn your eyes back on him instead of the made up sofa.

Did he think you were calling him to sit?

“Thanks,” he smiles.

"Yeah," you laugh nervously. "I hope it's not too uncomfortable."

"Honesty, I might end up on the floor anyway."

"Oh? Do you not like the sofa?" You look at it beneath you, turning this way and that to see what he might be seeing that he dislikes.

"No," he rushes to assure you, waving his metal hand gently. "No. The sofa'a great, I just…it's too soft sometimes. Everything’s a little too soft. I don't know, maybe after spending so much time frozen, modern luxuries just don't feel quite as normal as they used to."

His confession makes the ache in your chest dip. It's a different type of ache. A lamentation for the struggles of his past as opposed to jealousy or yearning.

"Oh." You reply lamely. "I uh…I can move the coffee table for you if you need more room?"

You get up and put both hands on the edge of the tabletop but before you can push it towards the TV on the opposite wall a cool metal hand closes around your wrist.

He says your name, softly.

"It's alright. If I need more space, I'll move it later. I'll try the sofa first."

Something about the way he says it eases your worries and you slowly sit back down.

"Shit," he suddenly says. "Hey, can I call Kali? I usually call her before bed."

Swallowing hard, you nod and extend a hand towards him, urging him on.

"Of course! Take all the time you need. I'll get us some drinks and snacks." With a smile you rise and move towards the kitchen.

"Thanks," he smiles.

You try not to eavesdrop as you grab two sodas and plate up some croissant sandwiches. However, your apartment is very small and it can't exactly be helped.

He doesn't move from his spot on the sofa and runs his hand along his thighs, the dark jean material hissing softly through the murmur of the TV.

"Hey, babe."

Ouch. Stupid. Let it go.

"No. Actually, I'm not at the compound."

A beat of silence.

"No. No mission." He assures her then tells her he's at your place. "Some guy tried to come in through her window earlier and he was pretty drunk. Said some pretty nasty stuff."

You wonder what she must be saying as Bucky plucks at some loose fibers on his knee. He clenches his metal fist and you assume she must be complaining or giving him a hard time--what girlfriend WOULDN'T be a little miffed about her boyfriend spending the night at some other girl's place?--but then he chuckles and rubs his knee.

"No. I won't eat all her food." He replies, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

You look away, turning your back on him in a pretense of cutting up some pickle slices but really you just can't watch him be sweet with her.

She clearly doesn't mind that he’s here which also means that she has no reason to worry.

Which means you're not a threat. Not that you want to be…but…

"Of course. I'll tell her." He says, then when he next speaks, his voice floats towards you. "Kali says hi."

You turn and give him a tight smile.

"Hi," you give him a wave to pass on then pick up the large plate with one hand and the two sodas in the other.

You stop by the coffee table and elbow the small stack of books to make room before placing the food before him.

"Yeah, of course. She’s safe with me here." He tells Kali, who must be expressing concern for you.

This fills you with guilt. You throw a thumb over your shoulder when Bucky looks at you and mouth the word bathroom.

He gives a quick nod, eyebrows shooting up, but he goes back to his conversation while you make your escape.

She's so nice! So sweet. You'd gotten the impression she was a little aloof at the park but clearly your first impression had been tainted by your own prejudice.

Gripping your bathroom sink, you shut your eyes and picture the pretty woman as you'd seen her in the park.

Again, it helps to chase away your thoughts of Bucky.

You're not sure how long you stay in the bathroom but you finally emerge and join Bucky in the living room again.

And just like that, all attempts to clear your mind of him are dashed as you blink in surprise and try not to turn away and make things awkward.

Bucky’s no longer in his jeans but rather a plain charcoal colored t-shirt and a pair of navy boxer-briefs that leave very little to the imagination.

You avoid looking at the one spot your eyes are desperate to ogle and instead see the tight and thick stretch of his thighs against the soft elastic of his underwear.

His arms strain against his t-shirt slightly and as he reaches for another sandwich, his phone left beside the spread, your eyes are assaulted by the tautness of his exposed forearms, veins bulging as he opens his soda can.

It hisses and sputters and he quickly presses it to his lips to stave the flow of sugary drink.

He's so busy watching the food and stealing glances at the TV that he thankfully doesn't notice you staring.

It takes every ounce of self control and sanity left within you to move around the coffee table, drawing his gaze as you move in front of the TV.

"You okay?" He checks. "You were in there a while."

"Uh…yeah. I had to…poop."

"You constipated?" He wonders, a wrinkle of worry between his eyes.

"No!" You insist, frowning at him but he just smiles and then chuckles once before going back to his sandwich.

Unable to stand sitting next to him on the sofa, you lower yourself onto the floor between the coffee table and the couch.

"You okay?" He checks again, sounding like a parrot who only knows one phrase.

"Yea, already! Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be okay?" You reach out, taking the other soda and popping the can open.

