#marvel requests

"HYDRA! Ohh, fancy," Alexei grins wide, Bucky just huffs at his excitement. "I got something mixed, still good, still powerful," he puffs his chest a little. "And you, pretty one, what is your serum ah?"

"Uh...mine was SHIELD's. Developed from Steve's DNA," you reply. Alexei's face lights up with more amazement. 

"Aye SHIELD! Straight from Captain Rogers. She gets the premium brand, ah winter soldier?" He speaks to Bucky like he was breaking news, the latter just nods absentmindedly.

"A super soldier couple, ha! What are the odds? You two lovely creatures made for each other. Strong, beautiful and dangerous. Like spy movie," his laugh booms through the cabin as he pats a heavy hand on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky pretends to ignore him, eyes still on the road, but his smirk is undeniable.

You just give Alexei an amused smile, then gently squeeze Bucky's hand resting on the wheel. Without hesitation, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on it without taking his eyes off the road. Alexei just watches the whole thing with a knowing grin.

Bucky kept driving in silence, enjoying the calm before of the storm, because once you found Valentina, and her new shiny creation, at the former avengers tower, all hell broke loose.

God, how you missed being back in that truck.

Now, you were limping away from the tower where Bob–or Sentry? Whatever the hell Valentina was calling him now, had beaten the living shit out of all you. Your thoughts were cut short when you noticed Yelena snapping at everyone.

"What, it's my turn now?" Walker asked defensively, his tone only adding fuel to Yelena's anger.

"Oh no, you already know you're a piece of shit. And your family knows too," Yelena snapped back without missing a beat.

"Wow," he muttered, his eyes dropping to the bent shield in his hands. He didn't argue to that, he didn’t know how to.

"Yelena, you're not alone in this–" You started, but she cut you off before you could finish.

"You shut up! We're all alone in this shitty world, you only say that cause you have Bucky," she cries out, her finger pointed at you like a dagger.

You didn't fight back to her, you knew she wasn't lashing out at you, not really. Maybe it was the pressure, maybe it was the just the fear taking over her.

Bucky turned to you, curious about your reaction, but your small smile was enough to say 'I'm okay'. She wasn't wrong after all.

Then your gaze drifted to John, when you noticed from the corner of your eye his posture had shifted. It wasn't only anger you saw in him, it was something heavier. Something that stuck with you longer than it should've.

Normally you would just ignore Walker, silence had always been your preferred way to keep your sanity intact around him. But this time you couldn't help it, you kept your eyes on him a little bit longer, until you saw it.

The way mentioning his family made his entire demeanor shift. The same reaction you saw the first time Bucky brought them up. And now Yelena had rubbed it in, like salt in an open wound.

You couldn't believe it, and would probably never admit it out loud, but you felt something new for John Walker.

Pity.

The next thing you knew, the group had scattered, everyone going in different directions after Yelena's outburst.

And without really thinking, with Bucky walking by your side, you walked towards the same direction Walker had taken. You didn't exactly know why, but you felt like you needed to say something to him.

"This is a mess, doll," Bucky sighed, eyes scanning around, trying to find an answer in the clueless people walking by. "I didn't think I'd come to this, but I think I should call Sam."

"Uh huh. Sure, let's call Sam. He can totally take down the Sentry," your tone was half sarcastic half distracted, as your gaze darted around trying to find John, who had walked fast enough to get lost in the busy streets of New York.

"He might know something–wait, are you okay, doll? What are you looking for?" Bucky stopped walking, but you didn't, giving him no choice but to catch up.

"Huh?" You ask, barely registering the question.

And then you spotted a flash of black and red cutting through the crowd, stomping rather than walking.

"There he is!" Your voice lit up, picking up your pace to reach your target. "Walker!" You shouted his name, loud and clear. No way he didn't hear you, not with his enhanced hearing. The way he sped up to get further from you confirmed it.

"Okay now, Walker?" Bucky asks, completely baffled. As far as he knew none of you could stand the guy.

"Listen, honey," you said softly, weaving between pedestrians. "I love you, but it wasn't cool to bring up in front of everyone that his wife took his baby and left him. They're just gonna keep throwing it at his face now."

Bucky shifted slightly, but still defensive.

“Yeah, well, he doesn't exactly make it easy not to.”

