Fandom Smut

Love, Hate, And Handcuffs: Part 2 (Bucky x Reader)

Warnings: Angst, mentions anxiety and panic attacks, PTSD.

"Watch it, you oversized can-opener, I'm on the other end of this! Romanoff, what the hell?!" You shouted, whipping around to where Nat was tying a key on a string around her neck with a very smug look on her face,

"Until you two decide to play nice and become friends, you're gonna be handcuffed together, now sit down and watch the damn film. Without arguing." She said, sitting back down next to Steve. You and Bucky gaped at them and scowled when the rest of the team laughed and saw that the plan had been put into action.

You were about fifteen minutes into the film and you were sitting as far from Bucky as the cuffs would allow. But you couldn't concentrate, your wrist was twitching and your breathing was becoming uneven, the flashbacks started. Memories of being changed up until you were needed for a mission or training zapped across your mind, the feeling of metal cutting into your wrists. You tried to rub your eyes subtly in order to block them out, you panted slightly and tugged on the chain, earning a glare from Bucky, "What are you-" he whispered, cutting himself off when he saw your chest heaving and the light sheen of sweat on your forehead, "Y/N?" He whispered, looking a little freaked out himself.

You stood up and muttered, "I need to- can we- I need to-" you were stuttering and Bucky complied, leading you out of the room and down the hall where a full fledged panic attack set in. You avoided Bucky's gaze and frantically pulled at the handcuffs, tears rolling down your face, gulping in breaths that barely filled your lungs, "Je ne peux pas- pas encore..." You stuttered, forgetting yourself for a moment as you relived your time with the Anarchists. A hand grabbed your shoulder and you warped back into present time, you looked at Bucky, his lips were moving but you couldn't hear what he was saying, "Soldat d'Hiver..." you whimpered, fear lacing your voice, "Bucky..."

Bucky was stunned to say the least, he had never seen you this vulnerable or frightened, especially not because of him but he knew what was happening to you. He pushed your shoulders gently against the wall and slid you both down to the floor, ignoring your frantic muttering in French as he shushed you, "You're here, you're in the the Avenger's HQ, you're safe, you're here," he kept his voice low, "Follow my breathing." you heard him say that and you finally started to calm down enough for him to ask, "Do you...want to talk about it?"

You didn't look at him, you were ashamed to have broken down in front of the man whom you were meant to hate. Something dawned on you, "Why do we hate each other?" You grumbled, cheeks burning, you lifted your head to look at him; he was sitting cross legged in front of you, holding your bound wrist, with a look of contemplation on his face, "We've lived in the same building for two whole years and we only seem to hate each other because the people who controlled us told us that we hated each other..." you continued, "We've never had a proper conversation..." you noticed he was looking at the hand he was holding, staring at the long scar across the palm, "That was from our fight in Austria, in '89...you tried to stab me but I caught the blade just in time." You muttered, pursing your lips at the memory.

Your eyes caught Bucky's and he hooked a finger into the hem of the arm of his shirt and pulled it up to reveal a bullet wound in his shoulder, "Beijing, '92, you shot me," he uttered with an amused look on his face.

There was a silence and another smile settled on Bucky's lips, "It's really not funny, Barnes." You hiss, still trying to take deep breaths, your eyes closed. He tugged on the chains and chuckled,

"It's a little funny," you looked at him, "we've both spent so long trying not to be the monsters we were forced to be, but we're still being monsters to each other..." he trailed off and your gaze dropped again. Bucky noticed that your shaking had begun to cease and saw how exhausted you looked, he glanced at the clock on the wall which read, "2:47am" and decided to bravely ask, "Do you want to go to bed?"