buck’s girl

You'd been at your new job for a couple of weeks now and had settled in relatively easily, despite the issues the job brought with it.

You walked through the pristine white halls, heels clicking loudly and the distinct smell of cleaning supplies filled your nose, so strong it blocked out anything else.

The term insane asylum had been boycotted years ago, but that's what it was, home to some of the most criminally insane, long abandoned within these walls. The state says it aims to 'help', yet most of these patients are here for the long haul, lucky if they ever get to see freedom again, although its hard to find sympathy when some of them are guilty of the most obscene crimes.

You entered the rec room where a handful of patients were spread out joining in with activites. The centre only allowed a maximum of 10 patients in a communal space at any one time to reduce "accidents", some patients were never allowed to be in the room together at all.

As always there were 4 guards stationed around the room just in case of incident whilst you and two other colleagues interacted with the patients if they needed you.

You were loitering around, checking on the three patients engaged in a large puzzle together to make sure they were okay when Steve walked in with James Barnes.

James immediately looked your way and you averted your gaze. You didn't know why but he always made you feel nervous. You didn't know whether it was the way he always stared at you or the fact he wouldn't speak a single word to anyone except steve, even then it was usually mutterings or whispers. Or maybe it was the fact that he had been reprimanded for killing over a hundred people, apparently blacking out with each kill.

Steve was by far your favourite colleague, always offering you a hand or advice and generally being a gentleman, not to mention how good looking he was. You wondered why James would speak to him, how long it took Steve to build that rapport with him, despite James unnerving you you still wanted to be able to help him.

He was doing it again, staring at you relentlessly with his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. When you looked his way and caught his gaze, offering him a small smile, he looked disturbed, turning to Steve and beginning to mutter as Steve placed a calming hand on his shoulder to placate him.

Despite the stares and an elderly patient tossing the puzzle in frustration, it was a fairly calm day and you went home without having to fill in any incident reports, which was always a plus.

A few days later you were supervising lunch time for some patients. James was amongst them, sat on his own at a table with his head down as he ate his food.

Lunchtimes were the most peaceful part of the day and so it was only you and one other colleague, though you had panic buttons available should you need assistance. It had never worried you, as there were only 4 or 5 patients in and out of the lunch hall at once in a steady flow and there hadn't been an incident during this period in over 20 years (or so the director told you when you got the job). So far you had no reason to doubt him.

The next patient filters in as one leaves, Brock Rumlow. You knew this one well, he was an outrageous flirt though you never feared he would ever act on anything, it was his way of coping with his situation you figured.

He collected his lunch on the plastic plates and made his way towards the seating, surprising you by making his way to James' table and sitting across from him. You were immediately on alert, knowing James didn't like being disturbed.

Within seconds it all went to shit. James swiped his own food and Brocks off the table before standing and glaring at him while Brock laughed maniacly.

James lost it, flipping the table over and beginning a rampage through the room, tossing tables and chairs, plates and cups went flying. The other three patients were screaming and Brock was still laughing away.

You had already pressed the panic button on the wall and two guards rushed into the room, making their way straight for James, making him look like a deer caught in headlights.

"Wait!" You yelled suddenly, making the guards and James all stop at once.

"Get the other patients out, I'll deal with James." You said calmly as James' eyes locked with yours, turning dark.

"You sure?" John, one of the guards said in concern, but you nodded quickly, waving your hands at them and watching as they quickly ushered the others out of the room to safety.

James' chest was rising and falling rapidly, nostrils flaring as he watched you.

You placed your hands in front of your chest placatingly before lowering your voice.

"It's okay James, you're okay." You began.

His jaw ticked and you swallowed harshly, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating faster than a hummingbird.

"He's gone james," You continued, "Did he upset you?"

You dared to take a slow step forward, immediately jumping back when James growled audibly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Okay okay." You said quickly, trying to placate him, "I'll stay back here okay? I just want to make sure you're okay, that's all."

He tilted his head inquisitvely and all of a sudden he marched towards you at speed. You barely had time to react before he had you backed up into the wall, looming over you with a dark expression in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You whispered as you placed your hands flat against the wall by your sides, "I didn't mean to upset you."

James brought both of his hands up and slammed them onto the wall besides your head, caging you under his enormous body and you let out a loud squeak as you attempted to cower away from him, angling your head to the side.

He brought his face down closer to yours, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling with a satisfied grunt.

He kept his face buried there as you quivered in fear and pushed his core towards you, alerting you to his obvious arousal as it pushed into your abdomen.

A tear slipped free as the fear overcame you, you realised what a huge mistake you'd made thinking you could get through to him.

"Buck." Came Steve's stern voice suddenly and Bucky's head finally separated from your neck, tilting to the side.

"Step away Bucky, you don't wanna do this." Steve ordered.

Bucky's nostrils flared once more and he let out a rumble from his chest.

"Come on Buck," Steve said, placing a hand on James' shoulder and you watched as his body relaxed in front of you, "It's me, it's Steve, step away buddy."

You let out a shaky breath as James' body heat finally released you and he turned to Steve with his head lowered in submission.

"Come on Buck, let's get you to your room." Steve said softly.

James didn't reply, only stepping forward and beginning to follow Steve away from you, head still lowered like a kicked puppy.

As they reached the door Steve turned to you, offering you a reassuring smile.

"Go wait for me in the break room, I'll be there soon." He offered and you simply nodded in return, taking deep breaths as you tried to settle your heart rate.

Your hands were still trembling around your coffee cup when Steve finally entered the break room and sat down across from you with a sigh, rubbing his palms over his face.

"Is he okay?" You asked quietly.

Steve raised a curious brow at you before settling his hands on the table, curling one around the other.

"Are YOU okay?" He countered.

"Yeah, I mean.. I.. I think so.. Sorry." You muttered.

"You don't need to be sorry." Steve smiled reassuringly, "Bucky can be a lot, I'm sorry he did that."

"It's okay, he was worked up." You said shyly, though part of you wondered if that was all because of Brock or something else.

"I feel like I owe you an explanation." Steve said nervously and you gazed back at him curiously.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"I'm sure you've noticed that Buck will talk to me," He began as you nodded, "We know each other, knew each other. we grew up together."

"Oh..wow.." You stuttered in surprise.

"Yeah," Steve sighed, "He wasn't always like this. He was an average kid 'til we joined the army. After we served, Bucky just...fuck..he didn't cope well, he was drinking, doing drugs and then he went off the rails. A few years later the police found out he'd been..."

Steve swallowed deeply like he couldn't finish the sentence.

"It's okay." You whispered, reaching across the table to put your hand on his and you saw his shoulders relax.

"I couldn't believe it," He muttered, "I did my best to be there for him through the trial and all the psych evals and such. Is it wrong that I'm glad he wasn't in his right mind when he did it?"

You raised a brow as you pondered the question. You supposed knowing your best friend did these things on purpose was a lot worse than this alternative, so you shook your head.

Steve let out a loud sigh.

"When they sentenced him to serve his time here.. I just couldn't abandon him.." Steve said as a tear slipped down his cheek, "I had to help, so I applied immediately and I've been here the whole time, watching over him."

"You're a good friend Steve." You whispered with a soft smile, as you ran your thumb over his knuckles.

"Thanks." Steve sighed

You pulled your hand back and placed it in your lap when the contact started to tingle in your core.

"Why do you call him Bucky?" You asked.

"Oh," Steve smiled, "He prefers that name. It's his nickname, short for buchanan, his middle name."

"Ahhh makes sense." You smiled.

You both just looked at one another for a moment before Steve began to rub the back of his neck shyly.

"So listen," He began, "I know the timing of this sucks, but I was wondering...well I wanted to know...if maybe...you wanna get dinner with me? Sometime?"

Your smile widened as a blush spread to your cheeks.

"Yeah. I'd like that." You grinned back.

"It's a date." Steve smiled and you felt a flutter in your heart.

The next day work returned to normal, despite the fact that you had a constant blush to your cheeks every time you were in Steve's proximity. He would constantly send you flirty winks or make flirty comments, clearly feeling a little bolder now he knew you were interested, but you didn't mind one bit.

You had a skip in your step that wasn't present before, as heat bloomed under your skin from Steve's attention. A permanent smile had made its way to your face.

You made your way to the rec room, finding it almost empty besides Bucky and two of the others. Bucky was in the corner looking through the bookshelf and with the added confidence in you that day you decided to approach him, you didn't want him to think you were afraid of him after yesterday. Besides there were four guards and two other staff members, so that chance of something happening in that room was unlikely.

"Hey James." You smiled softly as you approached.

His eyes flickered to you, lips pressed in a flat line and he quickly diverted his attention back to the book shelf.

"You looking for anything specific?" You asked, looking to where his fingers were drifting over the spines.

You heard him grunt before stopping and pulling out a copy of The Hobbit. It was weathered with wrinkled pages but then, most books on the shelf were.

"Ahh good choice," you smiled, clasping your hands together behind your back, "That's my favourite."

Bucky's eyes flickered back to yours, seeming to soften and the corner of his lip twitched.

"Me too." He mumbled and you had to fight hard not to jump up and down and scream with joy that he'd spoken to you.

"Well you have good taste." You said instead, keeping your voice soft and steady.

"Mmm." He hummed simply as he crossed the room towards the arm chairs in the corner, slumping down into one.