"I know," you admitted with a sigh. "But weirdly enough we're all stuck in this shit show together. We might as well try to work with him." You paused for a second, knowing you could catch up to Walker anytime. "Just give me a second with him Buck, please?" You bat your eyelashes at him.

He gave you a long look, raising an eyebrow, clearly ready to protest. But he knew what you were doing.

"Alright," he grunted, rolling his eyes. "I'll be right behind you. With my favorite knife. In case you need me to stab him for you, doll." He flashed you an ironic smile, and you nodded back amused.

You turned back around and quickened your pace, finally catching up to Walker. Bucky kept his promise, a hand resting on his knife holder as he trailed behind you at what he considered a safe distance.

"Walker!" You called again, now standing just behind him.

"For fuck's sake, give me a break!" He came to an abrupt halt, turning around to face you, but still keeping his distance. "What?” His harsh tone pulled you straight out of your rush.

"Wow, okay. I didn't really think this through" you admitted, realizing you hadn't actually planned what to say.

"You know what? I'm done. I'm done with everyone making fun of me. I get it, okay? I suck. What's new?" He threw his hands in the air dramatically, bitterly trash-talking himself.

"About what Yelena said..."

"Oh, I heard her just fine. And she's right, isn't she? You're all right. I'm a fucking asshole. That's why my family left–why everyone hates me. What’s new?" He continued letting the anger speak for himself.

But now that you stared at him for a little longer, instead of seeing the prick he portrayed in front of everyone, you could see underneath all that rage, there was something much softer.

Hurt.

So you didn't get defensive, instead, you spoke softly to him.

"That's not true, John."

He froze. Taken aback by the fact that you've never called him by his first name before.

"Really? Be fucking honest with me." His voice cracked just slightly. "Cause everyone's made it pretty damn clear."

"We don't hate you," you said carefully. "You're just...hard to be around sometimes," you explain, his brows lifted at your honesty. "Look, I'm not trying anything here. I just want to talk, okay? That's all."

He looked around, hesitant at first, but decided to drops his guard. He rolled his eyes before taking a step closer to you, never admitting he was curious about what you had to say. You pretended to not notice the sheen in his eyes once he was close to you.

He looked behind you, catching a sight of Bucky in the distance, arms on his hips, watching your interaction like a hawk.

"Don't worry about him, he's keeping watch," you brushed it off amused. And after a deep breath, you started. “So, you know how the serum works, right? It…enhances everything."

He gave a faint nod, prompting you to continue.

"It can make the good parts of you better, but it can also make the worst parts unbearable," you continued, letting memories you had buried down a long time ago, come to the surface. " When I first lost Bucky and Steve, back in the 40's, I was completely consumed by grief, by this...” You pause for a second, searching for the right word. “Emptiness. They were all I had back then, and suddenly all my days just went by, all alone. Until one day Peggy Carter contacted me, offering me a spot on a super serum program. She said it was developed from the last blood sample taken of Steve.”

That seemed to finally peak his interest.

“It was quite experimental but I didn't mind, I had nothing left to lose. So I said yes, because I felt like that was my way to honor them, but deep down, I just wanted to be strong enough to destroy HYDRA myself." You let out a bitter breath.

"As you can imagine, I was in no condition to take the serum. But once I did? That emptiness only grew louder. I lost control. I let all my pain out on the battlefield, told myself it was for the greater good. But really, I just wanted to hurt the world as much as it had hurt me." You confess to him, not being able to make eye contact. He didn't mind, he just listened attentively, finding he related to you in more ways than he could have ever imagined. "It went on like that for a long time, and I thought I would never stop feeling that anger. And then one day, the loss felt lighter, the emptiness began to fade away. That's when I finally stared seeing things clearer." You finally lifted your gaze to meet his eyes through your glassy ones. "That anger you feel inside you? It's real, it's the serum turning the volume up on your worst pain, but it's not everything you will ever be." You explain, and now it's his turn to drop his gaze to the floor. "I know what it feels like to drown in that, I know how hard it is to climb out of it, but trust me, it will fade eventually. I got Bucky back. I got my miracle. Maybe you'll get yours one day."

He chuckled bitterly.

"It doesn't feel that way. I'm just...too messed up." He mumbled, and you shook your head.

