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One-shot fluff piece of Bucky exploring the feeling of home to him. BuckyxOC.
Trigger Warnings: Abstract mention of anxiety, perhaps the feeling of a panic attack beginning, mentions of a nightmare, the feeling of a flashback.
Lavender hand wash.
Her cool fingers drifting across the back of his neck as she moved past him sitting at the desk tucked away under the stairs, going back to the sofa in the living room. The calming scent of lavender floated through the air after her, and he found his breathing slowed down automatically, as he scrolled through the review of the new café three streets over. He wanted to take her, he knew she would love to write there as soon as he saw the photographs of the mismatched arm chairs and scrubbed wooden tables.
Coconut lip balm.
He pressed his lips together, feeling the balm melt into them, winding his arms closer around her in the dark of their room. She'd just kissed him goodnight and now her head was tucked under his chin, and he couldn't help but smile. The warm weight of her against him, the blankets tucked around them, her breath against his skin; all those things that helped him wind down to sleep, something that didn't always come easy for him, but with her, it was ever more possible.
Bread baking in the oven.
He'd come home from the market to find her trying to make a start on the dishes. The sound of her laugh filled the small kitchen when she saw the look on his face as he took in the sight of her, bowls and baking equipment littering every surface, her hair haphazardly piled on top of her head, sleeves pushed up, her hands tacky with remnants of dough, a smudge of flour on her nose. The bread baking golden in the oven as he bent down to put the shopping bags on the floor, then rolling up his own sleeves to go and help her.
The pages of old books.
He remembered the first time he'd set foot in her house, that was what overtook his mind. He noted that there wasn't a room in the house that was without a book in it. Recipe books in the kitchen. Shelves tucked away in every corner of the living room. A stack piled next to the dining room table. Three or four on her bedside cabinet. A few more shelves in both the upstairs and downstairs hallway. A selection in the bathroom even, for when she took the long baths she loved so much. The musty scent of them filled the house, and reminded him of the only other time he felt he belonged, with his mother as a child, visiting the library on the way home from school.
Petrichor.
The scent in the air after a rain fall on a dry day. She'd taught him that word, and now he always noticed, especially when she came home from work one night, dripping wet but flushed and happy too. He'd taken her bags from her to let her untie her boots and strip off her jeans and coat, she'd already started talking about her day, as she always did. He stood in the hallway, clutching her bags, and watched her push her hair, springing up in curls from the rain, away from her eyes. They glinted in the lamplight and her smile made his insides feel warm and safe.
Pear and freesia perfume.
She only used that perfume for special occasions. Standing in front of the floor length mirror, it was always the last thing she did before leaving. Her anxious hands smoothing down her dress, fixing that smudge of stubborn lip stick, tucking one more pin in her hair for good luck. Then she picked the white and silver bottle up, spraying it on her neck, her wrists, her clothes and lastly, her hair. Just so every time she moved for the rest of the night it sent that sweet scent through the air, and of course when they got home later on, he'd recognise it, muted as it now was, as they got into bed, her hair sprawling across her pillow, her contented sigh as her body relaxed into the position they always fell asleep in.
Her.
All the things that reminded him of her, kept him sane on the bad days, anchored him when he woke in the middle of the night, Hydra choking his thoughts following a dream. When he felt the metal of his arm against his own skin, he took a deep breath; "Just breathe." He heard her voice every time he felt the panic cloud the edges of his vision. And every time he breathed he could smell a different thing each time, something of her to get him through.
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