PinkJedi

Your fingers twist in the hem of your sleeve as you sit on the couch, angled just slightly toward him. Bucky’s sprawled beside you, long legs stretched out, one arm hooked over the back of the couch like he owns the space without even trying. There’s a quiet movie playing on the TV, something neither of you are really paying attention to. His attention keeps drifting back to you anyway—little glances, soft and curious.

You notice every single one of them.

You always do.

Your knee bumps his accidentally and your heart jumps like you’ve done something wrong. He doesn’t pull away, though. If anything, his leg shifts just a little closer, pressing more firmly against yours.

God.

You swallow.

“Buck?” you try, and immediately want to hide.

His head turns toward you instantly. “Yeah, doll?” His voice is soft, warm in that way that always makes your chest feel too tight.

You open your mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because suddenly the words feel embarrassing. Too needy. Too much. What if he doesn’t want to? What if he’s comfortable like this and you mess it up? What if—

You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Sorry.”

You turn your attention back to the TV like you didn’t just implode right next to him.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, quieter, closer—“Hey.”

His hand finds your wrist. Not grabbing, not forcing. Just there. Thumb brushing gently over your pulse like he’s checking in.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod too fast. “Mhm.”

Another pause.

His thumb keeps moving.

“Because,” he says slowly, like he’s choosing his words with care, “you’ve been fidgeting for the last ten minutes. And you keep lookin’ at me like you’ve got somethin’ to say.”

Your face burns.

“I—no, I haven’t.”

Bucky huffs out a quiet, amused breath; eyes twinkling in fondness.

“Doll.”

And that’s it. That one word, all warm and coaxing, and you crumble.

“I just—” you start, and your voice immediately gets smaller. “I was just wondering if, um—if you maybe wanted to—like, if you’re not busy or anything—”

His brows pull together, not in frustration, just confusion. “Not busy,” he repeats gently.

“Right, yeah, I know, I just mean—if you didn’t want to, that’s totally fine, I just—”

“Hey.” His hand slides up from your wrist to your arm, grounding. “Slow down. What’re you askin’ me, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

You might actually pass away.

You take a breath, staring determinedly at a spot on the couch instead of at him.

“Can we… cuddle?” you mumble, so quiet it barely counts as sound. “Just for a little bit. If that’s okay.”

Silence.

Oh God.

You knew it. You knew you shouldn’t have asked. You start to pull back, already preparing to laugh it off, to say you didn’t mean it, to pretend—

“Oh.”

It’s soft. Almost breathless.

You risk a glance up.

Bucky looks like you just handed him something precious.

His expression has completely melted. There’s no other word for it. The sharp lines of his face have gone soft, eyes wide and warm and a little bit awed, like he can’t believe you just asked him that.

“Yeah,” he says immediately. Then, a little stronger, like he needs to make sure you hear him properly, “Yeah, of course we can.”

Your shoulders loosen just a fraction. “Really?”

“Really?” he echoes, almost incredulous. “Doll, you never gotta ask like it’s a big favor.”

“I just didn’t wanna bother you,” you admit, voice small again.

That does something to him.

You see it, the way his jaw tightens just slightly.

“You could never bother me,” he says, quiet but firm.

Before you can overthink it again, he’s already moving.

His arm drops from the back of the couch, sliding around your shoulders, guiding you gently into him. Like he’s giving you every chance to change your mind, even though you never would.

You go easily, curling into his side.

And the second you settle against him, it’s like something in him gives.

He exhales, long and slow, like he’s been holding that breath all day. His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until you’re practically draped over him. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.

“There we go,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything.

You can hear his heartbeat. Feel it under your cheek—steady, strong.

Safe.

Your hand curls against his shirt, bunching the fabric lightly as you relax into him. The earlier nerves start to fade, replaced by something warm and soft that spreads through your chest.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment, voice low.

“Mhm,” you hum. “Sorry I made it weird.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through you.

“You didn’t make it weird,” he says. “You made my day.”

You tilt your head just enough to look up at him. “I did?”

“Yeah.” His thumb starts tracing slow, absent circles against your arm. “You askin’ for this? Means you want me close.” A small pause. “I like that.”

Your face heats again, but it’s softer this time. Less panic, more… something shy and happy.

“I always want you close,” you admit.

That completely ruins him.

You feel it in the way his hold on you tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there. Like he’s not letting go anytime soon.

“Then c’mere whenever you want,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Don’t make yourself nervous over it, alright?”

You nod against his chest.

“Okay.”

His fingers drift through your hair, slow and careful, and the movie continues playing in the background, forgotten.

You stay tucked against him, warm and quiet, listening to his heartbeat.

“I know we’ve gained a lot, but days like today just remind me of everything and everyone we’ve lost. There are those holes that I feel like nothing can ever fully fill and I hate it, Pete.”

If only Y/n had known then just how much she would lose later…

_____________________________________________________________

Y/n lay on one of the beds in the Avengers compound. She heard a scratching sound outside her room before her door opened. The girl didn’t bother turning around to greet her visitor. She never did anymore.

The bedding underneath her pulled a bit before the mattress dipped next to her. 

Rocket crossed his arms and looked down at the pathetic teenager below him. He loved the kid - don’t get him wrong, but he wasn’t great with the whole…feelings thing. And he was more the type to work through his pain than sit in it.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted. “‘Bout to head out again. You coming with?” He knew what the answer was going to be, but he was feeling nice enough to offer anyway.

Y/n silently shook her head, still not bothering to face her friend.

Rocket sighed and dropped his arms. He shook his head and turned to jump off her bed again, but he turned to look at Y/n again over his shoulder. “You know I’m not good with this crap…but you really should get out of this room, kid. I don’t know a lot about those guys out there but I can tell they already care about you…maybe try talking to someone…I’ll see you when I get back.” And with that, Rocket jumped off the teen’s bed and left her room, purposefully leaving the door open, hoping one of the others - the Avengers, would see Y/n moping and try to get through to her.

Y/n waited until Rocket’s paws were no longer heard and got up off the bed just long enough to shut her door then flopped onto her side again.

She picked at a loose string on her bed and thought back to things before the “blip.” She thought back to how her brother would usually comfort her in times like these. 

Y/n sobbed as Peter held her in a tight but comforting hug. He shushed her quietly and gave her a squeeze before gently directing her until she was laying on her side, her head resting in his lap. 

Peter put one hand on her shoulder, running his thumb back and forth over it and used the other to weave through her hair. He carded his fingers through the strands and pushed stray ones behind her ear. As Y/n’s sniffles and quiet sobs continued to fill the room, Peter started humming. His sister’s ears perked at the sound of a certain song from The Five Stairsteps. She couldn’t help the way the corner of her lips turned up ever so slightly despite her depressed state. 