"Look around, Walker. Every one of us is messed up," you said ironically, gesturing vaguely behind you. "We're all running on red numbers here. The only difference is, our worst mistakes weren't, you know...broadcasted to the whole world." You said carefully, remembering his public incident back in Latvia. "…I'm sorry yours were."

He didn't say anything right away, just blinked a few times, processing everything you told him.

"Thank you." His reply came out quiet, but it was honest.

Because was the kindest someone had treated him since the day his wife left.

"You know, it's never too late to start over with us." You continued, thinking about the new dysfunctional group you had accidentally became a part of. “So, are you? with us?"

He considered it for a second, before he gave you a small nod. He didn't have to say much, you could see how much your words meant to him by the way he looked at you. It was different than before.

You patted his shoulder gently and nodded happily, before turning to head back to Bucky.

Walker noticed Bucky's face shift into a smile the second he saw you coming. And just before you were too far away, you heard his voice once again.

"You know...I can see why he's so protective of you. He's lucky to share this shitty world with you." He granted, hinting back at what Yelena said earlier. A smile tugged at your lips.

Before you could turn around to respond, a sudden explosion cracked through the air, followed by pedestrian’s screams. Chaos erupted in the streets as people began running in every direction.

You barely had time to process it before you caught the sound of something heavy crashing down, a huge chunk of concrete, straight above you.

In less than a second, two super soldiers blocked the blow, Walker with his dented shield raised above you and Bucky with his vibranium arm braced against the falling debris that shattered around you.

Even though you were as much of a super soldier as he was, Bucky still protected you like you were made of glass.

"Are you okay, doll?" he asked immediately. His hands swiftly dusting away little rests of concrete off your suit, eyes scanning your body for any injuries.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Walker doing the same, he was more subtle, but still watching you closely, making sure you weren't hurt.

"Yes. Thank you. Both of you." You nodded quickly, still catching your breath.

Bucky gave a short nod in Walker's direction. Then your eyes lifted, and your heart dropped.

"Oh my god," you exclaimed, horrified at the sight. The people who had been running were now vanishing. One by one, melted into silhouettes.

You looked back to Walker, desperation setting in.

"You're with us, right?" You asked one more time.

This time, his nod came without hesitation.

"Great," you said, turning now towards Bucky. He nodded firmly, ready to jump into action. "Let's go."

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

•••

Friday morning traffic honked and buzzed in Matt’s ears, the alarm clock beside the bed speaking the time aloud to him. 7:35am.

He groaned.

Bruises from another evening of late-night vigilantism stretched and pulled over his skin as he rolled to the side, silk sheets tangling between his legs before eventually releasing him from their grasp.

Matt sighed, swinging his legs over the bed and running a hand down his face.

The weekend. It was nearly the weekend.

Keys in the apartment across the way distracted Matt from thoughts of stale beer at Josie’s and sleeping in past 8:00am. Floorboards creaked in the other room, and a muffled voice emanated through the paper walls.

“I’m sorry.”

The voice was quiet, soft—halfway between a whisper and a prayer. “I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know what to do with her. She’s running a fever and…”

The voice trailed off—or maybe Matt decided to respect the woman’s privacy and stop eavesdropping—he wasn’t quite sure.

His steps pattered lightly across the floor. The drawers of his dresser rumbled as he pulled them open. The silk sleeve in his hand rippled over his fingers as he unfolded a shirt and slipped it over his shoulders.

“Mom, please.” The words were louder, desperate, a plea on the edge. Matt grimaced.

He had no right to be listening to this. But how could he help it?

“Just for today. I’ll…I’ll figure something else out for tomorrow.”

An older voice grumbled in response.

If Matt had strained, he would’ve been able to make out the words. As it stood, he heard the click of the door and footsteps in the hallway.

They paused, a shaky breath carrying through the thin line of paint between the walls.

A whispered prayer rose in the air, shuddered into the empty space. “Most holy apostle, St. Jude, pray for me.”

Matt’s heart stopped.

He…he knew that prayer. Uttered before exams in the recess of a quiet hall. Mumbled habitually in the vague space between waking and sleep. Whispered tremblingly in the dark of night, tears streaming down your face, salt stinging the air—when you thought he wasn’t awake, when you thought you could break down in silence.

St. Jude, the patron saint of desperate situations and lost causes. The saint he’d heard you pray to every day in college.

You.

•••

Matt had listened to you leave the building. Followed your footsteps down the sidewalk below. Waited until you disappeared into the crowded streets.