Maybe you're sitting too stiffly or maybe you're a little too obvious in the guilt that you feel about crushing so hard on him while Kali is so considerate?

Whatever it is, you aren't fooling Bucky.

After what feels like ages but also seconds, warmth nudges your shoulder and you turn to look at first his thigh, which he used to push you gently, then up at his face.

He's resting his elbows on his knees, hands hanging limply at the wrist, and his face full of genuine concern.

"You really okay?"

You force a laugh, too light and airy to be real.

"Yeah!" You chuckle, putting your soda down and reaching up to scratch at your neck. "I already said I am. I'm great. You're here so, I feel safe and I'll actually be able to sleep."

As you say the words, you realize that maybe…maybe you aren't as okay as you thought and you also begin to understand that it actually has nothing to do with Bucky or Kali.

Your mind is flooded with the stench of cheap liquor and the rancid mix of men's cologne and aftershave.

Your skin tingles at the elbow remembering sandpaper skin and a clammy grip pulling you closer.

The wafting of hot, smelly breath against your face as invasive words sting your ears.

Your heart hurts, your stomach rolls, and your legs grow numb.

"Wanna cuddle?" Bucky asks, shocking you from your flashback of Paul invading the sanctity of your space.

"What?!" You gasp.

Bucky doesn't wait for you to answer but instead drops down onto the floor to sit beside you, scooching as close as he can get until his thigh is touching yours. Without hesitation he lifts his metal arm and wraps it around your shoulders.

He pulls you in a little so that you're leaning against him.

You try and pull away but his arm doesn't let you budge an inch.

"It's okay," he whispers, so quiet that his voice is even lower than the TV. "I won't let him come back in here."

Bucky’s promise falls on you heavily, weighing down your shoulders not with his arm but relief.

"Hey," he gives you a squeeze, pulling you closer as he reaches around with his other hand to wipe at your cheek.

This gesture confuses you until you realize you're crying.

He whispers your name. "I've got you."

The fear you'd suppressed grips you tight and you let yourself fall into his protective embrace.

You can feel him guide your legs over his lap as you bury your face against his neck and the tears fall freely from your eyes.

You're shaking with sobs and Bucky’s soft shushing eases the strong painful heartbreak of Paul's assault.

You know it could have been worse but it was bad enough.

Bucky holds you close, his arms wrapped around you, smothering you with his full hard body. This steel like build with his vibranium arm is the best cocoon of safety you could have ever asked for.

As he holds you, you open your eyes a few times between streams of tears and with the angle he has you, you spot a small bundle of cornflowers that you’d brought home after your day at the park.

Kali’s little arrangement had endeared them to you but now they’re withered. They’re crumbling in on themselves and now that you look at them you only see yourself here, curled against your best friend feeling, just as weathered as those delicate petals.

At one point you stop crying though your sniffling continues.

Time floats away from you and you feel weightless for a bit. You're engulfed in warmth. The familiar scent of your bed lulling you into deeper sleep.

Time passes and you wake up only enough to make vague sense of your surroundings and you notice the large width of Bucky’s shoulders and back to you. He's sitting at the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees but he's got his hands clasped together, covering his mouth as he stares at your window.

Sleepily, groggy and only seventy-two percent sure this isn't a dream, you reach out for him and your fingers graze his back.

Your touch brings him to life and he turns to his right, lifting his leg to rest it on your bed, bent so that he can face you a bit better.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, reaching to take your still extended hand.

Instead of putting it back down he holds it, pulling it underneath his own arm so that he can intertwine his fingers with yours. He edges closer and you curl around his heat, clinging to the safety his hand holding gives you.

Somewhere in your mind you want to urge him to sleep. To rest. But you're still more asleep than awake and his soothing lulls you faster into unconsciousness.

Bucky’s scent invades every facet of your mind and you dream of only Bucky. Even as you sleep, he saves you from the nightmares that you would have had, had he not been there to chase them away.

Later, again you wake. Soft slow breathing warms your cheek. You turn and the heat of an arm slides along your hip.

For a moment, your heart stutters and you think you might still be dreaming.

You shift onto your side, turning to face him and stare for barely half a minute before you push yourself forward to nudge your head into the space beneath his chin.

He sighs heavily, arm constricting around you more securely.

He wakes.

"You okay?" He checks. You don't answer, still too far in sleep to speak. "You were crying and whining in your sleep."

His voice is deep with his own slumber and despite now being awake, he holds you tighter, pulling your bodies closer until there's no room between you.

"I'm here," he whispers again, feeling your hands shaking as you grip the back of his t-shirt.

Is this a normal reaction to what Paul did? Is this fear rational?

Your mind races with thoughts, doubting every instinct your body has put you through tonight. It lasts seconds before your mind grows cloudy again and for the last time tonight, you fall asleep.

Bucky sighs, his lips pressed gently to your crown as his own breathing slows with the knowledge that he lays between you and that stupid window.