The teen closed her eyes and sighed, relishing in the feeling of her brother playing with her hair, and the sweet sound of his voice filling the room. Her sobs ended and only the occasional sniffle remained. 

“Try and sleep, princess,” Peter whispered during a pause in the song, still running his fingers through her hair and rubbing her shoulder. “I’ll always be here.”

When he started to sing softly again, Y/n found her eyes sliding closed, her brother’s actions and love for her soothing her to sleep.

Y/n broke out of the flashback, tears painting silver trails down her cheeks, and clicked a button on the tech in her left hand. Soft blue light illuminated her face as a hologram played. She closed her eyes but listened as her brother’s voice sang.

“Ooh, child 

Things are gonna get easier

Ooh child

Things'll get brighter

Some day, yeah

We'll put it together and we'll get it undone

Some day

When your head is much lighter

Some day, yeah

We'll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun

Some day

Peter looked up from where he was painting a blue stripe on one of Yondu’s old shoes because he thought it looked cool. “Wheels are useful,” he shrugged.

“They are primitive.”

“Cars are cool.”

“Cars are slow.”

“They have music.”

That, unfortunately, made you stop dead in your tracks, because Terra did have good music. Peter made sure everyone knew that. He had his cassette player and he treated it like the planet lived inside that little plastic box and those stupid orange headphones.

Still, you lifted your chin. “Fine,” you rolled your eyes. “One point for Terra. I’m still never moving there.”

Peter threw a bolt at you. You caught it without looking.

From the doorway, Yondu laughed,“Both of you kids are idiots.”

You grinned. Peter grinned. Yondu scoffed and pretended he didn’t love either of you.

Back then, you and Peter were just Ravager kids. You grew up with rooms under engine bays, learning how to steal and squeeze into tight spaces before you learned how to talk about feelings.

You called Peter your brother as a joke. He called you his sister, too, when he was annoyed with you, which was often. Mostly because you stole his snacks, rewired his blasters, and told alien girls he cried during Footloose (the girls would be so confused and ask what is a loose foot?).

Neither of you knew, until years later, that the joke turned out to be true. 

Why would you even think that? You looked so different.

By the time you learned you were both children of Ego, everything was already falling apart. You and Peter both stood there with celestial light in your veins and heartbreak deep in your stomach.

Ego looked at you and Peter like you were not his children at all. To him you were not people, not family. You were not kids Yondu had fed, clothed, shouted at, protected, and raised in his own terrible way.

You and Peter were… batteries.

And then Yondu died.

What were you supposed to do then? How were you supposed to process the fact that your father was a monster and your daddy was fucking dead?

That grief changed you. It changed Peter, too.

For a while, neither of you joked about anything. 

Yondu’s parenting hadn’t always been… healthy. He had been mean, loud, unfair. He pitted you and Peter against each other because he said it “builds character”. He taught you to steal, lie, shoot, and run,

But he had also taken you in. He tried his best and loved you, even if he never knew how to show it properly.

The Guardians became your family after that, making space for you the way that they made space for Peter. 

And it didn’t take long for you to realise why your brother was so fond of them : no one really knew how to leave each other alone.

Rocket complained about everyone while making sure everyone had weapons that worked. Groot wrapped little branches around your wrist when he thought you were upset. Drax gave you advice that was almost always terrible and occasionally devastatingly profound. Gamora understood what it meant to be made by a monster, and yet still wanted to be better. Mantis, newcomer to the group, too, touched your hand one night and whispered that your sadness felt like a dying star.

The Guardians didn’t fix that grief, they could not. They filled that hollow emptiness with arguments over music, bad plans, worse jokes, emergency repairs, and shared meals. 

You had been a Ravager first, but with this rag tag band of freaks, you became more than Ego’s child, more than Yondu’s ward. You were a Guardian of the Galaxy, with all the terrible decisions and accidental tenderness that came with it.

For a while, that was enough. What more could you ask for? Your family was insane and the galaxy kept trying to kill you in increasingly creative ways, which honestly felt normal enough. You had missions and people to annoy. You had Peter to bully whenever he got too sentimental about Terra. You had a place to stand. You had a reason to stay.

Then came Thanos, and Titan.

Titan was dead in a way that made your skin crawl. It was huge and orange and silent, a ruined sky stretching above you like the planet itself had given up long before you arrived.

The fight came back to you later in flashes, though your brain still struggled to fill in the full picture: You remembered Tony Stark bleeding into the ground and Stephen Strange looking at everything like he already knew the ending. You remembered Mantis holding on to the Mad Titan’s sleep with everything she had, small but braver than almost anyone gave her credit for. Peter Parker, an arachnid boy to the best of your understanding, had been fighting for his life. You remembered throwing yourself at him, blades in hand, the remnants of power burning beneath your skin. You hated the way it reminded you of Ego. You hated the way it made you feel like his daughter. But in that moment, with your chosen family around you and that monster in front of you, you used it anyway.

You were a guardian; and guardians didn’t have to be healed to fight for each other. You didn’t have to be whole.

But it was not enough.

The plan almost worked, which just made it worse. For one breathless second, it felt like you might actually pull it off. Mantis had him under and the gauntlet was right there. Everyone was moving, shouting, straining, almost winning. 

Then Peter found out about Gamora, and grief did what grief always did in your family: it broke.

You couldn’t even blame him, really. Later, maybe, people would. 

Maybe they would say he ruined everything. Maybe they would say he should have held it together. 

But you knew Peter. You knew that kind of loss. If someone had stood in front of you mentioning Yondu’s death like it was necessary, you weren’t sure you would have been any smarter, any less reckless. 

Neither you nor Peter had ever learned how to grieve quietly.

Then Thanos was gone, and you never knew silence would get worse than the fight.

At first, you thought the dust on your hand was from the planet. Titan was full of it, after all. But then your fingers started to break apart, coming undone, and grey at the edges, scattering into the air before your mind could make sense of it. 

You stared at your own hand, as if you looked hard enough, you could force it to stay.

Peter saw it happen.

One second he was Star-Lord, heartbroken and still trying to understand what he had done, and then he was just Peter. Your brother, the boy from the Ravager ship, the idiot who used to throw bolts at you. 

“Hey,” he said, and there was panic in it immediately. “No. No, no, no—”

You tried to reach for him, but your arm started disappearing halfway there. 

That was when the fear finally hit you like a child reaching for light in the dark. You looked past Peter and saw Mantis fading too, eyes wide and wet, her hand stretching toward you even as her own body betrayed her. Drax was already gone. The battlefield was emptying itself one person at a time, and all you could think was that your family was scattered across the galaxy and you had not said goodbye to any of them.