The prayer still haunted him.

“St. Jude, pray for me.”

He remembered it with the soft touch of your lips, the sickly sweet scent of cherry lip balm, fingers running tantalizingly through his hair.

It was a prayer of forgiveness then—confirmation that, among a host of liars, thieves, and murderers, you were the most hopeless cause of all.

Matt blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

Apparently, you’d never broken the habit. Never given up viewing yourself as a lost cause.

He hated that the knowledge made him ache.

“Matt?” Foggy knocked on his office door before sliding into the room, pulling up a chair at his desk.

Matt cleared his throat, straightened his tie. Tried to appear normal. “Yes, Foggy?”

“Are you…I don’t know.” Foggy hesitated, shifting in his seat. “You just seem kinda distracted today. Is everything alright?”

No.

Lies sat ready on his tongue, waiting for release. I’m fine. It was just a long night. Everything’s fine, I’m just tired.

Instead, your name drifted from his lips, as though it were an explanation.

Foggy’s brows furrowed, confusion tangible in the air, so Matt continued.

“I…I heard her. In my apartment building. This morning.”

For several seconds, Foggy didn’t move—barely even breathed, and Matt’s heart leapt into his throat, waiting for a reply.

Finally, “Are you sure?”

The sweet melody of your voice played in his mind again. St. Jude, pray for me. With the same sadness of old times, the same familiar desperation…

“I would know her voice anywhere.” The words stuck in Matt’s throat, rough and scraping like sandpaper, and he winced, clearing his throat. “It was definitely her.”

Foggy breathed, a gusted sigh crinkling papers on his desk. “So, what did you do?”

“What could I do?” Matt grimaced, mentally kicking himself. But what was he supposed to do? It’s not like he could’ve just waltzed into the hall—waited for you to recognize him. Or, worse, waited for you to recognize him and pretend you didn’t.

He was blind, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had attempted it.

“You’re kidding. Matt, you just let her go?”

Matt swallowed. “What else was I supposed to do, Foggy?”

“Um, talk to her? I mean, my God!” Foggy rose from his seat, taking a step closer to Matt. “After how she left things before, I think an explanation is the least that’s owed to you.”

“That was five years ago, Foggy.” Matt’s voice was quiet, resigned. “She’s moved on, and…I have too.”

“Bullshit.” Foggy paced to the window, the sole of his one shoe squeaking slightly at the seam, then turned back. “No, I don’t buy it. You’ve never been the same since she left, Matt. Never. Sometimes, I think she took a piece of your heart and walked right out the door with it, and it’s never come back.”

“Foggy—“ Matt shifted his jaw, fighting the tidal wave of emotion rising up his throat. Choking on it.

“No, Matt. Listen to me. She broke your heart.” Matt cleared his throat, adjusted his tie, but Foggy continued. “She left in the middle of the night with no goodbye, no explanation. Just walked out of your life like it was the easiest thing in the world to her. The least you deserve is to understand why, to get an explanation for her actions. She owes you that much.”

Matt cleared his throat again. Nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Not yet.

For a while, there was nothing but the whir of the fan on Karen’s desk in the lobby and the soft ticking of the office clock hanging above the firm’s door.

Finally, Matt finished adjusting his tie, tilted his head down towards the desk. “Convincing argument there, counsellor.”

Foggy stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Yeah, well, I’ve been practicing.”

“I can tell.” Matt smirked, before letting the expression fade once again and infusing as much sincerity into his voice as possible. “Thank you, Fog.”

The hand Foggy pulled out of his pocket to place on Matt’s shoulder was neither unexpected nor unwelcome. “Anytime, buddy.”

•••

The scent of leftover pad thai infiltrated the kitchen, soaking into the walls of the apartment and prickling the back of Matt’s nose as he walked through the door. With a groan, he set his cane in the corner and slid out of his suit jacket.

He’d forgotten to throw the empty container out last night.

Perfect.

Vague threats of a headache began to form, stirring in the recesses of his skull. He was unceremoniously tossing the offensive odour away when the clank of muffled keys drifted in from the hallway.

Matt paused.

Footsteps halted outside the door of the apartment across the way, hesitating, one toe scuffing the floor—a nervous habit.

Matt swallowed back the memory of how many times he’d heard you repeat that action in the past. On the carpet outside exam rooms. The sidewalk the first time he’d asked you to stay over.

