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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

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Hello, Congratulations on the 5k follows!!

I discovered this fandom a few months ago and have been living for your writing ever since.

I was thinking as a drabble of the taskforce gentlemen coming home at the crack of dawn from a long mission and seeing their spouse's hand, limp on the ground peeking out from the side of the couch. All the panic and worry going thru their heads, so much bubbling up, horrible scenarios. They rush over and find you sleeping on the floor. The power had gone out last night and the hardwood floor was the coolest place to be (you didn't want to open the window because you know how they worry), so you were watching stuff on your phone and drifted off. Crisis averted!

Thank you for your time 💜

—Wide-Eyed Panic

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞

I’ll start by saying all of them would be concerned and immediately go into panic mode—why were you behind the couch? Why was your hand sticking out? Why, in God's name, were you not moving? Cue the horrible thoughts and flashes of what went on in their work lives.

John Price ��

John entered the house with a sigh, slipping off his boots as the door was closed and deftly locked behind him. Grunting under his breath, the man rubs over his face, the lights off as he calls out with a tired grumble to his voice.

“I’m back,” his voice echoes, the tone moving through the darkness far louder than it should have. There’s no answer. “Love…?” Pausing, John blinks slowly at the wall, ear twitching to the utter silence of the home. No water in the pipes. No buzzing of electricity. No you. Eyes rising, they dart around quickly as his finger moves out to the light switch. A small push elicits nothing, just as he thought. The power was out.

Dread slowly creeps into John’s chest.

Hand reaching behind his back, the man’s fingers inch over the smooth metal of a pistol, grasping the weapon before he begins walking forward. He keeps silent, feet moving to where he knows the wood won't creak.

His mind runs.

Why was the power off? Where were you? Why didn’t you respond—were you hurt? John’s mind goes to blood and bullets, his jaw clenching tightly as the pistol comes out to rest in front of him; hands shifting the grip as he takes a soothing breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, but it would be pointless to lie about how his heart hammers.

“Fuck,” he growls, eyes going tight.

That’s when he sees it. Blue eyes widen sharply.

“Love!” John shouts, all other concerns about intruders meaningless to him. Your hand was sticking out from behind the couch, a dark shadow in the low light. He rushes over as you jerk, yelling in alarm as he rushes to grab you, pulling you up into his arms and pulling you away into the closet across the room.

“John!” You blink rapidly as you’re set back against the wall.

“Shush now,” he grunts, eyes panicked. “Keep awake, let me look.” A hand moves all over your body, searching and pulling at clothes to touch the skin for any wounds. “Tell me where it hurts, then. Quickly. We have to move—”

“John, what the hell,” you push at him, moving him back. Your eyes try to adjust to being so rudely awakened at such an hour. “What are you doing?!”

You weren’t hurt.

The Captain’s face pulls in with confusion, back against the closet door and now in more darkness than ever before. He can barely make out your face before you sigh and put your hands against his arms.

Things begin to calm down as his hand rests at your hip, nearly tight enough to bruise. In his other is the gun just before you put your hand to it and softly peel the item away from him—putting it on the shelf that you know is to your left.

Hands find John’s cheeks as he pants.

“John,” you say his name again. “...what happened.”

“Why were you on the ground?” He forces out firmly, voice a low grunt. “Why were the lights not—”

“The power went out for everyone, okay?” You speak slowly, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “It was on the news. I didn’t open a window because I knew you would worry about that—the floor was cool and it was getting too hot in here.”

Your mind tells you to explain quickly and fluently. You move forward and press your forehead into John’s as he sags with a great exhalation of breath—his arms circling you tightly until your spine might crack.

He doesn’t speak for a long while, just holding you.

“Scared me,” he mutters, missing you deeply on the forehead, speaking into your skin. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He keeps you to his chest, eyes fluttering shut and his spine hunching over you, fingers splayed over your back. You run your hands through his hair and calm the swelling of your heart.

You can feel his pulse mirroring your own.

Simon Riley ➺

When he sees your hand, he freezes.

Simon wasn’t a stranger to the lights being off in the home—you opted for lamps and low light more often than not; this wasn’t new. He had only quirked a brow when he came home to the pitch-blackness, off from his recent deployment and eager for a warm bed to fall into. He admits he’d let himself calm down on the car ride home—your home was where he could relax and release tension until it became as unimportant as an ant on the pavement.

But when he’d closed the door silently behind him and walked the few steps it would take to enter the living room, where he was sure you were still up either reading or watching something on your phone under a blanket, his body had stiffened immediately.

Your hand sticking out from behind the couch. Limp.

Lifeless.

He’d been staring at it for only a few seconds before the memories came back—the ones of gore splattered to the walls and ceiling of an old flat back in Manchester.

Simon’s thoughts had hit him like a bullet.

Not again.

Rushing forward like a bear, the man slips along the hardwood as his knees go down, shaking the home at the force at which he grabs at your body and flips you from your side to your back.

You gasp awake and instinctually throw out a fist, connecting with a stone chest as you hiss and blink in panic.

Fingers ruthlessly dig into your shoulders, wide brown eyes open, and…and afraid.

“Simon?” You mutter softly, all fear in your heart is squished in an instant.