You had spent your life acting like leaving was easy because Ravagers left. Guardians left. People like you learned how to walk away before anyone could see what it cost. But this was not leaving. This was being taken. This was the universe reaching into your chest and ripping you out before you could choose a final word, a final joke, a final insult about Terra just to make Peter laugh.

Peter lunged for you, hand outstretched, desperate to catch what was left, but he… started disappearing, too. 

Then you were both dust.

—

And then, five years later, you woke up in what felt like the middle of the end of the universe.

One second, you were dust on Titan. The next, you were gasping air back into your lungs, stumbling through a portal with Peter shouting and Mantis grabbing your arm like she needed to make sure you were real. There was no time to understand or ask what had happened, where you had been, or why everyone looked like they had spent years grieving you. 

There was only Thanos standing across the battlefield like the galaxy had not already suffered enough because of him.

So you fought him again, and this time, you won.

Earth, as it turned out, was not boring. 

Earth was loud and muddy and actively on fire, which was frankly more personality than you had expected from Peter’s stupid little wheel planet. Earth had witches throwing red light from their hands, sorcerers opening glowing doorways in the air, flying men in metal suits, a giant green Terran who looked like someone had inflated a nerd with steroids, and at least one god with an axe. There were soldiers with wings, tiny insect people, archers with no self-preservation, and a man dressed like a flag who kept throwing a shield like he had never heard of blasters.

Earth also had Bucky Barnes.

Rocket introduced you to him two days after the battle, when everyone was still sleep-deprived and trying to figure out what the fuck had happened in the five missing years. The Avengers had put the Guardians in a motel, which was… an interesting choice. The bed was too soft, the ceiling was too low, and everything on Terra smelled like detergent and old carpet. You were sitting on the floor because it felt less ridiculous than the springed-cot thing they called a mattress when Rocket kicked the door open without knocking.

Rocket had been introducing “Terran freaks” to you, which mostly involved dragging various Avengers to the motel and describing them in the least respectful way possible. He had spent five years coming back and forth from Earth, apparently, which meant he met most of the important ones. And those he hadn’t met yet, he already knew about through stories. 

“This is Green Monster Man,” Rocket said yesterday, showing Banner around to the guardians.

“That’s Bug Guy,” Rocket said this morning, taking Scott Lang on a tour of the motel, showing him off like a show-and-tell presentation.

Of course, this time, he had a new guy to show around.

“Hey,” he said, jerking one thumb over his shoulder. “This is Metal Arm Man.”

You looked up.

And fuck.

Metal Arm Man was beautiful, in the way some Terrans seemed to admire. He was not shiny, like a Sovereign. In fact, he was quite the opposite. He looked like a man who had crawled out of several consecutive wars. He had tired blue eyes, dark brown hair tucked behind his ears, a jawline carved by old gods, and a black-and-gold metal arm— so it made sense why Rocket had taken a liking to him. Or. y’know. His metal appendages.

He stared at you too, and there was nothing polite about it. His eyes moved over the faint shimmer under your skin and the Ravager leathers you had refused to trade for Earth clothes. He looked at the bruise healing along your collarbone, and the knife strapped to your thigh. 

Rocket looked between the two of you and made a gagging sound. “What the hell are you two doing?”

The man cleared his throat, like he had remembered manners halfway through staring at you. “My name’s Bucky.”

You blinked. “Bucky?”

His mouth twitched. “Yeah.”

You stared at him for another second, genuinely trying to decide whether Terra was playing some kind of joke on you. “Is that even a real name?”

From somewhere in the hallway, Peter shouted, “Don’t make fun of Terran names! You’re embarrassing me!”

You ignored your brother. Bucky, to his credit, didn't look offended. If anything, he looked amused, which only made him more annoyingly attractive.

“It’s um...” He scratched the back of his head with a human arm. “It’s short for James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, as if that made it any better.

You frowned. Why are earth names so unnecessarily long and complicated? “That’s worse.”

Peter, who apparently had still been listening in, made a noise from the hallway. “Can you be normal for literally one minute?”

“No,” you and Rocket said at the same time.

Bucky actually smiled then.

And you, who had spent most of your life insisting Terra was primitive, boring, and overrated, had the unfortunate thought that maybe you had been wrong.

—

You ended up on the motel roof that night because Earth rooms were suffocating.

It wasn’t exactly difficult. Terran buildings were hilariously easy to escape from. All it took was one window, one rusted ladder, a short jump, and you were on the roof with your back against a humming vent and your knees drawn up to your chest, looking out over a planet you still didn’t understand.

Earth was strange at night. The fire and smoke from the battlefield were gone from here, replaced by yellow streetlights, blinking towers, the rush of wheeled vehicles dragging themselves along roads like they had nowhere better to be. The sky was weird. There was too much light from the city and not enough stars visible. You could barely see anything past the haze, and for someone who had grown up under infinite darkness in a space pirate ship, that felt almost cruel.

Your fingers moved absently over your arm.

The markings there were faint tonight, but still visible. Thin lines of soft, light trailing from your wrist toward your elbow, glowing under the skin like someone had hidden stardust in your veins. Proof, if you needed it, that you were not human. These were markings of your mother’s species, but it didn’t really matter, did it? Your mother’s planet was a dead one. You had no true home. 

Behind you, the roof access door creaked.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. “You’re still here, Metal Arm Man?”

You heard a pause, then a huff that might have been a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Still here.”

Bucky Barnes stepped onto the roof like he was trying not to startle a wild animal. He was wearing the same thing he was earlier: dark shirt, dark jacket, dark boots. The metal arm reflected the weak rooftop light as he walked closer, black and gold lines shifting with him.

He stopped a few feet away, giving you space.

“Your brother cornered me downstairs,” he said.

You finally looked over at him. “Pete?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “He wanted to talk to me about Captain America collectible trading cards.”

You blinked. “About what?”

“That was pretty much my response.”

You tried to picture Peter, still freshly returned from being dust in his home planet, cornering this beautiful and haunted-looking Terran soldier in a motel hallway to discuss little paper images of a man in a flag suit. You had no idea what trading cards were. You had no idea why Captain America needed collecting. You had no idea why Peter was like this, except that unfortunately you knew exactly why Peter was like this.

“He’s very embarrassing,” you said.

Bucky’s mouth twitched up. “He seemed excited.”

“He gets like that when Terra is involved. The planet does something to his brain.”

“Pretty sure he was asking if I knew how much the 1944 set was worth.”

You stared at him. “Do you?”

“No.” This time, he did laugh. It was a startled sound that seemed to slip out of him before he could stop it. The sound suited him too much. It made him look younger for half a second, less broken from war and more like someone who might have once been very good at smiling.

He walked closer after that, though still not too close. “Mind if I sit?”

You looked back out over the city. “It is your planet.”

“Not sure that means much.”

“No?”