He looked up at you expectantly before looking at the chair next to him and you swallowed down the pride as you strutted over to sit next to him, smiling when your colleagues began to notice and raise impressed brows in your direction.

"So what's your favourite part?" You asked as you sat.

Bucky flipped the book over in his palms, looking down with furrowed brows, like he was fighting an internal battle as he thought.

"Smaug." He said with a nod.

One word, simple yet you'd learnt more about him in the last five minutes than any one except Steve had in his entire incarceration.

"Hey, you okay?" Came Steve's voice as he joined you in the room, looking concerned when he saw you sat next to Bucky.

"Yeah we're okay." You smiled with a gleam in your eyes. "James and I were just discussing the hobbit."

Steve raised a brow as a smile spread across his lips, looking over at his old friend with pride.

"Bucky." Bucky murmured lowly. "Call me Bucky."

You breath caught in your throat at the offer and you looked up at Steve with a smile, seeing him smile back at you happily.

"Okay. I will. Bucky." You said back.

Bucky hummed once more with a nod before opening the book and settling in to the story.

You were on cloud nine. First Steve asked you on a date, now Bucky was talking to you. The bad parts of the previous day were now completely forgotten.

The next few days were amazing. Work was great. Bucky continued to make progress with you, offering more than just one word answers though still keeping his answers short and clipped. He continued to stare regularly but it wasn't unnerving you as much as it did before.

You and Steve went on your date and it was a dream. He was such a gentleman, picking you up with flowers, holding doors. His hand would stay respectfully on the base of your spine.

At the end of the night you even offered for him to go inside for a coffee, but he politely declined saying he shouldn't but that he'd love to go out again and he gave you a soft kiss on the cheek.

You really did feel like you were walking on cloud nine, everything was perfect.

Everything had been normal at work one day during the next week, there were no incidents, the evening shift was smooth and quiet.

You had assisted making sure everyone got to their rooms to settle for bed and sat yourself in the floors security room with the night guard, Lee, watching the monitors while you had a coffee to keep you going.

There were a couple other guards stationed around the large building and a few colleagues, but in general the night shift was quiet and boring. You knew Steve was working so he was around somewhere. You were sure you'd find him and pass the time talking with him at some point.

Suddenly everything went dark and the guard muttered a low "shit" before fumbling on his belt for a torch while you sat in shock, not knowing what to do.

"What's going on?" You said nervously.

Lee stood and flashed the light at the control panel.

"Powers gone. Gonna have to do a manual reset from the breaker room." He grunted.

"What about the patient doors?" You asked, standing and looking over the control panel with him, though you had no idea what you were looking at.

"Shit." He grunted again. "If the powers out the locks won't engage but they were all asleep, so I wouldn't panic."

Don't panic? The doors to all the patients guilty of severe crimes and with serious mental illnesses weren't locked in, while you had limited staff and guards on duty. But yeah, don't panic.

"You're gonna need to go check the rooms while I reset the breaker." He suggested and your eyes widened in fear.

"Me?" You whispered while your hands shook.

"Yes. You. You don't know how to reset the breaker and I've got no way of calling on anyone else so I need you to check." He began with an annoyed huff, "Just this floor, in the event of a power cut the doors to the stairs manually lock so no one can leave the floor they are on. We're bloody lucky we're on the ground floor, I can get to the breaker through the service tunnels."

"Okay I can do it." You agreed feebly.

"Here," Lee said passing you another torch from a nearby cabinet, "Take this and these cuffs, just in case."

"Cuffs?" You whispered shakily.

"You'll be fine." He continued, "They are sleeping."

You nodded and walked off towards the corridor where the patients from this floor slept, light on your feet as you flicked the light around the hallways, making the place look even more eery than it already did.

When you reached the correct corridor, the row of doors seemed to look over you. Each one presented a danger that you couldn't even comprehend. Sure you were with these people on a daily basis, but now, at night with no support, they presented a real and present threat.

You walked to the first door, carefully shining your flashlight through the small observation window, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw the patient asleep in bed.

The same happened on doors two and three and you finally began to feel more confident as you continued down the hall.

You checked on all five out of six patients before cautiously moving along to Bucky's door, flashing the light through his window.

You swallowed harshly as you observed the bed, noting that he wasn't there and you moved the beam of light slowly around the room until you landed on his figure, stood staring out of his barred window with his back to you.

As the beam of light reached him, his head tilted towards the door and you quickly flicked the switch off and backed away.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. This was Bucky, he was coming around to you, he liked you, he wasn't a threat, this would be okay. At least you hoped it would be.

You flashed the light back through the window, jumping back and hitting the far wall as his face appeared in the window.

Your heart was hammering, hands shaking around the torch while he stared out at you.

The door slid open slowly and you had to make a decision. Run or stay put and hope it was still Bucky, that you could placate him.

As the door hit its hilt, you gasped loudly, accidentally dropping the torch from your sweaty hands. Bucky's body filled the door frame easily, the shadows casting over him dangerously.

You didn't move, he didn't move. It felt like time stood still while you decided which move to make.

You inhaled deeply, steeling your shoulders in preparation and placing your hand tightly around the cuffs.

"Bucky..." You stuttered.

All of a sudden he was charging towards you, clamping his hand over your mouth and grabbing the cuffs with the other, easily pulling them from your grasp as you attempted to push at his chest, eyes widening in fear.

The next thing you knew he was pulling you away from the wall and easily dragging you back into his room where he tossed you onto his bed.

You attempted to sit up but were pushed back down immediately by a strong palm.

Bucky grabbed the cuffs, quickly opening one end and attaching it to your wrist before attaching the other end to the cuff loop that the patients had near their beds. Supposed to be for them if needed, now being used to hold you hostage.

You began to scratch at the cuff manically with your free hand as Bucky stepped back from the bed, flaring his nostrils.

"Bucky. Let me go." You whimpered, but he didn't move. He just stood by the side of the bed, breathing heavily as he looked at you.

"Bucky. Please." You pleaded in desperation.

"No." He grunted before he lowered himself to his knees at the side of the single bed.

He looked over your body, licking at his lips with a pant before he reached out and placed his palm over your breast.

You gripped his wrist and attempted to pull his hand away but he slapped you away with his free hand.

"No." He grunted in annoyance.

He began massaging your breast, squeezing the flesh with a tense jaw before moving onto the second and giving it the same treatment.

You could only lay silently in horror as he continued to grope you, wondering how the hell you were going to get out of this.

Bucky pulled both his hands up to your top, gripping it firmly before ripping it straight down the middle. It splayed out either side of you revealing your lacy bra and you heard him growl while tears began slipping from your eyes.

A loud bang on the door had Bucky jumping up and the door swung open.

Steve stepped through, looking around with his torch until he saw you laid on the bed, cuffed to the wall with tear stains on your cheeks.

The door slammed shut behind him and he moved his gaze to Bucky who was standing hanging his head.

"Bucky."Steve said softly. "What are you doing?"

Bucky began to mutter incoherently as Steve carefully crossed the space, leaning over you and brushing your hair from your face.

"Are you okay?" He asked, glancing down at your uncovered breasts and back up at your face.

"I'm okay." You whimpered softly. "He took the key."

"Okay. You're gonna be okay." Steve assured you before returning to Bucky.

He set the torch on the window sill, allowing it to gently bask the room in a little light and approached Bucky, placing his hand on his shoulder.

"Buck. Explain yourself." Steve said more sternly as you watched on from where you lay.

"I want her." Bucky whispered, but the admission seemed to echo in the space.

"Buck. You can't take her buddy. You know this." Steve scolded.

"Please stevie." Bucky whimpered, placing his hands in front of his body and rubbing them together nervously.

"Buck." Steve sighed.

Bucky finally raised his head, making eye contact with Steve.

"Please stevie. Let me have her. I need her." He began pleading, "I love her Stevie."

Steve glanced over at you with a strange look on his face before looking back at his friend.

"Buck. You can't do this." Steve scolded once more. "I won't let you hurt her."

Your heart rate was sky rocketing as you glanced between the two men, praying that Steve could talk sense into him.

"I won't hurt her Stevie." Bucky pleaded. "I promise I won't. I just wanna love on her. Please."

"Fuck Bucky." Steve sighed shaking his head. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Please." Bucky whined once more and Steve looked at you, exhaling heavily through his nose.

"Steve." You whimpered as you tugged on the cuff.

Steve looked back at Bucky with a soft adoration. He patted his shoulder and released him, stepping back.

"Okay Bucky." He relented, "But don't hurt her okay?"

Bucky nodded as you began to panic. Steve stepped to the corner of the room sitting down in Bucky's armchair as Bucky moved back towards you.

"Steve." You yelled as more tears trickled over your skin, "Please. You can't let him."

"I'm sorry sweetheart. He needs this." Steve sighed.

"What the fuck Steve." You spat, glancing at Bucky with a shiver as he began taking off his clothes.

"I told you. We have history." Steve said calmly.

"I can't...I don't...you can't do this..." You cried.

"I'll do whatever he needs." Steve replied. "I always have. When he'd come to me after another episode, if he needed help getting rid of another body, I've always done what I needed to do to look after him and I always will. He's my best friend."

You began to sob harshly as the reality of your situation sank in.

Bucky stepped in front of you and you had to hold back a gasp at the size of his cock as it bobbed prone in front of you.