The man breathes through wheezes, balaclava fabric moving from the force of his breaths. His fingers are shaking, blinking as his head jerks to look your lying form up and down swiftly.

You hesitantly put a hand on his cheek and he flinches before nuzzling into it.

“Don’t…” he takes a quivering breath into his lungs, and after, loosens his grip on your skin. Simon’s hands go to your waist, dragging you up and stapling you to his chest. “Don’t do that again.”

His voice is low. Vulnerable.

You blink, hands holding him back on the floor.

“...The power went out,” you try to explain only half of it softly, muffled by his neck.

He only holds you harder, eyes open and blankly staring at the floor a foot away.

Johnny MacTavish ➺

Johnny hums a song under his breath, hanging his keys on the hook near the door.

“Dearie!” He calls to you loudly, itching at the side of his head and chuckling. “Don’t run too fast to me now, I’m all yours for two w—”

The light switch is moved by his finger, but no light illuminates his path to the living room. Pausing in the entrance, the man’s brows furrow tightly, speech cutting off like scissors to paper.

“...eeks?” Johnny ends his sentence, turning back around to look at the switch in confusion. “The hell’s going on with that?” He mutters to himself, a frown growing on his face before he refocuses on his mission to find you—now with the added task of figuring out why the power was out in the house.

“Swear,” the man grumbles, huffing while he runs a hand over his face, “if those kids down the street did something I’ll be livid. Little devils, I swear.”

Johnny steps farther into the living room, glancing around.

“Dearie?” He pauses, listening before calling out your name. “Where’s she off to?”

He sighs softly, wanting to hold you now that he’s home to do so—squeeze you in his arms and take in your scent again; he’d missed you immensely while he was away.

Johnny came across your hand sticking out from behind the couch by accident, moving to make his way into your bedroom thinking that you were sleeping. He sees an odd shape in the blackness and pauses, feet slowing to a stop.

When he notices that it’s a hand—your hand, he doesn’t even realize that he’s completely gripped the side of the couch and wrenched it back until the scratch of the wood floors screams in his ears.

You wake up to hands on your cheeks, sharp yelling, and your head being shaken up and down until you’re conscious.

“Dearie, hey! What the fuck,” the last sentence is growled on fast lips. “What the fuck.”

Your hands slap to Johnny’s wrists, nails digging in.

He breathes out quickly, looking into your eyes to look for dilation as the darkness forces him closer. “There we are, tell me where you’re hurting, now, yeah? Did you hit your head? Let me take a look. It’s okay, I’ll get you all fixed up, there’s no need to worry.”

“Hey!” Your hands push at his, trying to shove the brick wall away from you. “Quit it! Johnny! I’m fine! ”

The man pauses at your animated movements, blinking rapidly before his grip loosens.

When it’s obvious that you’re perfectly fine, he moves back and groans, thumb and forefinger digging into his nose bridge.

“Hell’s bells, Hen.” You glare, panting on the floor before you push yourself up.

“‘Hell’s bells’, me?” Johnny’s head plops to your shoulder. “You just shook me like a fucking rabbit!”

“Scared the shite out of me, you terror.” The man huffs. “Need to put a heart monitor on you.”

“Piss off,” you sigh, putting a hand to your chest to feel the pace of your pulse and the blood that runs furiously.

Johnny, moments later as he’s still resting on your shoulder, starts…laughing. Low at first, then gaining noise the more it goes unchecked—a deep rumble into chest-jerking amusement. You look down at him, the couch tilted and long scratches over the floor. Pausing, you blink at his shaking shadow before your lungs start quivering. The two of you bend over one another with shared, house-shaking laughter.

“What the fuck were you doin’ behind the damn couch?” Johnny grabs you close, kissing along your neck as he picks you up, dragging you to your feet.

“The power went out!” You giggle, chest hurting from the fast gasps of breath as more kisses are spread over your skin. “It was colder down there and I didn’t want to open one of the windows because I knew you’d throw a pouting match about it.”

“Christ, Dearie.” Lips meet your own. “I had half the mind to think you had a heart attack. Nearly gave me one.”

Kyle Garrick ➺

Kyle sighs as he rubs at his jaw, itching the skin and slipping out of his jacket.

“I’m home, Love!” He says, his voice echoing over the flat. “Want me to start on supper or have you eaten yet?” The man smiles, taking off his cap and putting it on the coat rack, sighing softly.

It was good to be back.

Bending down to unlace his boots, he pulls at them until they’re loose enough to slip out of, thumping to their sides on the rug until he reaches out and fixes them.

“What’s that, then?” He calls into the darkness, not hearing your answer as he quickly checks the time on his phone. “Fuck, it’s late,” Kyle utters to himself.

Walking into the kitchen, he touches the light switch only to be met with nothing. Pausing, the man’s face pulls in—fingers twitching at his sides as he glances at the window and the moonlight that seeps in to glare along the floor.

A deep frown takes hold of him, and he looks around once more before backing up.

“...Love?” Kyle wasn’t too concerned—the building wasn’t always the best, and power outages weren’t unheard of. But, damn, if the high of getting off of a deployment didn’t put him in a negative head-space when it came to a change in routine involving you.

Why weren’t you answering him?

Walking slightly faster into the living room, his hand nearly reaches into his pocket to call your phone if you didn’t end up in any of the rooms—pulse beginning to be infected with a steady injection of adrenaline.