“No.” You could hear him being flat and careful. There was something he wasn’t really saying.

So you shrugged, and Bucky sat beside you with a polite amount of space between your shoulder and his. For a while, neither of you spoke. Somewhere in the building, you could hear Drax laughing. And in a nearby home, you could hear a young voice crying quietly enough that they probably thought nobody could hear. But you could, your hearing was better than human hearing. 

You did not feel better than human that night, though. You… felt tired.

Bucky’s eyes moved to your arm. You thought he was looking at your species marking. But then he asked, “does it hurt?” and you knew he was talking about something much more… sensitive.

You glanced down at your arm, turning it over to show the deep scarring line that never quite healed from your battle with Ego. “No. Not usually.”

“What is it?”

You flexed your fingers, watching the light shift faintly beneath your skin. “Proof that my planet-sized narcissist father tried to kill me.”

Bucky turned his head toward you.

You smiled without humour. “My biological father is a living planet. He made many children across the galaxy because he wanted to use us as batteries for his expansion plan.”

Bucky stared at you for a second, then looked out over the city again. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” you leaned back, “I have been told my childhood is not a good first-date topic.”

His mouth twitched again, but it was kinder this time. “This a first date?”

You looked at him, and the rooftop seemed to tilt slightly. “I don’t know. Is sitting on a roof after a universe-ending battle a date on Terra?”

“Usually no.”

“Usually?”

“I’m old. Dating got weird while I was gone.”

While I was gone. 

Huh. Another little door with some probably horrible backstory behind it. You wondered how many of those he had

So you pushed your door open first.

You just started talking because the city sounded too alive after all that death, and because Bucky Barnes gave you the kind of comfort that made people say things they didn’t mean to say yet.

You told him about Ego first, because that was the biggest part of the story on paper. But he was not the part that hurt the most.

You told him how mother’s home planet had already been dying when Yondu found you. The sky had been the wrong colour for so long that you thought all skies looked sick. You remembered your mother’s hands, or maybe you had invented that memory. You remembered being small, hungry, angry, and too tired to cry properly.

Then Yondu came. He got you out because that was what he did.

Bucky listened without interrupting. He didn’t rush to relate, though you suspected he might’ve been able to. He sat there beside you on the motel roof, one knee bent, metal arm resting still against it, and let the words come out.

You looked down at your hands.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said eventually.

People said that a lot, and you usually hated it. But from him, it didn’t sound empty. Maybe, it was because his voice already carried so much sorrow that it knew how to make room for yours.

You swallowed. “The funny thing is, Yondu threatened to eat Peter and me so many times. But at least he was there. I might have Ego’s blood, but Yondu gave me a home.”

Bucky sighed. “Blood doesn’t mean much by itself.”

You looked at him.

His eyes were fixed on the city, but he was not really seeing it anymore. The streetlights reflected faintly in his face, illuminating the tired slope of his mouth and the shadows beneath his eyes. “I had a family once. Parents, a sister, everything.”

And just like that, Bucky pushed his door open too.

Maybe it was easier to trauma dump to a pretty alien girl who he’s pretty certain he won’t see again.

He told you about war, handing you broken parts of himself and trusting you not to cut yourself on them. He told you about leaving home, about falling, about waking up in the hands of monsters. He told you enough that your stomach turned cold. 

You had known there was something wrong in him. It made more sense now that you knew they had taken a living thing apart and put it back together with instructions missing. 

You looked at his arm again, even though that wasn’t the arm. Then, you looked at his face. “Oh,” you said, after he told you about HYDRA. “They made you a weapon.”

Anger rose in your stomach, a real, hot, familiar anger. It was the kind of anger you had learned from Ravagers. It was actionable. It was pure and feral.

“Are they dead?” you asked.

That made him look at you.

You blinked. “What? It’s a reasonable question.”

Bucky studied your face, and he looked almost amused behind the exhaustion of his eyes. “Most of them.”

“Most is not all.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

“Do you want help?”

His eyebrows lifted.

“I am very good at killing people,” you added, because honesty, that seemed polite.

Bucky stared at you for half a second, then laughed again, this time with more breath in it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You smiled despite yourself, then looked away before it got too real. You had known him for less than a day, properly, and the rooftop felt smaller than it should. His shoulder was not touching yours, but you were aware of the space between you.

Bucky seemed aware of it too.

“So,” he said after a while, voice lighter in a way that felt deliberate, “do aliens have one-night stands?”

You turned to him slowly. “Do we have what?”

“One-night stands.”

You stared.

He seemed to realise he had lost you and shifted slightly, almost embarrassed. “I uh… Casual sex. You know… two people spending a night together because they want to.”

“Oh.” You considered that. “Yes. Obviously.”

He exhaled a laugh. “Obviously?”

“You thought Terrans invented casual sex?”

“No.”

“That would be a very Terran thing to think.”

His smile lingered, and so did yours.

The air changed then, and it had been changing for a while, probably from the moment Rocket shoved him into your orbit and called him Metal Arm Man like he was doing you both a favour. But now there were no Guardians yelling in the lobby, no brother to embarrass you with trading cards. Just the two of you on a motel roof, talking your asses off about monsters who called themselves fathers and creators, grief, and sex like any of it belonged in the same conversation.

Maybe it did.

Maybe this was what survivors did. Maybe they took the worst things that had ever happened to them, laid them down between each other, and then reached for each other anyway.

“So,” you said, because you were suddenly very aware of your own two heartbeats, “is this you asking?”

His eyes flicked back to yours. “Maybe.”

“Maybe is a coward’s answer.”

That did something to him. You saw it in the slight shift of his jaw, the way his gaze darkened, the way his human hand curled loosely against his knee. Still, when he spoke, his voice was careful.

“I’m asking,” he said. “But only if you want that.”

You didn’t answer immediately, though not for being unsure. You were very, annoyingly sure, actually. You wanted him in a way that felt too quick and too simple after a lifetime of things being complicated. You wanted his mouth and his hands and the sadness in his eyes. You wanted to forget the battlefield for a few hours. You wanted to feel alive in a way that didn’t involve fighting for it, for once.

You leaned closer anyway.

“On my planet,” you said, “we do not call it a one-night stand.”

“No?”

“No,” you shook your head with a chuckle. “Mostly because I don’t have a planet. But if I did, I would call it a very reasonable use of a night.”

Bucky’s smile was small and devastating. “That so?”

“Yes.”

You were close enough now to see the tiny flecks of grey in his blue eyes and  the faint scar near his mouth. Yet, he held himself like he was giving you every chance to change your mind.

You didn’t.

Instead, you touched the metal fingers resting beside him. The vibranium was cool under your hand.

“I want that,” you said. Then, because you had never been good at masking kindness, you added, “And I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Bucky’s face changed, but not with pity, thank the stars. You would have left immediately if it had been pity.