You tilted your head to the side and looked away as Bucky stepped around you and began to tug down your trousers and panties in one swoop.

"Please don't do this." You whimpered once more, though you knew it was useless.

"Spread her legs Buck. Let me see." Steve said suddenly and you looked back to glare at him, only to find him with his trousers down and his own cock in hand as he watched.

"Sure Stevie." Bucky said softly, grabbing your thighs in his strong palms and pushing them apart with a low groan.

"Fuck." Steve moaned as he stroked himself.

"Can I fuck her now Stevie?" Bucky whispered, staring between your legs and poking his tongue out to wet his lips. "Please?"

"Go for it Buck." Steve agreed, "Make it count."

He quickly shifted over the top of you, staring down at you with his mouth agape as you shook. You knew there was no point in fighting him, he was strong, too strong and dangerous. 

Bucky nudged his cock at your entrance with a loud groan as the head slipped between your lips.

You did your best to suppress the spark it sent to your groin, refusing to admit your body found the action pleasurable, but it didn't last long as your body began to dampen the more he pushed at your clit. 

Bucky pushed the head past your entrance, letting out an animalistic growl as he did, bracing himself on his arms at either side of your head.

"She's getting wet Stevie." He moaned loudly while you whimpered.

"Course she is Buck, you're a good boy, you'll fuck her good.' Steve grunted from the other side of the room.

"I'm a good boy." Bucky repeated in a whisper before thrusting harshly through your walls and burying himself to the hilt, causing you to let out a loud gasp at the obscene stretch. 

He dropped his weight on top of you, burying his face in your neck as he began to fuck his cock into you with no remorse, hitting your cervix with each thrust. 

You couldn't hold the moans in any longer as you felt the signs of an orgasm building at speed. His cock dragged along your special spot with each pull of his hips before hitting deep inside your cunt with each push.

"That's it Buck," Steve rasped, "She likes it, keep goin'."

"Feels so good Stevie." Bucky groaned into your skin, hips slamming against your pelvis.

Your free hand fisted at the bed sheets harshly, bunching them up as you got closer and closer to the edge.

"Gonna cum Stevie," Bucky whined, "Need to cum."

"No." Steve grunted, "Ladies first Buck, you know that."

Bucky responded to this with a low groan before assaulting your cunt with even faster, harder thrusts, plummeting you towards bliss.

You fell over the edge, letting out a loud moan as your pussy clenched around Bucky's cock, gripping him tightly.

"Fuck, go on Buck," Steve moaned, "Fill 'er up."

Bucky groaned against your neck, pushing his cock as deep as it could go. You felt his release, warm and wet flooding your pussy as Bucky stilled and your mind began to clear in the post orgasmic haze.

"Fuck, fuck." Steve muttered from the chair and you looked up just in time to see him spilling over his hand.

Bucky slipped out of you and carefully pulled your pants back up while you breathed heavily, trying to recover.

Steve tucked himself away and stepped towards you cautiously.

"Key Buck." He ordered, holding his palm out as Bucky collected the cuff key and passed it to him.

Steve hovered over you, holding the key by the cuff lock.

"Now I think this goes without saying," He said sternly, 'But this stays in this room, you tell no one."

You nodded furiously, pressing your lips together.

"I mean it sweetheart." Steve said sternly, "I won't hesitate to protect Bucky if I need too, you say nothing."

"Okay." You whispered.

He sighed before slipping the key in the lock and freeing you finally. You gripped your wrist as you sat up, rubbing it gently.

"Here." Bucky said, head now back to hanging low as he held out his t shirt for you.

You quickly slipped it on, removing your damaged shirt and then followed Steve out of the room, clutching your arms around yourself protectively as Steve shut the door behind him.

Just then, as though you were living in some kind of written fiction, the power came back on, mocking you.

Steve looked up at the lights with a smirk.

"Well then sweetheart," He said as you both began walking towards the security office, "What do you wanna do for our date this week?"

The End

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hates the apartment, then hates himself for hating anything that has running water, a bed, and no one waiting to strap him down.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who is coming back from the grocery store one afternoon when the paper bag splits open in front of the hardware store.

Soft-dark!Bucky, whose oranges and plums roll across the sidewalk, whose bread lands in the gutter, whose jaw clenches so hard it aches because he feels exposed.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hears, "Oh, shit, hold on," before he sees you.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who finds you crouching in front of him with two of his oranges in your hands, wearing the store apron, your hair a little windblown from dragging the discount chalkboard onto the sidewalk.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who sees you clicking your tongue at the ruined bag and saying, "These things are useless. Come in, I'll give you a better one."

Soft-dark!Bucky, who follows because he has nowhere else to put the groceries, and because you have his bread under your arm and the oranges in your apron’s pocket.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who, when you ask if he lives close by, says he just moved into the building down the block.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who adds, after a beat, that the place is falling apart.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who notices the smell of cut wood, dust, metal shelving, floor cleaner, and underneath all of it, something that is only yours.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who notices the little nick on your thumb, the smudge of chalk on your wrist, the way you push a drawer shut with your hip.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who leaves with a reusable canvas bag, his groceries, and the sound of your voice circling in his head.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who lies awake that night replaying it -your hip against the drawer, the small huff of breath when you stood up too fast, the care when sorting his stuff inside the bag-.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself he needs a screwdriver the next day.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who already has two.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who goes and buys it anyway.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who comes in while you’re restocking lightbulbs and pretends to study wall anchors like he knows a damn thing about wall anchors.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who does not smile often, but does when you say, "Oh, hi again. How’s the disaster apartment?” because you remembered him, because you’ve kept him in your thoughts.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who goes home and sets the screwdriver in an empty laundry basket by the door.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who does not fix the loose cabinet handle.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who goes back two days later for painter’s tape.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who buys sandpaper the day after that.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who buys a level, a box of screws, two cabinet knobs, felt pads, a wrench he does not need, a flashlight, wood glue, replacement washers, a tape measure, and a little packet of brass picture hooks.

Soft-dark!Bucky, whose apartment remains exactly the same.

Soft-dark!Bucky, whose basket fills slowly with small, useless proof that he has reasons to see you.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts knowing your shifts without meaning to.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself it is not stalking if he only notices.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who notices you always work the afternoon shift, notices you drink your coffee too sweet and too cold because you keep forgetting about it behind the counter, and notices your smile changes when you are being polite instead of pleased.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts walking past the store even when he has nothing to buy.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who pauses at the window if you are near the front.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself he is checking whether you got home safe when he sees you leave after closing.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who keeps enough distance that you never turn around.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hates himself the first time.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who does it again the next night.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself the city is dangerous, that men are dangerous, that he knows exactly what a dangerous man looks like because he was one - because maybe he still is one- because maybe that's exactly why he's the only one who could keep you safe.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who watches a contractor lean over the counter one Tuesday, with an elbow planted too close to your hand, voice low and easy in a way that has nothing to do with hardware.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who stands by the paint chips with a strip of color samples he doesn't need, watching the back of that man's neck, doing the kind of math he was trained to do in a different context. Distance, angle, how many seconds.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has never had much.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has had his body stolen, his mind fried, his name erased.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has spent decades being emptied out and then handed back to the world, and expected to act grateful there was anything left.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts thinking, quietly and then not quietly enough, that maybe he deserves one good thing.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who knows that is a selfish thought.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who lets himself have it anyway.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hears “Bucky” from your lips and feels something inside him sit up like a starving dog.

Soft-dark!Bucky, whose body remembers want before his mind permits it, a pressure in his loins when you reach for something on a high shelf and the hem of your skirt rides up, gone as fast as it came, leaving him furious at himself for noticing, for wanting, like wanting were still a thing that got him punished.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts imagining you saying his name in his apartment, against his throat instead of across a counter.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts imagining you barefoot in his kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, complaining about the cabinet handle he still has not fixed.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who starts imagining what your hands would feel like against his chest, his back, then lower.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has to leave the store early one afternoon because the thought arrives too vivid, too sudden, and his body answers before he can stop it.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who stands in an alley two blocks away, breathing hard like it's a flashback, except this one he doesn't want to end.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who does not think of taking you, but of bringing you home.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who knows exactly how that sounds.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who still comes into the store with his careful voice and his tired eyes and his useless little purchases.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who lets you tease him about becoming the most prepared tenant in Brooklyn.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who says, “Something like that.”

Soft-dark!Bucky, who is gentle with you every time he sees you.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who carries heavy boxes from the delivery truck because the kid scheduled to help called in sick.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who fixes the jammed back door in twelve seconds and pretends not to understand why you look impressed.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who walks you to the corner in the rain to take a cab because he has an umbrella and you do not.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who looks almost boyish when you say, “You’re sweet, you know that?”

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has been called many things.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has never believed that one.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who goes home shaking because you touched his arm when you said goodbye.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who sits on the edge of his bed for an hour with that touch burning through his sleeve, then gives in -finally, helplessly- to wanting, his metal hand braced on the headboard as the other strokes his aching cock.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hates how easy it is now. How fast his body answers for you when it answered for no one, nothing, for seventy years.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who thinks about the alley behind the store, the broken security light, and the back entrance you forget to lock until after counting the register.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who thinks about how easy it would be.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hates that he knows how easy it would be.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who shows up the next day pale and quiet, buys a single pack of picture hooks.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who stares at your lips while you ring him up.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who listens to you talk about a customer, about the weather, about the chalkboard falling over again in the wind.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has to look away first when your gaze finds his, even if he has never had to look away first from anything in the last few decades.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who thinks you have no idea how close you are to being his.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who smiles when you hand him the receipt.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who says, “See you tomorrow.”