Brown eyes find your hand behind the couch when they’re about to shift to the open door of your bedroom. A sharp gasp is inhaled instantaneously.

Kyle races over, grappling to it and pressing his fingers to your neck for a pulse. You softly breathe, none the wiser as you lightly shift and sigh in your sleep; a delicate hum moving out as familiar fingers dig into you.

It’s through his panic that a thought quickly cuts through the man’s mind. You’d mentioned this before.

Kyle pauses, just about to loudly wake you.

‘It gets hot when the power goes out, Kyle, I swear one of these days I’m going to just fall asleep on the floor. At least it’s cool down there.’

Well, the power was out, and, it seemed, you really had fallen asleep on the floor. Now that he thought about it, the flat was running hot—and he also knew that you knew he had gotten nervous of late when you left the windows open at night.

“Bloody hell,” the man releases a long breath, free hand moving to grip the back of his head. A few seconds later, Kyle chuckles to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “You are losing it, Mate. Losing it.”

Without another word, he grips you, and with a grunt, picks you up and takes you to bed, setting you down on the pillows and making sure to leave the sheets off of you so you don’t grow uncomfortable.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and you hum in slumber, smiling unconsciously.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Love.”

He leaves to go make a quick supper of cereal and milk.

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lostmf · 5 months

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I’m not sure I deserve it ..

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cccat-in-a-meat-sack · 5 months

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me, with both:...

#borderline personality disorder #bpd splitting #actually bpd #bpd thoughts #bpd problems #bpd #bpd vent #actually borderline #borderline pd #ptsd #complex ptsd #actually ptsd #ptsd recovery #tw ptsd #tw abuse #tw abuse mention #calico hisses

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selfship-wormie · 16 days

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your F/O would beat the shit out of your abuser, they would absolutely torment your abuser because no one hurts you and gets away with it , in your F/Os eyes your abuser deserves no peace

#f/o #fictional other #self ship #self shipping #f/o stuff #f/o x s/i #romantic f/o #f/o community #villain f/o #comfort characters #self shipping community #self ship positivity #self shipper #tw: abuse mention #making this one personal because of a PTSD episode

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punkstylerecovery · 9 months

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if my body keeps score, will she remember when i grab another blanket to keep her warm? will she remember when i use mobility aids to make things easier for her? will she remember when i put down the blade and take a shower instead? does she recall the days i rest, when i watch our favorite shows and settle in to treat her with all the kindness i'm trying to convince myself we deserve? does she remember the love? does she recall the kindness? does she remember when i run my hands across our wounds and apologize? does she keep score of our healing?

#trauma recovery #tw self harm #sh mention #living with ptsd #punkstyle #disability #physical disability #cpunk #madpunk #actually disabled #ok to reblog #wrote this real quick so like #bear with me #but it got stuck in my head and #fjdaklhfjksalfdkja whatever #here you go #hope this like #does something for someone

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nerdpoe · 9 days

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lil non-edited first draft of the next chapter of In The Shadow of Speculation

It had been well over two weeks, and Danny hadn’t been back to Arkham to see his Mom or Dad.

He felt incredibly guilty about it, regardless of how many rants Dan would go on about how he didn’t owe them shit. The older man talked like it was so, so easy to just cut them out of his life entirely; but Danny had an entire childhood with them, and they would always be a part of him.

He couldn’t just leave them. Abandon them. Betray them, in a way so similar and so different to how they’d betrayed him-

-No. No, they hadn’t betrayed him. Logically, he knew they’d had no idea that it was their son they were doing that to.

…Logically, he knew that they would have done it even if they had known.

But when he woke up, just for a few brief moments, he would sometimes expect to see his Dad barging through the door, followed by his Mom, and to be swept up in a giant hug that felt so much bigger and stronger than the world that just kept shoveling shit at him.

Then he would remember.

Then, he would force himself to get out of bed, sometimes taking a few hours to do it, and make himself do housework. Clean, bake, study medical manuscripts, do PT…anything to focus on the present.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #in the shadow of speculation #abuse tw #abuse mention #abuse allusion #allusion of torture #CPTSD #or is this just regular #PTSD #i have such a hard time telling the difference between them #cuz i was always under the impression that all PTSD was complex

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daffodilmornings · 27 days

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Anyway, victims of rape deserve a safe space online to vent. We deserve to be open about our feelings, and our hatred and fear is valid as yours is to anything else that has harmed you. Stop silencing rape victims as "radfem man-haters" and listen to them as victims of continuous abuse at the hands of men and a patriarchal society that does not put these men behind bars.

RADFEMS AND TERFS DO NOT TOUCH

#feminist #feminism #tw sa mention #mental health #mental illness #ptsd #cptsd #recovering victim #victim of abuse #radfem dni #terf dni

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blu3b3rryj4mp1r3 · 3 months

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Friendly reminder that "I bought you nice things", "I gave you food and a roof over your head" and "I've never hit/physically hurt you" does not justify emotional abuse, neglect or parentification.

And if when being confronted they make you feel guilty and get defensive and passive aggressive saying some variant of "Oh well I must've been such a terrible parent!" and tell you how they bought you nice things for your birthdays and how your basic needs were met, that does not make your feelings and trauma invalid. You're not a bad person or ungrateful for feeling hurt.