Instead, it was recognition.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me neither.”

When he kissed you, it was careful for all of two seconds.

His mouth pressed yours once, soft and hesitant. His human hand hovered near your waist before settling there, warm through your shirt.  His metal hand stayed braced against the rooftop beside you, like he was holding himself back from touching too much too soon.

It was infuriatingly sweet.

So you fixed it.

You leaned into him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and kissed him back harder.

Bucky made a small sound against your mouth, and his hand tightened at your waist. His mouth opened under yours, and the kiss turned deeper, messier.

You had kissed people before. You had kissed in back rooms of spaceports, against ship walls, in the dark corners of bars where nobody cared about names. You knew what casual was.

This did not feel like that.

Bucky kissed you like he was trying to remember how, and somehow that made it worse. When your fingers slid up into his hair, he exhaled against you.

He was a little rough at the edges. He was careful, then hungry, then careful again when you shifted closer and his metal hand finally moved to your hip.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead nearly touching his.

Bucky’s eyes opened slowly. His pupils were dark, his mouth swollen.

“Sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I’m a little rusty.”

You blinked at him. Then you looked very deliberately at his metal arm.

“You don’t have rust.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then he laughed. “No, I don’t.”

You traced your fingers down the front of his shirt, feeling his breathing change beneath your touch. “You don’t need to apologise.”

His eyes dropped to your hand.

It should not have been so attractive, how kind he was. So you kissed him again.

By the time the two of you made it back inside, laughing under your breath, Bucky nearly knocked his shoulder against the frame trying not to let go of you. 

It was still supposed to be simple. That was what you told yourself when he kissed you against the wall. That was what you told yourself when your hands found the edge of his shirt and pulled it over your head. That was what you told yourself when he paused, forehead against yours, and asked again if you were sure.

You were.

So for a few stolen hours, neither of you had to be a weapon. 

You just made each other feel good.

—

In the morning, someone knocked on your door.

It was a determined knock, followed by a pause, followed by another knock that was weirdly polite.

You opened your eyes slowly.

For a second, you had no idea where you were. The light coming through the curtains was thin and grey and Terran. Then you became aware of the warm body behind you, the weight of an arm across your waist, the steady rise and fall of Bucky Barnes breathing against the back of your neck.

Oh.

Right.

The knocking came again.

Beside you, Bucky stirred awake. His arm tightened around you for half a second before he seemed to remember where he was, who you were, and what had happened the night before. 

“I am Groot?” came a muffled voice from the hallway.

You closed your eyes.

Bucky’s voice was sleep-rough when he whispered, “Is that…?”

“Yes,” you whispered back. “That’s Groot.”

“He okay?”

“He’s asking about breakfast.”

“I am Groot,” Groot said again, more insistently this time.

You dragged a hand over your face. “What the hell is an IHOP?”

Bucky blinked, then made the mistake of laughing.

It wasn’t particularly loud, but you felt it against your shoulder and immediately wanted to do several stupid things, including staying exactly where you were and never opening the door. Unfortunately, Groot knocked again, and then someone in the room next to yours opened their door.

“I am going to kill both of you” Nebula called to you from the hallway.

You sat up so fast Bucky almost got elbowed in the chin.

Oh, shit.

Bucky sat up beside you with his hair a mess, eyes wide, mouth pressed tightly together like he was trying very hard not to laugh and make this worse.

You put a shirt and trousers on, panicking, making bucky put his boxers on, too.

Nebula continued, voice flat and merciless. “Some of us were trying to sleep. Some of us didn’t need to hear whatever Terran mating ritual you were performing in there all night!”

Your entire body went hot.

“You heard?” you opened the door to peek outside to see a crowd of guardians already converging there. You weren’t opening the door fully yet. Obviously. Bucky was still trying to find his shirt.

Nebula scoffed, “It was impossible not to.”

From the hallway, Rocket’s voice cut in. “I just put a pillow over my head.”

You dropped your face into your hands.

Bucky’s hand touched your back as he made his way to look for his socks, still shirtless.

“I am Groot,” Groot said again.

“I know,” Rocket said. “We’re going to IHOP. Quill’s handling it.”

“I still don’t know what IHOP is,” said Mantis, because apparently, she was there too.

“A breakfast place,” Bucky said, loud enough for everyone to hear. To be fair, Bucky had never really been there either. It was only a thing after the war, so all the knowledge he had about chain restaurants came secondhand from Sam’s stories and Shuri’s travels.

Drax, answer loudly from the hallway. “Why is it called that?”

“It stands for International House of Pancakes,” Bucky shouted back, looping his belt through. You stared at him, and he looked almost apologetic.

Before Bucky could answer, there was another voice in the hallway.

Peter.

“Why is everyone standing outside—” His voice cut off into a silence, which meant Peter Quill had looked through the half-open door, seen Bucky Barnes half-dressed, and experienced several emotions at once, most notably disgust and awe, which you were unaware could coexist .

Then he shouted, “YOU HAD SEX WITH A HOWLING COMMANDO?”

You froze. Bucky froze.

You stared at Peter through the gap in the door, genuinely exhausted. “I have no idea what that means.”

Peter looked like he hated that he knew something about his sister’s sex life, but was amazed you bagged a historical figure he learned about in school. “It means he’s a war hero!”

Bucky, looking increasingly like he regretted being alive, said, “Quill—”

Peter opened the door a little wider. “No, no, no, no, I’m not judging. Sir, I respect you very much.”

“Oh my god,” you said.

“Don’t call him sir,” Nebula said from somewhere out of sight.

Peter ignored both of you, because Peter had never once let good advice stop him. “Bucky, sir, would you like to join us at IHOP?”

You turned to him in alarm. “No.”

Bucky looked between you and the doorway.

“No, please,” you said, smoothing your stupid borrowed human shirt that said I ❤️ New York. “Bucky. Just go.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

You immediately realised how that sounded a bit aggressive and winced. “Not like that. I mean— before they make this worse. Before Peter starts asking you questions about ancient Terran history or Rocket asks if your arm has detachable components.”

“I was building up to it,” Rocket said, looking a bit pissed.

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. You could see the smile fighting its way onto his mouth despite everything, still unfairly attractive. He finally found his shirt under the bed, while you looked very hard at the wall and pretended you were not noticing the way his back moved.

Bucky pulled his shirt on, then his jacket, then paused by the bed.

Rocket was still muttering about pancakes, Groot was making curious little noises, and Peter was whispering something that sounded like “World War Two Legend” under his breath. But inside the room, between you and Bucky, there was a pocket of silence.

“I’ll see you around?” you said.