Soft-dark!Bucky, who means it like a promise.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who stands there in the dim apartment, surrounded by all the things he bought from you and never used, and realizes the basket was never full of repairs, but full of steps.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who looks at all that and understands he bought a home in pieces before he knew who he was making it for.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who finally fixes the cabinet handle.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who makes the apartment quieter, softer, less broken.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who hangs the brass hook by the door and imagines your coat there.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who tells himself he can make it all nice for you, that you’ll be scared at first, but only at first.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has survived too much to keep being empty-handed.

Soft-dark!Bucky, who has decided that the world has taken enough from him, and that this time, when it places something good within reach, he is not giving it back.

The Rogers' backyard was, for all intents and purposes, the hottest wedding venue in town. 

At least if anyone asked nine-year-old you and 11-year-old Bucky, as much was true. 

The cracked sidewalk leading to the clothesline was the aisle, peony and dandelion flower beds were the decorations. The old apple tree was the altar at which Steve stood taller on an upside down wooden crate, one of your father's old dress shirts over his shoulders to pretend he was a preist, or a pope, or some sort of higher entiry able to witness this whole thing. 

Bucky had one of your dad's suit jackets on, the navy fabric completely swallowing his frame, overlapping at the front and masking the Yankees jersey he had on, and all the dirt and grass stains on it. 

You had a pillowcase that definitely needed to be in the hamper for laundry day pinned to your hair with your favorite hair clips, of a little crystal blue butterfly. 

"Everybody be quiet," Steve announced, nose high up in the air like he was presenting a case to the Supreme Court. "This is serious business."

"It is serious business," you agreed immediately, failing to bite back a grin, missing your top right canine tooth.

One that Bucky held your hand the whole time so you'd let Steve run away with the string and pull it out. 

"We are gathered here today because Bucky and my sister wanted to play wedding instead of baseball."

"You said you'd play too!" you accused. 

Steve ignored and just kept going. "Now, Bucky Barnes." He cleared his throat, trying to make his voice lower. "Do you promise to be nice to her forever, always save her a seat to watch fireworks on my birthday, and never eat the last s'more?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, his dimple coming out as he smiled wth the side of his mouth. "Yeah," he said simply. "I promise."

You raised your brow, mock-scolding him. "You're supposed to say I do."

"Okay, yes," Your heart did an odd flip. "I do."

Steve then turned to you next. "And do you promise to be nice to Bucky forever, not tell Mrs. Barnes when he sneaks cookies before dinner, and always let him have the red Popsicle if there's only one left?"

"But they're the best ones!" You whined. 

Steve sighed, ever the dramatic, looking at Bucky with fake sorrow. "Okay, then I guess you don't love him as much as—"

That set panic in your little heart. "I do! I do!" His face changed immediately, and bucky smiled at you. 

The kind of smile that always made you feel like maybe the sun shined a little brighter on your side of the street than everybody else's.

Steve smiled, as if everything was back on track. "Now, for the rings."

Bucky dug into his pocket and produced two dandelions he'd twisted into little circles. Your eyes widened. "You made those?"

He nodded, brown hair bouncing up and down his head with the gesture. "Took me forever, but they're your favorites."

He held one carefully between his fingers before sliding it onto yours with all the concentration in the world.

"You made me a flower ring." Your grin stretched so wide your cheeks hurt.

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah."

Steve interrupted your thoughts, "Okay, okay. By the power in this vest… or in me, whatever they say in movies, you are now married." He pointed at Bucky. "No cooties." Then at you. "And don't make him play tea party every day."

Your stomach did that weird fluttery thing it always did around Bucky Barnes. It did the same thing when you rode rollercoasters, felt like it was gonna fly away and take you with it. 

"You may now high-five the bride." Steve announced, stepping down from the crate. 

Bucky extended his pinky towards you, "We'll be best friends forever."

"No take-backs." You smiled, wrapping your pinky around his.

TEN YEARS LATER

As time passed, you grew up. You got new interests, all of you got new friends, and the found family you had just seemed to get bigger. Of course, you weren't as close with Bucky anymore, no college sophomore wants to hang out constantly with his best friend's kid sister.

It's kind of uncool.

The house was loud in that familiar, comfortable way—the kind of loud that doesn’t feel chaotic so much as lived-in. Every sound has a place. Every voice belongs. Bucky, as much as he isn't family by blood, grew up running up and down these stairs the same you and Steve did, as Steve did in his house. 

Both of your moms were best friends since diapers, and it was only fate that Bucky and Steve were too. 

The kitchen doorway had his height and age and name scratched on it just the same as it did yours, he knew that house in the dark just as much as Steve, trying to sneak around to get snacks during late nights playing video games. 

Controller clicks. Steve muttering under his breath. Bucky’s low laugh every time he wins—because of course he’s winning.

“Dude, you’re cheating,” Steve groans, tossing his controller down for a second.

“I’m just better than you,” Bucky shoots back easily, stretched out on the couch like he owns the place, long legs kicked up, completely at home.

He always is.

Him and Steve drove back home from their Sophomore college parties for your graduation weekend, still half-running on energy drinks and bad decisions from the night before, which just happened to fall in the same one as your prom, only separated by three days. 

They could hear your speaker booming in your bathroom while you got ready with your two best friends, Yelena and Kate, and Natasha, Steve's girlfriend, helped you with your makeup. 

It was a mix of Megan Thee Stallion playing and giggles coming from the three of you, your two best friends gushing over their dates.

Makeup scattered across the counter. Curling iron plugged in and dangerously close to knocking something over. Dresses half-hanging, half-draped over the shower rod.

And Natasha’s laugh, warmer, older, threaded through all of it as she tried to keep things somewhat under control.

Kate is perched on the edge of the tub, kicking her heels against the porcelain. Yelena is leaning into the mirror, fixing her lip gloss with unnecessary intensity.

And you—

You’re standing between them, half-finished, dress still unzipped, hair clipped up, trying to decide if you feel as good as you’re supposed to.

“Okay, no—seriously,” Kate says, pointing at you like she’s making a case in court. “John is going to lose his mind.”

Yelena hums in agreement. “He already looks at you like he has no thoughts.”

You laugh, a little breathy. “That’s not even true.”

“It is completely true,” Kate insists.

“You’re just saying that.”

“We are not just saying that,” Yelena shoots back.

Natasha, standing behind you, gently brushes powder along your cheek, more focused than the rest of them—but she’s listening. And she notices there's a sparkle in your eye that's missing when John's the subject. 

He's nice, he's good looking, he's captain of your football team, maybe he has some anger issues with other guys, but all in all he's a solid boyfriend. He's just not—

“Alright,” Natasha says finally, pulling you from your thoughts, lightening her tone again. “Turn around. Let me see the full thing.”

You do as she asks, and she takes in her work of art, your hopeful eyes, and the soft blownout curls of your hair framing your face. 

"Perfect!"

Careful with your steps as she reaches for the zipper, pulling it up your back slowly, sealing you into the dress, into the night, into everything that’s supposed to happen.

A knock sounds on the bathroom door. "You girls alive in there?" Steve calls. "Or did the hairspray fumes get you?"

"We're decent!" Natasha calls back.

Steve pokes his head in for a second. "Oh."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

His expression shifts immediately into something resembling offense. "What happened to my little sister?"

"Oh my God." You snorted. 

Steve's broad frame now came into full view in the tiny bathroom as he stood on the dorway. "Who is this grown woman and where did she put the gremlin that used to steal my fries?"

You rolled you eyes. "I'll still steal your fries."

He shakes his head. "You look beautiful, Bug."

Your expression softens. "Thanks, Stevie."

As Pietro and Bob scrolled their phones impatiently at the bottom of the stairs, making small talk with Steve and Bucky, you were almost wearing a path into the carpeted floor of your bedroom.

Seconds after he was supposed to arrive with the other two, he texted you some shitty excuse as to why he was taking Olivia, his ex, to prom instead. 

“I was gonna explain,” John says finally, like that makes it better.

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Explain what? That you’re ditching me the night of prom?”

“I’m not ditching you,” he says quickly, defensive already. “It’s just—Olivia asked me to go with her and it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeat, your grip tightening around your phone. “John, it’s prom. We’ve had this planned for weeks.”

“I know, I know,” he says, exhaling like you’re the one making this difficult. “But she’s going through stuff right now and I don’t wanna make things worse.”

Your chest tightens. “So you thought canceling on me last minute wouldn’t make things worse?”

“That’s not what I said.”

You huffed. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

He goes quiet again for a second, and you can practically hear him thinking—calculating—trying to figure out how to spin it in a way that makes him look less like the bad guy.

“Look,” he says finally, voice shifting into something more controlled, “you’re gonna have fun no matter what. You’ve got your friends, it’s not like you’ll be alone.”

The words hit harder than anything else he’s said.

Because they’re so easy for him. So dismissive.

“So that’s it?” you ask, quieter now, but it wavers anyway. “You just—drop me and go with her, and I’m supposed to be fine with that?”

“I’m not dropping you,” he insists again, frustration creeping in. “It’s one night.”