#tw mentions of abuse #c ptsd #parental abuse #neglect #emotional neglect #parentification #tw parental abuse

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system404singletnotfound · 3 months

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This is your reminder that abusive people can do good things, but they are still abusive!

They can help you

They can save your life

They can be nice to you

But this doesn’t excuse their abuse, and it doesn’t make your experience any less valid

#tw abuse #tw abuse mention #abuse tw #abuse mention #abuse ment tw #did #system #osdd #did system #mental illness #ptsd #cpstd #abuse survivor #abuse victim

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traumatizedjaguar · 3 months

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“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling."

- Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.

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delopsia · 7 months

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What it feels like to date Lewis Pullman's characters, but it's described using specific experiences.

Ingredients: ✰ Robert "Bob" Floyd, Rhett Abbott, Miles Miller, Major Major, and Harrison Knott. Warning: Contains mentions of food and vague PTSD references.

Robert "Bob" Floyd: Stuttered hello's and gazes trained on the floor. Sneaking out of social events in favor of quiet walks on the beach that end in being chased by an upset crustacean. The strum of a guitar as he plays you your favorite song. Shy smiles and binging movies. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch and gradually scooting closer until someone works up the nerve to rest their head on the others shoulder. Afternoon naps together and dramatic yawns until the other gets the idea.

Foggy glasses, niche fandom references, and inside jokes only you understand. Matching necklaces and otter plushes. Date nights to aquariums and zoos and sanctuaries. Borderline swearing and giggling at his poorly swapped words because he's afraid to say 'fuck'. Sharing embarrassing stories to cheer each other up. Always walking hand in hand. Kisses on cheeks and bear hugs that nearly swallow you whole.

Rhett Abbott: Wayward glances from across the bar and taking his hat off when he introduces himself to you. Spurs jingling as he walks you to his truck and him running ahead to hold the door for you. Watching him search for you in the crowd. Adrenaline-filled kisses that knock you off your feet. Greedily squeezing his biceps and hoping he doesn't catch onto you. Splitting gas station snacks and stopping by to see you while he's running errands. Kissing his bruised knuckles after a bar fight.

Putting his hat on your head and watching the way his eyes darken. Late-night drives and horseback rides across the ranch. Late-night conversations in the bed of his truck. A scruffy cheek squishing against yours to make you laugh. Dancing in the light of his headlights. Staying up late to listen to the thunderstorm rage on. Sleeping on each other's chests and stories about old scars. Matching necklaces and cowboy hats.

Miles Miller: Batting his eyelashes at you and forgetting to say hello. Glances out of corners of eyes and panicking when your eyes meet. Covering his ears during holiday fireworks and shaky hugs after an unexpected loud noise. Matching rings when you start dating. Carnival dates, stealing bites of each other's snacks, and buying a plushie from the store because neither of you could win the games. Sharing books and cozy sweaters. Rubbing your noses together when even kisses feel like too much for him to handle.

Pressing cold feet against each other in bed and giggling when the other yelps. Dissolving into tears over kisses against scars and bearing painful insecurities, all for the other to see. Sucking on butterscotch and seeing who can blow the biggest bubblegum bubble. Open-mouthed kisses across skin and whispering the things you love about each other. Snuggling him because he drank a milkshake, knowing his tummy would get upset later.

Major Major: Lingering glances at each other's lips, heads gravitating closer and closer, too shy to make the first move. Brushes of his hand against yours while you walk together. Knick knacks left on the dash of your car and in the crevices of your home, made just for you. Blurted Iloveyou's and frantic text messages that ask you on a date and the immediate panic that ensues. Him always seeking permission before touching you. Unprovoked compliments and nearly fleeing the room after.

Wide-eyed kisses. Shaky apologies for the hands that have landed on your waist. Matching sock collections and joining him on the floor when he's too nervous to get in bed with you. A handmade ship in a bottle with two little stick-men that resemble you and him. Fingers walking across naked skin. Fighting each other with action figures and fake swords. Toying with your fingers and his jaw dropping every time he lays eyes on you.

Harrison Knott: Being late to your destination and running right smack into each other. Frantic apologies after telling a really bad joke. Sand in your clothes and owning too many sandals to count. Custom Spotify playlists, homemade cassette mix tapes, and collecting CDs at yard sales. Taking polaroids of each other on dates and swearing at the seagulls who snatch your food from your hands. Shameless matching outfits.

Sitting in his lap at a bonfire and feeling his eyes rake over your frame the entire time. Sticking bows from gifts on each other. Deep sea fishing and getting seasick midway through. Him rolling on top of you to keep you from getting up in the morning. Late night skinny dipping and falling into the backseat. Big hands drawing you in for kisses when the whole world is watching.

#dont ask how i got here #rhett abbott #miles miller #harrison knott #major major #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #rhett abbott x reader #miles miller x reader #harrison knott x reader #major major x reader #delgato's warmups #tw food mention #tw ptsd #<- if you squint but <3

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lostmf · 8 months

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lady-phasma · 5 days

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You can't ignore it

Part 2 of 2 (cross posted from AO3) - part 1

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; from my AO3 - "Bucky's metal arm kink"; mostly p n v sex, fluff, canon typical discussion of Bucky's past and violence, implied/referenced past noncon, discussion of ptsd.