“I hope so.” Then he smiled like he wanted to say something else, but then Peter coughed very loudly in the hallway, and the moment snapped. Bucky gave you one last look, then stepped out into the corridor, where Peter immediately straightened.

“Big fan,” Peter said.

“Pete!” you groaned.

Bucky, because he was apparently kind even under extreme psychological pressure, just nodded. “Thanks.”

Just like that, he left with a kiss on your temple.

Peter spent the entire walk there explaining World War Two to you.

Rocket and Drax collectively ordered too much food. Nebula threatened three different utensils. Groot liked the syrup so much he tried to drink it straight from the little container. Mantis, still not fully adjusted to Earth mornings, asked if your “night of physical bonding” had helped with your sadness, which made you put your head down on the table while Peter choked on his coffee.

By the time you got back to the motel, you saw a small Terran phone on the nightstand that you hadn’t noticed when you left.

It had one number saved: Bucky. 

—

You were supposed to leave Earth after a week.

It had been the initial plan. It was only supposed to be one extra  week on Peter’s weird little wheel planet, just long enough for Rocket to patch the Benatar, insult several Earth scientists, establish reliable interstellar communication, and call NASA a hobby club with delusions of grandeur.

Unfortunately, the Benatar was more fucked than anyone wanted to admit.

Earth, being a backwater planet with no shortage of paperwork, five years of stagnation, and parts that apparently could not just be stolen without “causing an international incident,” made repairs painfully slow. Rocket had to source pieces from Stark warehouses, Wakandan labs, old S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra storage, and one aerospace facility where he bit a man for calling him a raccoon.

So one week became five months.

And of course, you had to pass the time somehow.

Bucky Barnes was a very, very good way to pass the time.

The phone came in handy, because every time you weren’t helping a guardian with an annoyingly administrative task, you were lonely. So, you would call him.

It might not have been a one night stand anymore, but it was still casual. 

It was so casual you fucked him every time the two of you were alone for more than seven minutes. You did it in his temporary apartment, your motel room, the roof, his kitchen, the backseat of a borrowed car, after he made the mistake of telling you the windows were tinted. 

Huh. Maybe this contraption on wheels wasn't as useless as you thought it was.

Bucky had survived many things, including war and brainwashing, but apparently nothing had prepared him for you, wearing Ravager leathers deciding she wanted him immediately and treating Terran public decency like a loose suggestion.

There was the bar incident, which he still could not talk about without going pink in the ears. See, Bucky Barnes had not expected to be getting a blowjob from an alien girl in a cubicle of a newly reopened dive bar bathroom.

But there he was.

Things happened.

There was also the alley behind a Brooklyn diner, where his metal hand ended up in your folds, and you learned, very quickly, that Terran technology was not always primitive. 

There was the temporary compound supply closet, where you had gone in looking for a power converter and came out with your hair ruined and knees weak, and Bucky looking like he had seen god in a storage room full of printer paper. There was the motel laundry room at three in the morning, where the machines rattled so loudly that you thought no one could hear you, until Drax walked past the next day and told you he sincerely wished his “pounding” would produce “strong children.”

You looked like you wanted the planet to split open and swallow you whole.

It was filthy and stupid. It was fun. It was definitely casual.

That was what you kept saying, anyway.

Calling it casual meant it didn’t matter that his metal arm felt good. Casual meant it did not matter that his human hand felt just as good. Casual meant it didn’t matter that he figured out exactly when you wanted him to be gentle and when you very much didn’t, that he could make you forget every insulting thing you had ever said about Earth with his mouth on your neck and that Brooklyn rasp in your ear.

Casual meant you could leave when you had to.

Bucky made that harder by being annoyingly charming outside of bed. He introduced you to human food like pizza, bagels, and pancakes. He taught you how to tell real New York pizza from the “modern stuff,” even when you were still struggling to eat the flimsy-foldable bread thing in the first place.

“You like it,” he said, watching you steal a pepperoni from his box.

You shrugged, but didn’t deny it. He smiled at you like you were funny, which was dangerous because you liked his smile far too much.

Then one afternoon, he told you he was from Brooklyn, and you sat up so fast you nearly kicked over the coffee table.

“Brooklyn,” you said. “As in No Sleep Till?”

Bucky blinked, then laughed. “Yeah. Shuri made me listen to that.”

“Pete loves that song.”

“Of course he does.”

You nodded solemnly. “It is one of the only respectable things about this planet.”

He leaned back, smiling into his coffee. “Brooklyn?”

“No. Music.”

He looked so offended you had to kiss him.

That was the problem with Bucky. He was too easy to kiss, too easy to want, too easy to crawl back to after a long day of Rocket screaming at wiring diagrams and Peter trying to explain why Earth malls used to matter culturally. Bucky made you food and started leaving space for your knives on his temporary dresser like that was a normal thing to do for someone you were only sleeping with.

The Benatar was fixed eventually.

Rocket announced the news to Avengers and Guardians and Asgardians and Wakandans alike, over breakfast like it was good news, because it was. Your family could leave, because the ship could fly. 

Bucky didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you across the table, and you realised with a sick little twist in your chest that casual had become the biggest lie you had ever told.

—

The night before you left Earth, you found yourself on top of Bucky Barnes again in his makeshift New Asgardian tent.

It was getting increasingly harder and harder to pretend your chest didn’t hurt every time he looked at you like you were a treasure he had found in the wreckage and wanted, desperately, to keep.

His hands were on either side of you, your knees pressed into the cot on either side of him, your palms braced against his chest, your hair falling around your face while you rode  him hard enough to make the frame knock into the fabric.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, head tipped back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded and wrecked. “Baby—”

You hated when Terrans called people that. Well. You hated it until he did it.

When he did, it made a warm pool in your stomach, made both your hearts kick faster, made you grind down harder just to hear him lose his breath again.

His metal hand tightened on your thigh. His human hand slid up your waist, warm and rough, thumb pressing into the place beneath your ribs like he was checking that you were still there.

You leaned down and kissed him because you couldn’t stand his face.

You could not stand his beautiful, sad, earnest face. You couldn’t stand that he had kissed you on the temple in a motel hallway once and therefore ruined your life forever. You couldn’t stand that he had made Earth feel less like Peter’s stupid planet and more like a place with someone waiting for you to come back.

Bucky groaned into your mouth when you moved again, taking him until your thighs shook.

“Christ,” he rasped, dragging his mouth down your throat, the place where your pulse was too fast. One pulse. Then the other. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you said, breathless. “Then I don’t have to leave you.”

It was meant to be a joke. It didn’t feel like one.

You were leaving in the morning, and earlier today, Drax had asked if Bucky would be joining you and then said that he hoped so because Bucky seemed like he had “excellent reproductive prowess.”

You had kicked Drax under the table.

Bucky had not laughed much after that.