“It’s prom,” you snap, the word catching in your throat. “It’s not just some random thing, John.”

“Why are you making this such a big deal?” he shoots back.

That’s what does it.

Your eyes sting, tears blurring your vision as you shake your head even though he can’t see it. “I’m making it a big deal?” you echo. “You’re the one who decided, what, an hour before we’re supposed to leave, that I don’t matter as much as your ex?”

“It’s not like that,” he says, sharper now. “You’re twisting it.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” you say, your voice breaking despite your best effort to keep it steady. “You just told me exactly where I stand.”

He exhales, long and annoyed, like he’s already over the conversation. “You’re being dramatic. The words land like a slap. And for a second, you can’t even respond.

“Okay,” you say finally, and your voice is quieter now, but steadier in a way that feels final. “Okay. Go with her.”

“—See? That’s all I’m saying, it’s not that—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head again, even though he still can’t see you. “I get it now.”

There’s a shift on his end, like he didn’t expect that. “Wait—”

“Have fun at prom, John.”

And before he can say anything else, you hang up.

The silence that follows is immediate and heavy, pressing in around you as you stare at your reflection, your chest rising and falling too fast, your phone still clutched in your hand.

For a second, you just stand there. And then your face crumples, and the tears come before you can stop them. 

Great. You think. An hour of Natasha's hard work gone in two seconds. 

You ripped a couple squares of toiled paper off of the roll, trying to dab away the tears when a knock interrupted you. You didn't even have time to tell whoever it was to leave you alone, the door opened anyway. 

And of course it was Bucky. 

"Hey, Walker finally—" Then he saw your face. The red rimmed eyes, the puffy nose and lips, he'd recognize your crying face if he was in a dark room blindfolded and you were three states away. "What happened?"

His voice wasn't panicked our loud, just immediate. 

"Apparently my boyfriend had a better offer." You said with a humorless laugh, fiddling with the corner of the tissue. 

His expression then changed to confusion, then disbelief, then anger. "He did what?"

Your eyes stayed on the paper, humiliated. "He took his ex to prom instead." It sounds ridiculous out loud. Embarrassing. "I know it's stupid—"

He shook his head. "It's not stupid."

You shrugged one shoulder anyway. "It kind of is."

"It kind of isn't." Bucky insisted. 

Your laugh broke apart into another shaky breath. "He said I was being dramatic." Your voice was small, like a small part of you almost believed John. 

"No the fuck he didn't." Bucky's voice, on the contrary, sounded like he was about to make sure John was in three zipcodes at the same time.

You wiped at your face furiously. "Can we not do the whole protective older brother routine thing right now? Steve's probably already planning a felony downstairs."

Bucky nodded, as if agreeing that yes, Steve should be planning felonies. "Good."

Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you. "Bucky."

"I'm serious." He took the couple steps needed to lean back against the sink, back to the mirror, while you faced it. The familiar weight of him beside you settled something in your chest. "You know what I think?" he asks.

You sniffled. "What?"

"I think he's an idiot."

You snort. "Very eloquent."

"You spent weeks excited about tonight." You shrug. "You talked about your dress for months." A smaller shrug, your head shaking like you agreed with him three weeks was a little excessive. "And some guy decides at the last second that he doesn't feel like showing up?"

His eyes looked for yours, and he continued once you met his gaze. "That's his loss." 

Downstairs someone was shouting something about finding the car keys. "I just feel stupid."

His brows furrowed immediatelly. "Why?"

"Because I was excited." The words came out smaller than you meant them to. "I really thought tonight was gonna be special."

Bucky's expression softens. "It still can be."

You laughed weakly. "My date literally dumped me an hour before prom."

"Okay." He says, like the solutions is obvious. Like a dragon staring you in the face. 

You were confused. "Okay?"

"Okay." He stands up straight. "Counterpoint." You raise an eyebrow. "I've seen enough terrible teen movies to know where this goes." Despite yourself, curiosity wins.

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah." He nodded, and started counting on his fingers. "Option one: you go with your friends and have an incredible time."

"Mm." An amused smile played on your lips. 

He continued. "Option two: Steve commits a crime."

You smiled widened. "Likely."

"Or a secret, better option three—"

You quirked a brow. "There are three options?"

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully. "There are always three options." You gestured for him to continue and he grinned. "Option three: some devastatingly handsome college sophomore heroically steps in and saves prom."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Bucky Barnes."

"What?" 

"You are not asking me to prom."

"Why not?"

"Because that's ridiculous." You stammered. "You're a college guy and it's gonna be a bunch of drunk high school seniors and—"

"Seems pretty straightforward to me."

You crossed your arms over your chest, the action making your breasts stand out more, and Bucky had to hold back from looking briefly. "You drove eight hours home from college."

"Correct."

"You haven't slept." Another excuse.

"Also correct."

Truth is… You didn't trust yourself not to ruin your friendship, and Steve's, with Bucky as your date. Yes it was a childhood crush, yes it was stupid, yes he only saw you as a little sister, but for some reason every time you smelled sandalwood and listened to divorced dad rock, your stomach did the same fucking thing it always did.

It flipped. 

"I'm serious." The grin on his face faded into something gentler. "You shouldn't miss your prom because some idiot couldn't see what was standing right in front of him."

Your throat tightens. "I don't want a pity Bucky Barnes date."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Bucky shook his head. "I want to go to a high school prom sleep deprived, listen to bad music, and drink shitty punch."

You pretended to think about it. "I want milkshake and fries from Juniper's after."

Bucky got down on his knees dramatically, clutching his hands together, play-begging. "Please, let me spend my hard earned student loans on a malted brownie shake for you, m'lady."

You signed, as if you weren't blushing seven shades of red at the moment, all hidden by Natasha's foundation. "I suppose."

After Nat talked Steve down from whatever Law Abiding Citizen crap he was gonna pull, Bucky borrowed one of your dad's suits while you touched up your makeup, and off into his jeep you went. 

Bucky lingered back as he watched you walk to the old car excitedly, Natasha stopping right beside him as your friends walked to their cars, watching you get twirled by Kate. 

Bucky noticed Natasha staring at him and raised a brow in question. "What?"

She gave a noncommittal noise. "Nothing."

"Romanoff." Bucky scoffed.

She put her hands up in surrender. "I didn't say anything."

"You've got the face."

Now it was her turn to raise a brow, trying to bite back a grin. "What face?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "The face where you've figured something out before everyone else."

Nat shrugged her shoulders. "I always figure something out before everyone, Bucky." Tapping him on the shoulder and turning arounfd to go inside. 

The prom commitee worked very hard to make sure the night looked exactly like every movie promised it would.

String lights draped from the ceiling of the gymnasium like stars somebody had caught and hung overhead. Balloons clustered in the corners. A photo booth occupied one wall. The basketball hoops had been disguised beneath enough tulle and fairy lights to fool almost everyone.

Turns out, getting ditched by John Walker was the best thing that ever happened to your prom night. You didn't even notice when Olivia was cryingin the bathroom because she caught him making out with someone else. 

No. 

You were too busy slow dancing with Bucky Barnes.

When the first chorus of the song came on, he held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

You rolled your eyes. "You're such a dork."

"Tick tock, Rogers." He wiggled his fingers impatiently.

You took his hand as if it didn't make your fingers go numb with excitement, and Bucky quickly nestled a hand on your low back, your forehead to the side of his jaw. 

"You know," Bucky said after a minute, "this is definitely better than my prom when I was your age."

"Okay, grandpa." You laughed softly. "What happened at your senior prom?"

"My date spent forty-five minutes crying in the bathroom because her friend wore the same shoes she did."

You clicked your tongue. "That's tragic."

"It was devastating." Bucky agreed, nodding his head, laughing softly. 

You nudged his jaw. "I'll try to hold it together."

"I appreciate that."

A moment passed, then another, and you spoke up. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"Anytime." He let out a soft breath, leaning back the slightest bit so he could look at you. "You do look beautiful, I mean it."

Thank fuck for Natasha's foundation, powder, and concealer for hiding your flush. "Thank you, Bucky." Oh how you wished you hadn't looked into his pretty eyes, reflecting the lights off of the mirrorball back onto the dancefloor. 

The ten seconds seemed to stretch an entire decade. Somehow Bucky's face getting closer and closer to yours, eyes switching from your lips back to your eyes and to your lips again. 

Oh my God, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, he's gonna—

"Hey." The word cut through the moment like broken glass. Fucking John Walker. King of never in the history of the world reading anything. Specialy the fucking room. "Can we talk?"

Bucky's hand tightened around your waist, "What do you want, John? Olivia is probably looking for you."

"C'mon, baby, you're not gonna throw our relationship away over one bad call, are you?" He was seriously trying to play this off. "I made a mistake." His hand reached for you but you stepped away. 

"I'm not your baby."

He scoffed. "Aw, c'mon." And tried again. 

This time, Bucky got between you two. "She's done, Walker. Walk away."

Now John got… Defensive. "This isn't any of your business."

Bucky clicked his tongue. "She kind of is." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

The air stood still for a minute before the football bros came to get John, leaving you and Bucky with the weight of unsaid words and unspoken looks. 

Juniper's was closed by the time you finally left prom.

Not closed enough to stop Bucky from leaning halfway out of the driver's side window and convincing one of the employees locking up to sell him two milkshakes and an order of fries out of pure pity.