Against the couch, the night you left…

Focus, Murdock.

Your every movement screamed exhaustion. From the dragging of your feet to the shuddering of your breaths, and even through the walls, Matt sensed the tears in your eyes. Could taste the salt in the air.

“O, most holy apostle, St. Jude.” The whisper caught, words hooking, sinking into the walls and into Matt’s heart. “Pray for me. Pray. Why…” The rustle of fabric and shuddering of a sob muffled through your hand nearly choked him. “Why aren’t you praying for me?”

It was all but silent—air currents shifting on a breath. But Matt heard it. He heard it…

You were sobbing.

And he couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

•••

You’d lost another job.

Tears dripped off your chin, soaking the legs of your jeans with your knees curled up against your chest. The shuddery sobs had slowly decreased to shaky hiccups, but the ache in your heart remained the same.

It had been a twelve-hour shift today, extra overtime requested to make rent at the end of the month. To repay the late fee from the month before. To get Mr. Tortelli off your back until he stopped threatening you with eviction.

Your prayer beads sat cold in your pocket. They hadn’t been of much use to you lately. The saints remained quiet in their role as intercessors.

A swell of emotion pressed down on your chest, compressing your lungs.

We’re going to lose the apartment.

Already, the thought of humbling yourself to ask your mother for more help was nauseating. Yet another thing for her to dangle over your head, disappointment dripping into your hair.

The urge to shampoo the feeling away was overwhelming, and you forced back another sob. Keep it together!

She’d never been proud of you, your mother, but ever since the day you’d dropped out of college, she’d always gone out of her way to display this disappointment.

As if her approval meant anything to you anymore—you’d numbed yourself to her scolding since you first learned how to walk. But Mathilda…

The door of the apartment across the hall from you creaked open, a gentle tapping sound registering in your mind.

Pulling yourself to your feet, you quickly brushed a hand over your clothes to straighten them and wiped the tears from your face.

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t disturb you. I was just—“ But the words died on your tongue. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening! Standing in front of you, was… “Matt?”

His lips curled up in a soft smile, knuckles shifting over the cane, and he greeted you with a gentle, “Hello, sweetheart.”

Your heart raced in your ribcage.

How many times had you hoped for this moment? Dreamed of it. How many times had you rehearsed everything you would say to him? Imagined seeking him out, telling him the truth… Now, words stuck to the roof of your mouth, sticky and sharp, like glass mixed with honey.

“What…what are you doing here?”

His tight expression was probably meant to be a smile, but it appeared as more of a grimace. “I live here.”

“Oh.” You fidgeted behind your back, fingers pressing against your nail beds. The keratin protected the ends of your fingers, but they still ached from the work day—too many hours submerged in hot, soapy water, scraping against cutlery, stubbing on plates and pans.

The ache was a welcome distraction from the man in front of you.

He stepped closer, fingers twitching lightly against the white aluminum in his hand. Your name fell from his lips, desperate…almost reverent.

But before he could say his next words, you choked back a sob. “Please, Matt. Please…”

You could hear shuffling on the other side of the wall. Your mother was no doubt impatient—waiting for you to get back.

Probably waiting behind the door, ready and willing to scold you for taking longer than expected.

If she knew you were standing out here…with him….

Matt hesitated, shuffling his feet.

“I just want to know why.”

Quiet. Trembling. His voice carried such heartbreak that you wanted to drown in its waves.

Coward. You had been an absolute coward walking out on him the way you did all those years ago.

For his sake.

The reminder was bitter, ingrained into every fibre of your person. It was the only thing that’d gotten you to sleep at night for months after leaving, chanting it quietly while praying silently.

It was the cure for long nights and early mornings. For months when the rent wouldn’t stretch or the pennies wouldn’t accumulate.

It was your saving grace, the one phrase that kept you from endlessly asking yourself the same question. Why?

“It’s complicated, Matt.” Another tear slipped over your cheek, and Matt’s jaw clenched.

He was just opening his mouth to speak again when the door beside you creaked open, hinges squealing loudly.

“Momma?”

You watched as confusion slowly crept across Matt’s face, something akin to shock morphing his expression into something vulnerable.

“It’s complicated,” you whispered again, quieter, before kneeling in front of your daughter. Her tiny hands clasped the doorframe, and her cheeks flushed red and sweaty, bleary eyes unfocused on your face.