Summary a/n: (copied straight from my AO3 because I am chaotic) I changed to 3rd person pov for this one because I needed more Bucky. Also, my OC has a name now! Hang in there, this is a long one. What is wrong with me? No beta. 4.5k words

I'm totally normal about his arm

His body twitched and jerked. He mumbled Russian words. His hands clenched into fists. Victoria sat up and reached for him, thought better of it, and dropped her hand to her thigh. She never knew how to wake him from a nightmare. Or if she should.

“Bucky,” she whispered. More Russian in response. Louder, “James.”

No reply. Dammit. He was in deep. This was a bad one. They had plenty of nights without these, plenty of restful, peaceful nights. There were some not-great dreams that weren’t as bad as nightmares. Then there were the nightmares. More like sleeping flashbacks. His body remembered and almost acted out the memory.

Bucky’s arm caught some ambient light and looked slick like oil. She was never afraid of him, that he would hurt her, but that arm… that arm was made from the most indestructible substance on the planet. It was intimidating. She wanted to comfort him, soothe him, stroke his forehead and tell him he was safe. That could so easily backfire. They had even discussed how dangerous it could be if she tried. They hadn’t come up with a plan, not exactly. In fact, he didn’t like staying over at night because he didn’t want to hurt her. Sometimes he fell asleep holding her but if he didn’t, if she fell asleep first, Victoria would wake up to find him sleeping on the floor.

She could see the shadows of pain on his face, the grimace and strain from some terrible thing she would never know or understand. She heard him groan. It was unbearable. That sound hurt. She slid closer to him on the bed, kept her eyes on his arm, and moved to lay behind him. As she cautiously placed her hand on his temple, caressed his brow, she whispered: “Otlichnaya, soldát, otlichnaya.” Well done, soldier, well done.

Bucky froze. He let out a breath and his body relaxed. Vic kissed the back of his neck. She didn’t like using those words. But he had told her that it was safe, safe to stop the nightmares that way. She had wanted the words to be a last resort but he had explained that the part of him that was so deeply the Winter Soldier would respond only to them.

“James?” she asked as she removed her hand, careful not to touch him anywhere else. “James, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” But her words weren’t heard. He was calm at least. She slowly moved to get out of bed. She felt a hand on hers as she sat up and let out a small gasp. The vibranium never felt like one expected it to feel.

“Vic,” he muttered. “Don’t go.”

She turned. He looked away, avoiding eye contact. His bare chest glistened with sweat. He released her hand. She sat curled up on the bed behind him, anxiously adjusting the bedsheets tangled around them. She was cold and her nipples were hard and obvious in her tank top. She crossed her arms to cover her chest. He gradually rolled onto his back and slid up the bed to prop himself against the headboard. Wearing only his boxer-briefs he looked very… vulnerable. Not powerful like he often did, muscles rippling and arm gleaming, but young and frightened.

In that moment she saw him as he might have been when HYDRA first captured him. Before the years of missions and horrors had written their histories on him, in pain and scars. She wanted badly to comfort him. She had no idea how. She moved next to him, placed her hand on his arm. He looked up at her. That look broke her heart. Without thinking she leaned back on the head of the bed and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. She coaxed him into her arms. His vibranium arm curled against her stomach as he lay on his side. She ran one hand over his hair, down his shoulder, and rested against his back. She laced the fingers of her other hand into his metal ones and kissed the top of his head.

------

The mechanisms whirred and clicked as he removed his arm. It was more than a little disconcerting. Even in motion and moving as a part of him it was odd, now it was lifeless. Nothing like it on earth. This wasn’t a prosthesis. His arm was a weapon but, also, not. Lying there it was passive and non-threatening. But knowing him, knowing his past, it wasn’t benign. It held immense potential under its shiny surface.

He rubbed his chest where the shoulder was grafted on. It must hurt sometimes.

“What’s up?” Vic asked, standing in the door to the bedroom.

“Nothing really,” he replied. “Feeling kinda old today maybe. Tired.” He sighed and looked up from the incongruous arm on the bed. His eyes swept over her and up to her face. “After nightmares like last night it feels…. heavy.”

“Do you go without it often?”

“No,” he said, hesitantly. “I enjoy the freedom of having both arms but, occasionally.” He randomly fingered his dog tags then dropped them to his chest and ran his hand through his hair.

“Come over here, Vic?” he gestured toward her. She walked to the bed and sat on the edge. The edge that put his legs between her and his disembodied arm.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m okay,” he looked directly into her eyes. “In fact, maybe we make a standard procedure. If I’m going to be sleeping over here often. I don’t like that anyone has to see me like that but my therapist says I have to ‘nurture relationships’.” He rolled his eyes then winked at her. He slid his right hand into hers.

“Maybe we just figure out what’s most comfortable with you, safest.”

“Right,” she said. “I don’t want to make things worse but it worked. Whatever you were dreaming, remembering, those words stopped it. I’m not scared of you, you know. I just care about you.” She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek.

“Look, I’m going to make some coffee. Come join me? We can talk more when I have caffeine, kay?” He nodded as she stood up.