It wasn't until you were stargazing in his jeep with soft music from his Spotify mixing with the crickets hiding in the grass that your heart settled again. 

You were in the passenger seat, your burger already eaten, just finishing your delicious fries and your milkshake with Bucky in the same predicament in the driver's seat. 

Now the two of you sat on the hood of his Jeep in the empty parking lot overlooking the river, the New York spring air cool enough that your bare shoulders prickled every time the wind picked up.

Without a word, Bucky shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You blushed. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "'M not using it."

"You literally had it on 30 seconds ago." You rolled your eyes. Bucky just muttered details between a mouthful of fries. 

"You know," you said eventually, "this wasn't exactly how I pictured prom going."

Bucky laughed quietly. "No?"

"I don't know. There was significantly less public humiliation in the original draft." You laughed softly. "But I like this version better."

Bucky nodded. "I had fun."

You looked over. "Yeah?" Hopeful little edge in your voice giving you away to anyone that knew you remotely well. 

"Yeah." His expression softened. "Got to dance with a pretty girl."

Heat climbed into your cheeks immediately. "You flirt with everybody." You rolled your eyes. 

Bucky made an offended expression, clutching his chest. "I absolutely do not."

"You absolutely do." You lolled you head to the side, raising a brow to make your point. He laughed.

God, you loved his laugh. Always had. The thought came and went so quickly you almost didn't notice it.

Your eyes drifted back toward the sky. "You know what this reminds me of?"

"Hm?" He lifted his eyes from the milkshake cup he was trying to get every last bit out of. 

"The meteor shower."

Bucky smiled immediately. "Oh man."

You grinned. "You remember?"

"Remember?" Bucky chuckled. "I had baseball tryouts the next day and I was up all night to make sure you didn't miss it."

It stopped you dead in your tracks. He did what? "No, you didn't. Your mom came and woke us up."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, because I woke her up. I was outside waiting for it while you and Steve snoozed it off. Played like shit the next morning." He continued. "You had the date circled on the calendar."

Your brow furrowed. "I did?"

He nodded. "You drew stars around it."

"Oh my God."

Bucky chuckled, his own head lolling to the side on the head rest to look at you. "You made Steve and I promise we wouldn't stay up late the night before because we had to be rested."

You buried your face in your hands. "That sounds insufferable."

"It was kinda cute." He smiled at you like he always did, and your heart promptly forgot how to function. Bucky, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of the devastation he'd just caused.

Trying so desperately to change the subject to something that wouldn't make you tear up or your heart jump, you fiddled with your milkshake, taking a sip and making a face. "You know, I think this thing is eighty percent whipped cream."

Bucky grinned. "I can see that, it's all over your face." His left thumb came up to wipe down the leftover shake on the corner of your mouth, and it lingered just a second too long. 

For a second, or three years, the world felt like it stilled. A moment frozen in a snow globe to be forever replayed. 

Neither of you moved, not entirely sure how to. Suddenly Bucky was very close, close enough to see the tiny scar in his eyebrow from falling off his bike when he was fourteen, to count the freckles dusting across his nose, enough that you could feel your heartbeat somewhere in your throat.

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up, and your heart and lungs stumbled over themselves. 

His hand lowered slowly, resting on your thigh. The night around you seemed quieter somehow. Smaller, as if the entire world had narrowed down to the space between you.

"Buck..." His name came out softer than you intended.

His expression shifted into something you'd never seen directed at you before. "If you don't want—"

And then your body moved forward on instinct, your brain a mess of fuzzy TV static, and when you came back to your body, your lips were on his.

Not because you were brave or even confident, just mostly because if you let him finish that sentence you thought your heart might actually explode.

For one terrifying second you were convinced you'd made the biggest mistake of your life. Then you felt the warmth of his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss as his tongue slipped past your lips.

The kind of kiss that felt less like fireworks and more like coming home after a very long trip.

One of your hands quickly found the nape of his neck, gently scratching your manicured nails against his scalp. He whined against your lips, hand drifting to your waist, and just as much as he pulled you onto his lap, you climbed over the console to him, food wrappers forgotten on the floor. 

You shrugged the suit jacket off, accidentally honking the horn with your butt in the process, and Bucky's hands rubbed up and down your thighs as you rocked your hips against him, feeling the heat of him against the suit pants. 

Your hands dropped from his shoulders down to his arms, then forearms, directing him to paw at the zipper on the back of your dress.

That made him pull away, looking for your eyes. "Are you—"

You could not have nodded more feverishly if you were a damn bobblehead. Bucky needed no further incentive, he made quick work of the zipper, excitement bubbling in your stomach like freshly popped champagne while he peppered kisses along your jawline and neck. 

The now bothersome fabric of the dress fell to your waist as you worked on the buttons of his shirt, hands moving to his belt and pants after. He kissed you again, deeper as his hand snuck under the hem of your dress to find the wet spot on your panties. 

You moaned against his mouth, your own hand finding its way inside of his boxers. You broke the kiss, gasping for air. "Is this— I mean— okay?" It was hushed and murured against his lips as you stroked his length. "I've never— oh!"

You got rudely interrupted by Bucky's index and middle fingers rubbing your sensitive clit over the blue cotton of your panties. He nodded against you, "Y-yeah, you're— fuck— you're doing so good." His hips bucked up against you, and the second he slipped out of his pants with your movements his hand left your core and now were both squeezing your ass.

Bucky brought you flush against him, the angry red tip of him begging for friction found it when you started to dry hump him through your underwear, gasping into his mouth every time it nudged your clit.

"Bucky, please…" He couldn't not give you what you wanted, right? "I can't take it." Not when you begged this pretty.

He nodded against you, "I know, baby." And his right hand went under your dress, behind you, and pulled your panties to the side. "I know."

The second his bare cock made contact with your wet slit, he hissed, and a lightbulb went off in his head.

Condom.

He did not trust himself to pull out. Not of you. "Condom." His voice was almost distant to you, like it hadn't crossed your mind to use protection. Not with Bucky, anyway. He'd never hurt you, he was your—

"I—" You were dazed, lost and drunk in the scent and thought and feel of him. "My purse." His hands let you go and you leaned over the seat to grab your purse from the backseat, your ass right beside Bucky's head. 

Of course he took advantage of that fully pull your panties down, now that you had the leg space. 

You sat back down on top of him with a little huff, trembling hands fumbling with the wrapper.

Bucky hissed as you rolled it down on him, and one of his hands lined himself up with your entrance.

As you sank down on him, you thought maybe you should've thought twice about it. I mean, you knew he was packing, you walked in on him changing one time a couple years ago, there was no way you could—

"Hey," Bucky's voice brought you back from your spiral. "Look at me." Beautiful cerulean eyes stared up at you like the moonlight was made to bounce off them specifically. "Breathe."

His other hand brushed your hair away from your face, just as the hand that was holding his shaft traveled up, thumb finding your clit rubbing soothing circles on it. "Just take it slow." Your eyes fluttered closed. 

"How do you not get knocked over hauling this thing around?" That brought a chuckle out of him, landing straight onto the skin of your neck. "Oh, God..."

You rocked yourself back and forth, until he was fully inside of you, your lips touching the light hair at the base. 

Bucky kissed all over your face, his thumb never stopping its work. "You're doing so good, baby."

"Feels full." He laughed softly. squeezing your waist and helping guide you into a rhythm. "Feels good."

"Yeah?" Hushed and right by your ear, you felt like drowning and the happiest person alive at the same time. "You're so tight," He continued. "So warm."

You whined against his lips, the vibration going all the way down to his core.

He moved you up and down his cock, listening to the obscene wet squelch each time you sat up and sank back down on him, and each time it dawned on him what was actually happening, he got louder.

Bolder.

He bounced you on his length, hissing each time, you squeezed around him. "Feel good, Buck. Hah!"

It surprisingly didn't take long for Bucky to have you right at the edge, not as long as people online led you to believe losing your virginity would feel like. "Can feel you fluttering." His thumb worked faster.

"Wanna come, Bucky." You whined, kissing him, and pulling away with his bottom lip between your teeth, "Can I?"

He hissed, the question making it hard for him to not blow his load right then and there. "F'course you can, pretty girl, c'mon."

Your release felt like a million meteors hitting you at once. Like Earth came apart and got put together all in the same breath. 

It felt entirely different, better, than when you tried to do it on your own. And your orgasm triggered Bucky's, waves of pleasure milking rope after rope of cum from him into the unworthy latex of the condom. 

For what it felt like forever for the milionth time that night, neither of you spoke. Your breaths and the crickets were the only sounds. 

It was quiet after. 

Just… quiet.

The kind that only existed when two people had known each other so long that silence wasn't something to fill. Starts lit up the sky that was now your ceiling, and Bucky had taken the condom off and tied it, throwing it inside of the trash with the fry bag and the milkshake cups.

For once in his life, James Buchanan Barnes appeared to be completely out of words.

Which was concerning.

You smiled a little, back in the passenger seat with the suit jacket around your chilly shoulders. "What?"

He glanced over. "Hm?"

"You're thinking too loud." That got a laugh out of him. A quiet one, but still a laugh. "Sorry."

A beat of silence, then another. "I don't want this to ruin anything."

Your smile faltered slightly.

Of course, you thought. Of course he doesn't feel that way about you, why would he—

"Oh, Buck." You faked a smile as his eyes met yours. "We'll be okay."