Now he looked up at you, hair messy against the pillow, mouth swollen from kissing.

After you rode out your high and drawn out his at the same time, you collapsed next to him.

“Stay,” he said, barely above a whisper, as if he had been holding it in for weeks and it had finally slipped out

“Bucky...”

“I know,” he said quickly, and his hands slid up your back, holding you against him. “I know. Pete’s out there. The Guardians are out there. I know that’s your family.”

You swallowed hard. “You could come with me.”

His face changed. There it was, the conversation you had been circling. You knew in reality, that this was nothing more than a ridiculous, impossible fantasy you had been trying not to build.

“You could,” you said again. “Thor’s coming.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, but it broke halfway through. “Yeah, well. Thor doesn’t exactly blend in here either.”

“You don’t blend in anywhere.”

“That’s fair.”

You tried to smile. 

Bucky’s hand came up to your face, metal fingers careful against your cheek. The cool touch made your eyes sting.

“I haven’t been home in a long time,” he said.

“I know.”

“I don’t even know if New York is still home,” he admitted. “But I think I need to try.”

You nodded, even though it felt like swallowing glass.

You understood. Bucky had been dragged through so much. He had only just been handed a life that belonged to him. For the first time in a long time, this was his chance to figure out who he was when nobody was using him.

How could you ask him to leave that?

And how could he ask you to stay?

Your only tether to anything like family was Peter and Guardians. 

Earth had Bucky.

Space had everyone else.

You pressed your forehead to his. “You’re breaking my hearts,” you whispered.

His breath hitched, kissing the edge of your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” you said, wiping at your cheek angrily. “And they’re both beating quicker than they should be.”

He laughed then, and you laughed too, even as tears slipped hot down your face and fell onto his skin.

He kissed them off your cheeks.

You kissed his lips then as if you could press every unsaid thing into his mouth and make him understand. I’m sorry. I want you. I have to go. Come with me. Stay safe. Wait for me. Don’t wait for me. Please wait for me.

Eventually, Bucky rolled you beneath him with one smooth shift and you gasped against his mouth.

For a second, you thought he only meant to hold you there.

His weight settled over you, his hair fell around his face, his breath still uneven from what you had done to him not long ago, and yet when his hips pressed between your thighs, you felt him already hard again.

You blinked up at him.

Bucky froze, because in all honestly, his uncontrollable evidence of wanting you had made him feel like a perv. It was almost funny, really. This man had survived unspeakable things, but apparently getting hard again too quickly in front of the girl leaving his planet in the morning was what made him look embarrassed.

Your lips parted.

He let out a rough little breath, eyes flicking away for half a second. “Sorry.”

You stared at him. “Why are you apologizing?”

He was embarrassed and wanting and so painfully Bucky that it made  your chest ache. “Super soldier thing,” he muttered. “I can, uh…”

You raised an eyebrow.

He looked down at you, cheeks faintly flushed now, and that was worse than all the filth you had done together in the last five months. “…go again,” he finished.

Then, you laughed, but not because it was funny.

But because of course James Buchanan Barnes would be hovering over you on your last night on Earth, looking sweet and apologetic for the fact that his body still wanted yours after you had already wasted him half to death.

He laughed too, quieter.

“You don’t have to,” he said quickly. “I just— I want you. But you don’t have to.”

You reached up and touched him. His stubble scratched against your palm. His eyes closed for half a second like he was trying to memorise that too.

It was your last night, with his sheets tangled around your legs, with his body over yours.

You were tired and sore. But you wanted him again so badly it felt dumb.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Bucky opened his eyes.

You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him closer. “Yes. Please.”

He kissed you first, like he was saying thank you into your mouth. Then his hand slid down your side, over your hip, between your thighs, touching you with careful fingers until your body reacted to him all over again.

He pushed into you again, slow enough that you felt every inch and stretch until your back arched.

His forehead dropped to yours.

“Look at me,” he said.

You did.

He moved slowly at first,one hand tangled with yours against the sheets, the other braced beside your head. It was not the frantic, filthy kind of sex the two of you had gotten so good at.  It was not trying to see how fast you could make him come apart before someone noticed you were missing.

This was him fucking you like he wanted you to remember exactly what leaving felt like.

Every thrust pushed the air from your lungs, and every drag of his body against yours made your thighs tighten around his waist. You dug your nails into his back and he groaned into your neck, hips snapping harder for a second before he caught himself again.

“Don’t,” you gasped.

He lifted his head. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t hold back.”

His eyes darkened.

Your voice cracked around the next words. “I want to miss all of it.”

Bucky kissed you hard, and then he gave you exactly what you asked for. He fucked you into the mattress with the kind of hunger that had been hiding his mouth at your throat, his hands on your hips.

You let yourself have it.

For once, you didn’t try to make it funny. 

You just let him have you.

And when you came, it hit you so hard you cried out against his shoulder, bones trembling. Bucky followed after, burying his face in your neck with a broken sound, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

Good.

You wanted it to fucking ache. 

For a long time afterwards, neither of you moved.

The room smelled like sweat and sex and Bucky’s laundry soap. Your skin was damp against his. His heartbeat thudded under your ear, steady precious.

Eventually, you whispered, “I’m going to miss this.”

His hand stilled in your hair.

You closed your eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”

Bucky pressed his mouth to the top of your head.

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” he said.

You wanted to be brave about it. Still, your throat burned.

You shifted enough to reach for the little device on the makeshift nightstand. It was small, flat, and ugly, because Rocket had built it from three different communication systems, one stolen Stark component, and another thing he claimed was “probably not radioactive anymore.”

You placed it in Bucky’s hand.

He looked down at it. “What’s this?”

“A communicator.”

His brows lifted. “This works in space?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Some parts of space are unreachable,” you said, defensive because Rocket had already explained the limitations six times and you understood maybe half of them. “There are dead zones, black-market relay issues, Kree interference, and weird cosmic nonsense. Also Rocket said if you press the red button too many times, it may get hot.”

Bucky stared at you.

You sniffed. “But it works.”

His thumb moved over the edge of it, careful. “Yeah?”

“Yes. So reach out, please.” Your voice went low. “Even if I don’t answer right away, even if it takes a while. I’ll answer when I can.”

Bucky looked at you then, and the naked hope in his face nearly killed you.

“I’ll visit,” you said quickly, because if he looked at you like that much longer, you were going to do something embarrassing like stay. “From time to time.”

“From time to time,” he repeated.

You winced.you knew that sounded terrible, as if you didn’t want to give enough effort. “I mean I will come back,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “I mean it. I don’t know when. I don’t know how often. My family attracts disasters like Drax attracts confusing conversations, but I will come visit.”

Bucky’s hand turned under yours until he could lace your fingers together.

“I’ll be here,” he said.