“Hello, baby. It’s okay, Momma’s here now.”

She stepped into your waiting arms, face buried in the grimy front of your shirt. Your mother’s disapproving eyes passed over you, then Matt, before closing the door without a word.

Automatically, you moved one hand to the tiny forehead pressed into your chest. And couldn’t hide the wince at the heat emanating from the skin.

“Is…is she…?” The words were barely a whisper, not even disturbing the oxygen surrounding them.

Moving your hand from her forehead, you slipped your arm underneath her securely and rose to your feet.

“Yes,” you answered, keeping your eyes downcast to your daughter—avoiding whatever emotion might be expressed on his face.

Because no matter what the question was, the answer was yes. Yours? His? Sick?

Yes. All of the above.

Silence became an entity in the hallway.

Braving a glance to Matt’s face, you found him flexing his jaw, warring against his tight lips and…

Shit.

That was a tear.

“It’s okay, Matt—“ you started to say before he interrupted you with, “How old?”

The scratch in his voice made it almost unrecognizable. And he seemed suddenly…older. Wearier.

Guilty.

Guilt gnawed at your own gut until you chewed your cheek to relieve the pressure. The weight of the prayer beads in your pocket increased the weight of your conscience.

He said your name again, desperate, begging.

“How old is she?”

Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision as you looked at your feet, shoes old and worn and entirely too thin against the floor.

“Four.”

One word, so quiet you were shocked he even heard it. One word, spoken in truth where perhaps a lie would’ve been more appropriate.

One word, with the ability to alter his life forever.

“Oh my God.” You pretty much agreed with the sentiment. He placed a hand against the wall, steadying himself.

“I don’t expect anything from you, Matt,” you murmured, a reassurance you’d hoped you’d never have to give. “It’s okay. I can take care of us. You don’t have to—“

Acknowledge us. Support us. You can go back to living your life as you knew it—as if we were never here.

But you didn’t get the chance to say any of it before he interrupted you again.

“No.”

Finality reinforced the word, something firm and unwavering in his voice.

“Matt—“

“No. I’m not…I can’t…” His hand balled into a fist, and he rested it against his mouth, trembling slightly. Pain etched itself into every feature of his face, and he slowly dropped his hand. “What’s…what’s her name?”

Waves pressed against your chest, drowning you.

Lie. Lie, lie, lie. Lie to him. Lie now.

It was tempting. So tempting. You could still get away from this. You could still keep from ruining Matt’s life.

“Mathilda…” Her name was off your lips before you could convince yourself otherwise.

For years, you’d done it all alone, everything in your life revolving around the little girl in your arms.

The job hunting, apartment searching. Late nights, early mornings. Crying yourself to sleep on the days she reminded you so much of Matt. Constant vigils and applying medications you couldn’t afford when she got sick.

All of it. You’d done everything and all of it alone. So he wouldn’t have to lose the future he’d worked so hard for, the dream he carried on his sleeve.

For his sake.

But now, he was in front of you.

Devastated. Begging.

And you were so, so tired…

St. Jude, pray for me.

You were about to be selfish.

You were, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Saints in heaven looked away as you clutched your child close, the eyes that were so much like Matt’s closed and nestled in your chest.

Matt’s expression flickered as you grasped his hand, placing it gently on your daughter’s back.

“…I call her ‘Matty.’”

This all started when Adam came barging into your room because he claimed that he couldn't sleep and he had a feeling that you were awake. You could see right through the bs as he anxiously rung his fingers and rocked himself from side to side. 

He keeps pretending like he cant sleep so he can cuddle in your bed with you and you can't say no because of the needy expression that's on his face.

So with a deep breath you agree everytime and every time he walks over and gets in under the covers, sometimes he's underneath you and sometimes he's on top of you. This time around he's on top of you with his waist between your legs and his arms wrapped around your torso.

“You're so comfy” he murmured, head resting against your chest with your fingers against his scalp; he snuggled closer. He's like a cat this way, looking for warmth and comfort in your embrace. You press a kiss to his forehead in response and you feel him thumb the skin of your hip.

He huffs sleepily, eyes getting heavy as his grip on you tightens; all indicators that he's super close to falling asleep. “You're the perfect size to cuddle, y/n” he slurs as he nuzzles his nose against your collar bone and lays his head back down. Not long after that you feel his breathing even out. You fall asleep soon after.

