1476 {Bucky x reader}

16

Cold liquid slid down my throat like a hot knife slicing through butter. I placed the glass cup down on the sink after I chugged all of the water from it. Bucky slowly finished his glass of water, never taking his eyes off of me as I stared at him in silence.

"You need a haircut." I lean against the bench and rest my left hand on my hip as he places his cup in the sink next to me.

"You need a haircut." He copies me, not just what I said, but how I stood.

"No, you seriously do." A smile cracks itself on both of our faces.

"My hair has grown on me." He twists a strand in between his fingers.

"It certainly has," I smirk and he rolls his eyes. It's grown a couple of centimetres since the first time I saw him on that roof in Venezia. That hot summer sun gleaming down on his burnt caramel hair, his golden honey skin and that cold metal arm.

He opens his mouth to speak only to shut it straight away. A gloss sparkled along the surface of his baby blue eyes before I took his hand in mine. Whatever was on his mind seemed to distract him and pull on that leash in his head. He scanned the room and rocked his jaw from side to side in thought.

"I can't cut it." His voice was below a whisper, breaking whenever he tried to put more force into it.

"Why is that?" I step closer and look up into his eyes. He had blinked the glossiness away but that didn't stop the red from staining the whites of his eyes.

"Because I..." He stumbles on his words. This man has been through everything, like fighting Nazis and aliens. But whatever this reason was, it seemed to haunt him even more.

"You can tell me." I rest my hands on his hips and he frantically places a kiss on my forehead.

"You know about everything HYDRA did." He begins as he leads me towards a small seating area in another room connected to the kitchen.

The room was warm-toned and welcoming, dark bookshelves stacked with plants, papers, books, and little souvenirs lined most of the walls. Deep cushioned couches, surrounding a short table, showed their heavy usage by their discolouration in specific patches. The wooden floor was covered with a large vintage rug that vanished under the feet of the couches. Bucky sat against the arm of the chair of one of the long couches and I sat beside him, one crossed leg in front of me and a hand on his knee, I listened.

"You know about the nightmares." He gulps and I rub my thumb along the bumpy fabric of his jeans. "Trust me, ever since I got free..." He chokes on his words and I hold his shoulder with my other hand. "I have tried, I have tried, t-to take back my body, to make my own choices." He combs a hand through my hair. "I've tried cutting my hair. I just can't seem to do it." He admits.

"Do you know why you feel that way?" I cupped his cheek and tilted my head slightly. Something was whirring in his gaze, something that caused tears to break and fall, something that stopped him from forming full sentences without stumbling on his words.

"At first I didn't know, but I think—" His jaw stilled as he processed what he wanted to say, tracing the back of his teeth with the tip of his tongue. "When I go to cut it I start to freak out... shake, breathe heavily..."

"A panic attack." It was more of a statement rather than a question. He nodded his head slowly and I leant close to peck a kiss on his cheek. "Do you feel like the hair makes you... feel like they're still controlling you in a way? That if you cut it you might not know who you are anymore because all you've grown to know is HYDRA?" I was no therapist, but I felt that I knew what he meant, not that I could put it perfectly into words or know that I was even correct.