A sheepish, hopeful look hit his face. "Yeah?"

"Of course." You nodded and reached over and laced your pinky with his. "We're us."

His expression softened when he looked down at your joined fingers. "We're us," he echoed.

You smiled. "We survived Steve's bowl cut phase." You listed off. "The great Thanksgiving mashed potato incident."

"Traumatic." He chuckled.

"The time I accidentally backed your Jeep into Mrs. Russo's mailbox." You continued. 

He scolded you playfully. "You still owe me for emotional damages."

You laughed softly. "We'll be best friends forever."

The words came so naturally, so easily. The same words you'd said years before ona hot day beneath a tree. A pinky promise.

Forever.

Beside you, Bucky went quiet. Of course she wouldn't want anything to do with you, you're her brother's best friend. That shit only works in mov— "Right." His eyes dropped for a moment. "Friends."

Your stomach twisted at the word for the first time in your life. Because why did that sound disappointing?

Why did it sound like something had slipped through your fingers without you realizing you were holding it?

a little bit of fran in your life: okay did we like it??????? it was meant to read like a first chapter but also a standalone in case you wanted to just be done with it. yippieeeeeeee

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Bucky Barnes wasn't unfamiliar with sleepless hours and restless nights.

As a matter of fact, they were a common companion by now. 

Not one he necessarily liked, but he couldn't exactly do anything about it. He just pushed through the restless nights filled with nothing else but tossing and turning and the occasional slumber which never really held on long because nightmares and memories didn't give him any peace to actually rest.

Getting three hours of sleep wasn't unusual for him, but Bucky highly prided himself in being able to function well, despite whatever fatigue and exhaustion that little of sleep usually brought.

He was a super soldier, after all. Surely, it would need a little more than that to knock him off his feet, right?

Wrong.

During the last two weeks, Bucky had gotten even less sleep than he normally did. He was constantly on edge, his memories not giving him a break for even a second, reminders of what his life used to be seering through his brain like lighting.

It was exhausting, sure, but he figured he'd tough it out, that it was just a phase that would fade again eventually.

What he didn't expect was just how much it would really get to him, both physically and mentally. His body ached with the need to sleep, muscles so heavy it took him a great amount of strength to even get up in the morning. 

It didn't help that everything around him felt too intense and dull all at once. His headache hadn't left him once during the last fourteen days and neither had the haze that was clouding his brain, the one that made it difficult to even think properly.

Bucky was used to hiding his issues, though. He'd survived worse than this, for fucks sake. A little sleep deprevation wasn't what was going to break him. He wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't let it happen. He didn't want to tell the others about it, either. The last thing he needed was anybody fussing over him like he and his sob story were something that needed pity.

But he was so, so tired.

And that tiredness made him desperate, which was exactly why he was currently standing in front of your room, still contemplating if he should knock or if you'd think that he was pathetic for letting a little lack of sleep get to him so much.

He should just pull himself together.

You wouldn't say that, of course. He knew that better than anyone, but that knowledge unfortunately didn't stop him from overthinking this.

A part of him, the one that got him through seventy years of torture and pain, was currently screaming at him to keep his distance, to not allow any vulnerablity.

Vulnerability meant weakness, and that always led to punishment.

That's how it used to be, at least.

But this wasn't Hydra and you weren't anything like his old handlers. In fact, you were one of the nicest people he knew. You got along with everyone, constantly filling his days with your bad jokes and stupidly beautiful smiles.

Your laugh was even worse. The sound was like music to his ears, making him feel lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with his sleep deprivation and everything to do with you.

It was his fucking favorite sound in the world, just like you were his favorite person.

He couldn't tell you that, of course.

The two of you were friends.

And even though his feelings for you had stopped just being friendly a very long time ago, that was a fact he had to remind himself of every day. You didn't see him as any more than what the two of you were, which was very close, but still painfully platonic friends.

You had told him, though- multiple times- that whenever he needed something, you would be there. No matter how big or small, you had promised him that he could always come to you.

And right now, all he really needed was one of your hugs that never failed to make the world around him go quiet, giving his mind the kind of break it barely got anymore.

It would solve all his problems, he was sure of it.

He knew that you were still awake. With his kind of hearing, he could clearly make out the sound of your favorite show still running on the TV.

Taking one last deep breath to hype himself up, he carefully raised his hand and scraped his knuckles against the door, loud enough for you to hear, but still gentle, so he would hopefully not startle you.

For a moment he was sure that you probably didn't hear him, but then he could make out the quiet rustle of sheets and bare feet lightly padding against the floor.

The door opened and there you were, your hair a mess, a sleepy expression on your face and clothed in an old tshirt and red flannel pants.

God, you were beautiful.

"Buck?" A small crease formed between your eyebrows as you took him in and he winced, realising that he probably looked awful. His short hair was standing off in messy strands and his eyes were red rimmed and puffy from exhaustion. The dark bags under his eyes probably didn't help, either. 

Bucky knew that you'd noticed that something was off, of course. 

All week, you had watched him with those observant eyes of yours, checking in on him whenever you could. 

You didn't push, though. You just let him approach you at his own pace, which he appreciated.

"What are you doing here? Is everything okay?" He hated how concerned you sounded. He didn't want to be the reason for your distress, not ever. Actually, he'd rather get shot than make you upset, but thinking about it, that might be a little contradictory.

"Everything's okay, don't worry. Just… couldn't sleep."

Admitting that he didn't come here because of something serious but solemnly because he couldn't sleep felt even pathetic out loud than it did in his head, if that was even possible.

"I can leave again, though. I know it's late and I really don't want to bother you-"

"Hey, no. None of that. You're always welcome here Buck, you know that," You interruped him gently, keeping him from backtracking before he could even properly start. He wanted to protest again, of course, wanted to apologize for coming to you with his issues this late, but you quickly ushered him inside, like you knew exactly what was going on inside him and scared that if you let him stand in the hallway for a moment longer, he'd bolt again.

Which wasn't too far off the truth, if he was being honest.

When Bucky stepped into the room, he felt the effect it had on him immediately. The smell alone was enough to soothe him, something sweet and flowery and so you his shoulders lost some of their tension immediately.

His skin tingled where you placed your hand on his arm and he was painfully aware of how close you were standing to him right now, looking up at him with the most breathtaking eyes he had ever seen.

They were bothering him right now though, because you still looked so goddamn worried. You didn't need to worry. He was fine, now that he was with you.

"I'm okay," He tried to reassure you, but he wasn't sure how convincing it sounded. "Really."

"Mhmm." The hum was noncomittal at best, your thumb rubbing soft circles over the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Please don't get me wrong, Buck, I don't mind you being here. I really don't. But it's also not common for you to show up at my door at-" You quickly glanced at the clock behind him. "One in the morning. What's actually going on?"

He hated that you were right. This wasn't normal, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

And he wanted it so, so badly.

He wanted to be in your space without having a reason to be there. He wanted your attention more than anythig else in the world and, most importantly, he wanted you.

But he couldn't say any of that, so he just shrugged, swallowing thickly. "I can't sleep. Like, at all. Haven't been able to in a couple of days."

It was more than just that and you both knew it, but he was grateful that you didn't call him out on it. "I just didn't want to be alone today, that's all."

The admission hung between you and Bucky had to suppress the urge to physically backtrack. He barely let himself be this vulnerable, too scared of what the consequences might be.

Somehow, you still always managed to reassure him that he never had to be scared with you.

"Oh, Buck." If anybody else would've said it, he most definitely would've taken it for pity. The only thing he could hear in your voice was raw and honest concern as you pulled him down, right into your arms.

He took his chance immediately, of course. Bucky couldn't help how pathetically touch starved he was when it got to you. Wrapping his arms around you as well, he couldn‘t help the hitch in his breath, his physical reaction mirroring just how crazy you were driving him right now, hugging him like that.

"Shh, it's okay. I got you," You reassured him softly as you cradled the back of his head, your hand soothingly moving up and down his back. The sensations running through his body were almost too much for him to handle, every single nerve in his body hyperaware of how close you were to him.

He didn't know how long the two of you stayed like that- time always did that whenever he was with you.

Wether it was seconds, minutes, a lifetime, he wouldn't know.

Didn't care, either.

He would be content to just be with you for however long you'd have him.

A lifetime did sound pretty damn good, though.

Only when you pulled back did he come back to reality again.

You brought just enough distance between the two of you to be able to look at his face-not that you would even be able to step back completely. Bucky'd hands were fisted tightly in the fabric of your sweater and you were pretty sure that he didn't even notice he was holding onto you so tightly.

When your eyes found his, your heart squeezed uncomfortably in your chest again. You had barely ever seen him this vulnerable; The lines on his face seemed to be carved more deeply than they usually were, but somehow, it didn't make him look older.

Quite the opposite, actually.

It was such a raw kind of exhaustion, it almost looked boyish on him.

And even though that part of him, the one that didn't hold onto his guard as much as he usually did was something you wanted to hold onto forever, thre was also nothing more that you wanted to do than make that horrible heaviness his eyes held vanish again.

Preferably right in this goddamn second.

How about you stay here tonight, hm?" You tried to make it sound like a question more than an offer, wanting him to have the choice to decline even though all you really wanted to do was keep him here until he was feeling better again.

You didn't want him to feel preassured or trapped with you- never that. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay anyway.