Walking back to his locker he begins unwrapping his hand as the song finishes. As he closes his locker the beginning notes of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” begin to come through the earbuds. Bucky smiles softly at the song, remembering how often it had played on the radio before he'd been drafted. Shaking his head in loving disbelief, he finally pulled your music player back out and looked at your playlist. It was filled with songs he knew by heart that he regularly played, others he remembers telling you about in passing, and others he had missed out on. As his eyes scan over the songs, they catch on the name of the playlist being “Buckshot” and roll at the dumb nickname you’d given him after a few missions together. 

The elevator doors open and Bucky steps in, "Jarvis, take me to my living quarters."

As Jarvis sets the elevator, Bucky finally feels the shock wearing off that you have a playlist of songs named after him. He wants to know everything about the playlist. Why these songs, how often do you play it, when did you make it? The elevator slows and soon the doors open to the floor of your shared apartment. 

Bucky swiftly opens the door and toes off his shoes. Not having been working out long enough to get sweaty, he doesn't bother to shower before going to the bedroom. He nimbly climbs in bed next to you and unplugs the headphones from your music player. He turns to volume to a quiet level and faces you. Taking in your peaceful form as you sleep, Bucky cups your cheek. He starts to sing along in a murmur to the music, and eventually your eyes start to flutter open. 

"Hi," you breathe with a smile. "When'd you get back?" 

"Not long ago. You looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you yet." Bucky rests his forehead against yours. "How'd you sleep?"

"Okay, I missed your cuddles. How was the gym?"

"It was great," he kisses your nose with a giddy expression. "I found your music player in my hoodie." 

You let out a surprised squeak and cover your face with your hands. 

"It took me a few minutes to realize what music was playing," he continued. "But once I did I was surprised."

"I'm sorry," you mumbled from behind your hands. " I know it's probably weird."

"Don't be, doll. I liked discovering you have a playlist about me. It's sweet. Made me feel special knowing you had something that reminded you of me like that," he slowly peeled your hands from your face to reveal your blush.

"Of course I want something to remind me of you when you're gone!"

Bucky just leans down and kisses you sweetly. It isn't until you feel your head start to swim that you're forced to break away from his kiss. You trace his lips with your index finger, chests bumping together as you share each other's breaths, and hear the opening notes of "Dream Sweet in Sea Major" coming from near your head.

"You don't know this one," you breathe against his lips. "It made me think of something you would have listened to. Both sweetly wishful while being a kind of aching longing." 

Bucky feels his heart swell even more from your explanation of why you put the song in the playlist. He doesn't recognize it but it feels eerily familiar. He listens carefully, thinking about how the song really did resemble some songs he'd shown you but definitely more modern. 

"'Believe me, darling. The stars were made for falling,'" you quietly sang to him. "'Like melting obelisks as tall as another realm.'"

Bucky closes his eyes and lets your quiet singing wash over him. He'd never understand how he got lucky enough to meet you, let alone date you. After every horrible thing he'd been forced to do, he had resigned himself to a life of being alone with the exception of Steve. But you'd always been so accepting of him, reminding him he didn't want to do those things. That wasn't him. He'd never understood how you could be so accepting of him, and choose to love him as openly and sweetly as you do. He couldn't help the grateful feeling that arose every time he thought about your compassionate heart.

"'You look quite divine tonight. Here among these vibrant lights. Pure delights surround us as we sail,'" you continue as you trace his features slowly.

You take care tracing down the slope of his nose. Ghosting over the delicate skin beneath his eyes. Following the arch of his eyebrow, trailing along his cheekbone down to his jaw. Grazing his cupid's bow. Completely entranced by the tranquility that has graced his relaxed form. It wasn't often he let go of the weight surrounding his mind.

"What did I do to deserve you?" He wondered aloud, gently grabbing your wrist. His eyes met yours as he swept his thumb along the inside of your wrist.

"You were you. Simple as that, Bucky," you admitted.

As the song faded into the next, you shared with Bucky why you'd added this one to the playlist. And that's how the two of you spent the rest of the morning. Singing to each other and sharing your thoughts about the songs that played. Revealing your thoughts to each other. Adding songs as Bucky recommends them and as you show him new ones.

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.