Bucky looked at it, immobile on the bed. So odd and so yet completely natural for him. He got off the bed and went to the bathroom. Almost always grateful that he was right handed; it made tasks like this much easier. When he returned to the bedroom he looked at yesterday’s clothes piled in the floor and decided he wasn’t ready for that. Somehow, putting on clothes meant putting on the arm. He let out a shaky breath. Coffee, he thought, yeah, okay something normal.

Victoria set the coffee up to brew and grabbed a few mugs. She set them on the bar with half and half and some sugar substitutes. She wasn’t sure how he liked his coffee. She heard footsteps behind her and then felt his arm around her waist. He kissed her shoulders and back, then the top of her head.

“That smells nice,” he said. “Thank you.”

She turned to face him. She stood on the balls of her feet just a bit and kissed him. He was only just tall enough that she had to reach if she didn’t have shoes on. Vic took a small step back and turned to pour the coffee. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of his boxer briefs stretched tight over his thighs and, well, not just his thighs. She grinned at the coffee pot. Maybe he was a gentleman, old fashioned still, but he hadn’t rubbed up against her like most men who spent the night. Not that there had been any since she met James.

She handed him a mug and deliberately walked too close to him on her way through the kitchen. She held her coffee in both hands using the steam and mug to hide her smile as she gently brushed her hip against his erection. He inhaled audibly.

She slipped onto the bar stool and gestured for him to come sit next to her. After adding her cream and sweetener she noticed he was drinking his black. Military thing? she wondered. He was sitting on her left and after placing his mug on the bar, swiveled just a bit to put his hand on her thigh. Her panties were barely any fabric at all and her tank was basically see-through, she felt suddenly naked. Vic took a sip of her coffee to try to hide her vulnerability. She didn’t meet his eyes and stared fixedly at his dog tags. She was trying to avoid his stare and not get caught glancing at his crotch. Jesus, she thought. Then: oh, right, Super Soldier.

She felt his fingertips touch her chin. He coaxed her to look at him and he leaned in to kiss her as she lifted her head.

“Victoria, does it make you uncomfortable if I don’t wear it?” he asked, continuing their earlier conversation.

“Not really, no,” she paused. “I think I could get used to it but it’s not something I’m accustomed to. Plus, well it’s not who you are but it’s so much a part of what you look like. Unless you’re in long sleeves.”

“I went for years without one at all. In Wakanda.”

“Right,” she said. “Yeah, I knew that. And you told me you had long hair too.” She ran her fingers over his ear at his hairline. He took a sip of his coffee and his eyes half closed, soothed.

He placed his mug on the counter. His scowl was back on his brow when he turned to face her. He moved his hand back to her thigh.

“Come with me,” he said and stood up.

She followed him. They headed back to the bedroom. His ass was high and tight in his underwear. She could follow that anywhere. He continued through the bedroom into the attached bathroom. She watched him make himself at home. He moved with a silent grace and never fumbled with using just one hand. He got towels out of the cabinet, started the shower, and turned to her. By now his erection straining against the fabric looked almost painful. She watched, breathing heavily, as he deftly slid his underwear off his hips and stepped out of them. He stepped toward her and lifted her flimsy tank. She raised her arms and let him undress her. He dropped the shirt on the floor. Before taking off her panties he grazed the back of his hand over her hard nipples and down her belly.

Victoria had no idea why she wasn’t self conscious with him. She let him touch her stomach without flinching or cringing. She let herself enjoy the feeling of his hand sliding into her panties, slowly pulling them off her. She closed the distance between them when she tossed them aside with her foot. His eyes moved up her legs and body to her breasts. He leaned in and kissed one, sucked a nipple between his lips, licked it. She stifled a moan.

Bucky slid his hand around her and pressed their bodies together. His kiss was hard, impatient. She kissed him back and instinctively reached up to grab his biceps. The empty air on his left startled her and she opened her eyes. He kissed her forehead, maybe knowing what she had just thought, and led her by the hand into the shower.

Without words he directed her movement. She let herself be guided by him. Once her hair was wet and she reached for the soap he swapped places with her and stood under the water. She watched him closely as he closed his eyes and leaned back under the shower. The water ran down his face, pooling and spilling over as he moved. His dog tags caused rivulets to form on his chest and she let her eyes follow these to his stomach and that lovely spot, that “V”, where his perfect torso met his hips.

She wasn’t really using the soap as much as she was just holding it. His erection was taunting her. He was acting like it didn’t exist. She stared a moment too long and felt eyes on her. She blushed.

“Yes?” Bucky grinned.

“Uh, yeah, huh?” she mumbled.

“Funny enough, that’s not what I wanted to show you. Here,” he reached out for her hand holding the soap. She stepped closer to him, almost under the water with him. He nodded at the soap, so she lathered a bit in her hands. Then he took the soap and set it on the ledge. He guided her hand. She swallowed, gulped almost. Her mouth had gone dry with anticipation, a bit of fear, and a good deal of anxiety. He gently laid her palm on his ribs, on his left side, and slid both of their hands up to the seam between flesh and metal. Her eyes darted from their hands to his face and back. He was watching her face. But he kept moving their hands, using her hand the way he would his own, washing the vibranium shoulder prosthesis. His muscles rippled and stretched as he moved their hands over and behind him. She had to step closer and onto the balls of her feet to reach. He let go of her hand to steady her, placing his hand on her waist. She almost didn’t notice, like she almost didn’t notice that his incredibly hard dick was now pressed against her stomach.