"Not too sure I'll be able to sleep."

And there it was.

This wasn't unusual for Bucky. Wether it developed because of Hydra or even before the war you didn't know, but he always did this thing were he didn't take people up on their offers because he was too scared of not living up to their expectations.

What he didn't seem to understand was that you didn't have any expectations. 

You just wanted him, no matter what that might include, or, in this case, didn't include.

You'd never sleep again if it was to keep him company.

"We don't have to." You slowly raised your hand, giving him more than enough time to pull away if he wanted to, before you gently ran your fingers through his hair, a touch he immediately leaned into.

"We can just listen to music, watch a movie, whatever you want. If you fall asleep, you fall asleep. If you don't, we'll just have a good time anyway. No preassure, alright?"

Bucky was having a hard time registering what you were saying with your nails scratching his scalp like that, but he nodded anyway. "Alright."

He had to actively stop himself from letting out a sound of protest when you removed your hand from his hair, immediately missing the feeling of it but also not willing to show you just how much you were getting to him.

When you guided him over to the bed and the two of you sat down together, backs resting against the headboard, Bucky was mindful of keeping at least a little distance between the two of you.

If it was up to him, you'd be wrapped up in his arms by now, but his ma raised him better than that. He was still a gentleman, after all. The least he could do was be respectful, especially with how kind you were being to him.

"So, what do you think. Music or a movie?" Bucky would've been fully content with you just keeping to watch your show whilst he kept you company, but he had a feeling that you wouldn‘t take that for an answer.

"A movie sounds good, if that's okay." 

You smiled at his response, because you'd fully expected him to hit you with an "I don't care, you decide." or "Whatever works best for you. I'm not picky.", so the actual choice, even if he still phrased it like he was asking for permission, was definitely progress.

"Yeah, of course. Anything in particular you wanna watch?"

You were only met with a shrug. "Whatever works best for you. I ain't picky."

Well, that much about progress.

You couldn't help but chuckle at the predictability of the statement, which was just a tad too cute for you to actually be irritated by the cryptic response. "Alright then, my choice it is."

It didn't take you long to find exactly what you were looking for.

It was a black and white movie from the 50s- not old enough for Bucky to know it, but just enough for it to feel familiar.

And again, his predictable reaction was almost too cute for you to handle.

His shoulders relaxed more and more with every minute passing, chest rising and falling evenly as his eyes were glued the the screen. You were glad that he seemed to enjoy it, that he was comfortable enough in your presence to actually allow himself to be captured by it.

Before you could think better of it, because you barely ever possessed the ability to think around Bucky at all, you slowly wrapped your arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer until his head was resting against your shoulder. He went willingly and you raised your hand again, going back to running your fingers through the short strands just like you had done a few minutes ago.

A deep exhale followed almost immediately and you hat to bite your inner cheek to keep yourself from laughing. There was no way that James Buchanan Barnes, ex Winter Soldier and Seargent, was that responsive to something as simple as touch. "Comfy?"

"With you? Always." Your heart stumbled a little in your chest, feelings flaring up that you refused to acknowledge right now. Instead, you pressed a gentle kiss against his soft hair, the gesture alone saying more than any words ever could.

You were so, so fucked.

"Glad to hear that, Buck."

You didn't know if it was the intimacy of the situation, but something felt different between you and Bucky. It wasn't what you were feeling, exactly. No, this was how you always felt around Bucky. There was nothing new about the affection that went way beyond friendship alone.

Right now, it just felt like you were accepting it instead of pushing it away all the time. There was no careful distance anymore, no akward attempts to keep the line of being friends carefully drawn.

There was no dramatic love confession, either. Just a man who carried way too much weight on his shoulders and you, the one person he trusted enough to help him with it.

Not Sam or Steve. Not even Nat, who might understand better how he was feeling right now.

You.

It didn’t catch you off guard because it was big or life changing, but because you didn't expect it to feel this… natural.

It felt like something finally shifted into place, somewhere it had always belonged.

Like the intimacy and closeness you were experiencing right now were how things had always been supposed to be.

About halfway through the movie, most of Bucky's weight was resting against you, his head lying fully on your chest.

His breathing had turned slow and shallow too, and you could see his eyelids drop every few seconds before he forced them open again.

"Go to sleep Bucky. You're tired."

"Don't wanna."

Even though thick with sleep, his voice was still laced with stubborness. It made you chuckle a little, because he was very obviously on the brink of passing out. 

"Any reason for that?"

For a long moment, the only answer you got was a grunt, so you figured he must've actually fallen asleep.

"Don't want this to end."

And there he went, catching you off guard once again.

"Nothing's ending, Buck. I'm not going anywhere."

Now he tilted his head a little, angling it so he could properly meet your eyes. "Still, it'd be different when I wake up."

He wasn't sure what exactly possesed him to actually say this, but he couldn't help himself. Maybe it was proximity between the two of you, because usually, these would be things he'd take to his grave.

"We'd be back to pretending again, sweetheart. And Im not sure if I could handle that. I don't want to pretend anymore. I don't wanna act like I don't feel this way about you, because I do. So much it actually hurts sometimes." Bucky's eyes didn't leave yours for a second and he figured that if he already started, he might as well go all in now. "I don't want this to end. As a matter of fact, I'd never sleep again if it meant that I'd get to keep you like this forever. And I think the sleep deprevation is really getting to me right now because I would never actually say it like this, but I'm tired. And not only the sleepy kind of tired, but tired of pretending like my feelings aren't real. Like this is what friends just do- because it isn't, is it?

Your heart was racing so quickly behind your ribcage now, you could hear it pounding in your ears. There was no way this was actually happening right now.

He was right. This wasn't what friends did and you couldn't be more relieved that you apparently weren't the only one feeling like this.

"And call me crazy, but I feel like this hasn't been friendly for a very long time now."

Bucky's words were slightly slurred because of how tired he was, his accent thicker than what you were used to.

"This ain't up fo me to decide though, darlin'. The only thing I can tell you is that I know what I want and it's sure as hell not being your friend. I wanna be yours, the only question is if you want that, too."

For a five very long seconds, neither of you said anything.

Bucky was just about to pull back, to put some distance between you because he realised that this might've been the entirely wrong situation to confess feelings like that. He was sure that he must've said too much, because that was about the biggest hard launch he could've gone for.

That much about wanting to be gentle.

What Bucky didn't understand was that you weren't not saying anything because you didn't want him like that, but because you were so overwhelmed with your emotions, talking seemed impossible right now.

So instead of giving him the rejection he was already bracing for, you did the best thing you could think of and reached for his face, carefully cradling his cheek as you leaned down just close enough to push your lips against his.

It was barely even a kiss, but Bucky still felt like his whole universe rearranged itself and now circled around that moment alone. Fuck the sun and any other planet that might be important for the solar system to work. Why the hell would he need that if he had you?

"Does that answer your question?"

You still hadn't pulled back and your lips were moving against his with every word you spoke, which was driving him absolutely insane.

He was the one to lean in now, more than ready to give you a proper kiss instead of responding.

This one wasn't soft or careful like the first one had been. No, this kiss was desperate and hungry and everything the fog in his brain allowed him to feel right now. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers curling in his hair tightly, causing heat to coil low in his stomach.

Just as he was about to pull you on top of him, very eager to keep going despite nearly falling asleep a few minutes ago, you pulled back again.

This time, he couldn't help the embarrasingly desperate sound that escaped his mouth.

He could feel heat creeping up his neck, but you only smiled.

"As much as I want to," You murmured and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, one he greedily leaned into, fucking on seeming needy now, because he was.

And he was also pretty sure that you‘d noticed too by now.

"You need rest, my love. You're running on fumes."

He was feeling dizzy again, butt he was almost completely sure that it was because of the petname now, not because of the exhaustion.

Damnit, what the hell were you doing with him?"

"This isn't a dream, right? This is real? I'm not going crazy, am I?"

Again, he might sound pathetic, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted this so badly, he couldn‘t even stand the thought of not having you, especially now that he got a taste and knew exactly it could look like.

"Not a dream," You confirmed, smile widening as you pressed another kiss to his face. "This is very real, I promise."

"You sure?"

"Very sure, Buck." 

He still wanted to pull you down on top of him and kiss you senseless until neither of you could breathe anymore, but you were being reasonable. He did need sleep, wether he wanted to admit it or not.

He decided to do the next best thing and still pulled you into his arms, just without the kissing part. Bucky embraced you tightly, almost like he still didn't believe that any of this was actually happening. 

If he was being honest, he didn't. Maybe he had died from all the goddamn exhaustion and somehow ended up in heaven. Even though he wasn't sure how that would be more realistic than this happening in real life, it seemed to be the most reasonable conclusion to come to.

Your head was resting on his chest just like his had when you were watching the movie, arms loosely wrapped around his torso.

He let himself enjoy the view just a moment longer, eyes on your beautiful face as you smiled up at him.

In that moment, Bucky came to the conclusion of exactly three things.

First, you were the most breathtaking sight he had ever laid his eyes on in his whole life.

Second, he would go through every single second of his 109 years of living if it meant that this was where he would end up.

And third, it might actually not hurt to close his eyes for a bit.

For the first time since way before the war, Bucky Barnes managed to sleep through the whole night without nightmares, pain or gunfire interrupting his sleep.

And it was all because of you.