She was entranced by this intimacy. Taken aback that he was so vulnerable with her but simultaneously beyond what the word “flattered” could convey. She slid her hand back to his ribs, technically his armpit, and looked up at him. He was smiling. That flat, kind, Bucky smile. No one she ever knew smiled like that but she also didn’t know many 106 year old men with a metal arm.

“Vic, I want you to be comfortable, okay?”he said. “I have had decades to get use to this and you haven’t. I don’t want it to be a ‘thing’ as they say now.”

She blushed again and leaned into him. She pressed him back into the running water and kissed him. While they were kissing, tongues slipping against each other, she used her hand to rinse the soap from his shoulder. He smiled and she felt his teeth against her lips momentarily. He laughed a little. She pulled back, unsure of herself, but he didn’t let her go far. Bucky leaned down and kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. And he didn’t stop.

His fingers dug into her hip, using her for balance, as he knelt. Kissing her body through the entire movement. He kissed the hollow of her hips. Gently kissed the bare skin above her pussy.

“Back in my day, grooming wasn’t so…” he trailed off. “Complete?” She blushed harder than she thought she ever had in her life when he looked up at her. Eye contact with Bucky while his lips were on her shaved skin made her feel a wave of faint panic. All of the blood seemed to have run out of her head and straight to his mouth. She closed her eyes, put a hand on the shower wall, and felt his laugh vibrate through her.

Then his tongue. His tongue dipped further down and she was immensely grateful that he had a firm grip on her. She had barely noticed that she had begun to part her legs for him and that she was leaning precariously into his hand. Trust. So much trust that she wouldn’t collapse and die in the shower. No, trust that he wouldn’t let her fall. But these thoughts, if they were even concrete enough to be called that, were forced out of her mind when his tongue went inside her. She groaned. He pulled back and licked the length of her, back to her clit, and toyed with it. Sucked it in gently between his lips then passed his teeth lightly over it. Her hand found the back of his head and clutched at his short hair. He laughed a bit and the vibration was intense. Her pressure on his head increased slightly. He took this as his queue that playtime was over.

Bucky sucked and licked her clit but took his time. Slowly, firmly, tasting her, exploring. He pushed his tongue as far into her as he could. He pulled out and licked everywhere, anywhere. Then, guiding her with his hand so he could find a better angle, he placed the tip of his tongue in the wetness just before her ass. The sensation sent an impulse through her and she pressed on the back of his head. He quickly, gently, licked her ass then in one movement licked back to her clit.

“Oh fuck James!” she yelled. “Just. God. Damn.” She panted. He sucked harder on her clit, barely breathing, rolling his tongue over it. He squeezed her hip tight so she would know he had her. He pressed his face hard against her and sucked and traced circles on her clit with his tongue. He felt her orgasm start as a faint shake in her hips.

She leaned against the shower wall, overwhelmed by the sensations: the water from the shower, Bucky’s mouth, the strain of holding herself up, his goddamn tongue. Then she started to shake. She came in waves. She almost screamed his name but bit it back, cursed, then let herself go. She yelled a string of expletives. The last rush of her orgasm passed through her and she let go of his head. He inhaled deeply. She looked down at him and laughed.

The towel was fluffy and soft. Through her drowsiness she followed Bucky to the bed. He sat, hair dripping water onto his back and shoulders. His towel was around his waist but didn’t do much to hide his… anticipation. She giggled to herself. She thought about how uncomfortable he must be by now. But at almost the exact moment the thought entered her head it was pushed out by what she was seeing. Yup, Bucky had picked up his vibranium arm and laid it on the bed next to where he sat, purposefully, where she couldn’t avoid it.

She wasn’t afraid or turned off, had no negative feelings about it. What was bothering her, the roadblock she kept running into, was whether or not it was appropriate. She bit her bottom lip and looked at him as she sat down.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“Um…” she swallowed hard. “I think I don’t want you to judge me and I don’t want to offend you. No, that’s not the word, I know it isn’t but I don’t know. I…” She let the sentence end before it had begun.

“Go ahead,” he said. “It’s okay. Do you honestly think I would lie and tell you it was okay if it wasn’t?” That Bucky smile again.

She looked from his beautiful face to the beautiful black metal and back again. He nodded. It was laying palm-down on the bed, slightly bent at the elbow. She gingerly traced a finger over the back of his hand, up the forearm, following the gold seams around the vibranium plates. From the corner of her eye she saw Bucky move his hips, adjust a little. She pressed her palm onto the warm metal of his bicep, caressed the muscle and slid her hand back down to his wrist. She flattened her hand on the back of his, right on top of left, and because that looked odd somehow because that was the only odd part of this she slid her hand underneath, palm to palm. It was somehow light and heavy at the same time. She could have lifted it but the weight of his and on hers felt natural.

When Bucky moved she jumped the tiniest bit but didn’t pull her hand back. He reached under her arm and picked up the prothesis, not separating their hands completely. The clicking sounds were jarring but the actual process was fascinating. Complicated parts opened, moved, adjusted and then accepted the arm seamlessly. Nearly instantly she felt him gently squeeze her hand and she jumped. Se let out a nervous giggle then stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. His muscles flexed and moved like flesh.

Vic leaned over to kiss him and he met her halfway. She placed her hand on his chest, gently pushing him back on the bed. She let her towel drop as she straddled him. She loved the feeling of his erection between them. His hips moved to accomidate her. She let out a sigh. Moving slowly she put their clasped hands above his head, grabbed his other wrist and pinned him to the bed. His chest heaved and she felt his heartbeat race. Bucky let her hold both his hands above his head while she kissed his vibranium arm. Wrist, forearm, bicep, shoulder, even nuzzling under his arm. She breathed hot against his chest before licking his nipple.

He moaned and pushed his hips up. She bit him playfully and smilled when she felt him twitch between her legs. She let go of his hands so she could slide down and continue kissing and teasing. Moving with purpose to her goal. She ran her fingertips gently over the tip of his dick and felt his precum slick beneath them. She looked at him as she licked it off her fingers. His eyes closed and he groaned.

“Damn,” he breathed.

She adjusted to get a better, easier position and wrapped a hand around his dick. He was so hard and sensitive. She kissed the tip and lapped up the new drops of precum. She squeezed a bit tighter as she slid his foreskin down. The noises he was making and the slow movement of his hips encouraged her. She licked the length of his dick, wetting her palm with her tongue. Then she slid him into her mouth. Her lips were tight around him. He tangled his fingers in her hair and tried not to push into her. She felt the head of his dick against the back of her throat and stopped just before that annoying spot, swallowed, felt him respond, and picked up the pace. She ran her free hand up his inner thigh, making him shiver and grip her hair tighter. She lightly scooped his balls into her hand and squeezed and released as she sucked and licked. It took all of her focus to coordinate her movements but it was worth it. He squirmed and moaned. His other hand went to the back of her head as well. She ran her finger along the smooth skin behind his balls and he broke. She stopped sucking and let her jaw relax as his hands held her head. He fucked her mouth. Muttering her name, obscenities, and then suddenly stopping. She looked up at him as he dropped his hands to his sides.

“I can’t, I don’t want to, well,” he stammered as she slid her lips off him one last time. “I want to, you know.”

“You are so eloquent,” she laughed, still massaging his balls. “They have a lot of words for ‘cumming while you fuck me’ in the 1940s, huh?”

He half-grunted a laugh and let his head fall heavy onto the mattress.

“Okay then,” she said. “Fuck me until you cum.”

She pressed her body into his as she moved up to kiss him. When their lips met he kissed her back with ferocity. With his inhanced strength he flipped her onto her back and spread her legs with his thighs. Her head spun. She wrapped her legs around his hips. He kissed her neck, her chest, her nipples. She pushed her hips against him. Her wetness on him made him kiss and lick more fervently. Her hands went to his biceps like always. She arched her back when she gripped the slick metal.

“Oh god, Bucky,” she moaned through gritted teeth. “Fuck me please.”

He reached a hand between them and guided himself into her. She was so tight and hot and wet. He shut his eyes and dropped his head next to hers, breathing heavily into her ear as he slid all the way in. Her muscles tightened around his almost too thick dick as he moved, slowly at first. His hips made slow, grinding circles. He propped himself up on his elbows, grabbing onto her neck and shoulders for leverage. He pulled her hard onto him, going even deeper.

Victoria gasped but met his force with her own. She pushed against him with her hips and grabbed his ass with both hands. This was all the encouragement he needed. His thrusts became longer but quicker. Nearly pulling out of her each time. His hand reflexively tightened and released on the back of her neck each time. She knew they couldn’t keep this up long. She was going to cum soon and thought that would probably send him over the edge with her. She seized this moment of clarity.

“James,” she whispered. She moved her hand from his ass and lightly touched his left shoulder. She trailed her fingers down his tricep. He didn’t pause, didn’t miss a beat. He continued sliding in and out of her wet heat but lifted his head to look at her. She increased the pressure of her fingertips on his arm and smiled softly at him.

He moved his weight to his right arm. He looked straight into her eyes while he slid his vibranium fingers around her fragile throat. She moaned and pushed down on his thrust into her. He started to squeeze. She exhaled and closed her eyes. He pressed his fingers harder into her flesh watching her face. He felt her contract around him, he squeezed harder. She let out a small gasp and her eyes opened. Her orgasm rocked through her and she arched and pushed against him. He tightened his hold on her. Then he felt the heat pour out of him. He growled and buried his face in her hair. His cum filled up the space between them, hot and sticky. With his last spasm he released her neck.

“Goddamn, Vic” he sighed. He pushed into her, filling her up one last time. She panted and clutched at him. She welcomed his weight as he almost collapsed onto her. Neither wanted to move but he slowly withdrew and rolled onto his side. She felt his cum drip out after him. She stretched and sighed and smiled at him. He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. While she had his full attention she slipped her hand between her thighs and felt his cum. His eyes widened just a little. Then she brought her fingers to her mouth, his eyes following her hand. She licked them clean. He smiled that Bucky smile. He wrapped both of his arms around her, pulling her closing and kissing her. She kissed him back and crushed herself against him.

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