Then Bucky sat up, reaching toward the floor where his jeans had been abandoned hours ago. He searched the pocket and pulled out a thin chain tangled around his fingers.

He looked almost shy when he handed it to you.

You took it, frowning at the two small metal plates hung from the chain, stamped with Terran letters and numbers you didn’t fully understand.

“What is this?”

“My dog tags.”

You stared at him, then thought of the only other dog you know of: Cosmo. “You’re not a dog.”

He laughed, soft and pained. “No.”

“Then why are they called that?”

“I don’t know. It’s an Army thing.”

You turned the tags over in your palm. “They have your name,” you said, before looking up. 

His smiled.

Oh.

“They’re important,” you realised.

Bucky nodded once. “They’re from… before.”

And just like that, you understood. Your fingers closed around the tags.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

He shrugged like it didn’t matter, which meant it mattered terribly. “Figured you should have something.”

You looked down at them again, and your vision blurred. “I don’t have anything like this to give you.”

“You gave me a space phone that might explode."

You laughed. Bucky smiled, but his eyes were wet too.

You leaned forward and kissed him gentler, before he slipped the chain over your head. The tags settled between your breasts, cold against your skin, right between your two stupid, breaking hearts.

Bucky watched them land there, and the look on his face made heat curl through you all over again.You touched the tags. “How do they look?”

His eyes lifted to yours.

“Like mine,” he said, then seemed to realise what he had said.

You went very still.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you said.

He looked at you.

You crawled back into his lap, the chain shifting against your bare skin, the communicator forgotten on the bed beside you. His hands came to your waist automatically.

“Good,” you whispered.

Then you kissed him again.

By morning, your body ached everywhere.

When you finally stood in the doorway with your bag over your shoulder and his dog tags hidden beneath your shirt, you and Bucky looked at each other like you both wanted to ask again.

Stay.

Come with me.

Both of you were too kind to say either out loud.

You kissed him one more time before you boarded the Benatar.

—

You visited Bucky Barnes four times in the next three years.

Four times sounded almost generous if you didn’t think about all the days between. 

Still, you messaged him when you could.

Sometimes the communicator worked, and sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes your voice arrived through the little device in his palm three weeks late, half-swallowed by static and distance, saying, “—Rocket says if this thing starts beeping, that's technically your fault—” before cutting out entirely.

Sometimes Bucky sent you a message and had no idea whether it reached you.

Still alive?

That was his most common one. It looked and sounded casual. It was anything but.

You usually answered with something stupid, like: Unfortunately. Or Yes. You?

Or once, after apparently being shot at by pirates, chased through a collapsing space station, and nearly eaten by something Peter insisted was “not technically a worm”, you texted back: Define alive.

Bucky read that one in his kitchen at two in the morning and was scared shitless for your life.

Then he looked out of his window.

Brooklyn never showed enough stars, but some nights, when he couldn’t sleep, he went up to the roof anyway. He stood there with his jacket pulled close, metal hand resting on the ledge, eyes lifted to a sky that hid you from him.

He wondered where you were.

He wondered if you were safe. He wondered if you were injured and pretending you weren’t. He wondered if Peter was annoying you. He wondered if Rocket was taking care of you the way he promised to. He wondered if you ever looked out into the dark and thought of him, too.

—

The first time you came back, it was only for two days.

You told nebula to land on his roof, because of course you did. Bucky had already learned that you considered swinging, hinged doors a Terran inconvenience because you stubbed your toe on one once. 

He had been waiting there for twenty minutes, when your little shuttle appeared above the building, and Bucky forgot every reasonable thing he had ever planned to say.

You jumped down with a bag over your shoulder, boots hitting the concrete like you had never once doubted you would land on your feet. For a second, you just looked at him. He looked at you, too. Eight months sat between you awkwardly, until you smiled.

“Your planet still smells strange,” you said.

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “Hi to you too.”

He kissed you, and it wasn’t frantic at first. It was worse. His hands came up to your face like he was checking that you were real, thumbs brushing your cheeks, before you made a small sound and pulled him closer by the front of his jacket. 

When he finally pulled back, his forehead stayed against yours.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said quietly.

You swallowed, suddenly irritated with him for sounding so grateful. “For two days.”

“I know.”

“It’s not enough time.”

“I know,” he said again.

His apartment was exactly like him in the worst way. There were books stacked beside the couch, a blanket folded over the arm, mugs drying beside the sink, and a little space cleared on the dresser where, after one hour, your duffel bag somehow ended up.

You walked around slowly, inspecting everything. Bucky followed you like he was trying not to look nervous.

“It’s very square,” you announced eventually.

He leaned against the kitchen counter. “You said that about the motel too.”

“Terrans love boxes.”

He laughed and spent the days showing you his neighbourhood. 

That night, you didn’t do half the filthy things you had promised yourself you would do on the way there. You had thought you would make the most of the short visit, but instead, you ended up under his blankets, your back against his chest, his arm around your waist, your body so tired from travel and space jumps that you fell asleep before you could even make a joke about his mattress.

Bucky stayed awake.

He couldn’t help it. He had spent eight months imagining you in this apartment, and now you were here. His dog tags rested against your chest beneath one of his shirts. He could feel the little metal plates when his hand settled over your ribs.

“You still wear them,” he murmured.

You weren't fully asleep. “They are important.”

“To me.”

“To me too,” you said, voice thick with exhaustion.

Bucky’s breath hitched.

You seemed to realise what you had said a second later, because you shifted and cleared your throat. “Also, they’re useful identification in case I misplace you.”

He huffed a laugh into your hair. “In case you misplace me?”

“Yes.”

“Where would you misplace me?”

“I don’t know. Your planet has many streets.”

A long silence passed as your fingers found his hand over your waist, and instead of moving it away, you threaded your fingers through his.

After a while, Bucky said, “You know, this feels like one of those old war movies.”

You turned your head slightly. “What does?”

“This. You showing up for two days and leaving again.” His voice was light, but trying too hard. “Like you’re a sailor being shipped out.”

You blinked in the dark. “I am the sailor?”

“Yeah.”

“And what are you?”

You felt his smile against your neck before he said, very seriously, “The damsel.”

You chuckled sleepily. Bucky chuckled, too, arms wrapping around you properly when you playfully tried to twist away from him. “Oh, you poor thing,” you said. “Do you require rescuing, princess?”

“Every few months, apparently.”

You laughed again, quieter this time.

Then the humour faded, because every joke with Bucky seemed to have a cliff beneath it.

—

The second time you came back, it was for five days.

Rocket needed Bruce Banner for something involving gamma signatures, and deep-space interference. You came with him because someone had to stop Rocket from biting another scientist.

Also because Bucky was there.

Not that you said that.

You invited him to the ship and while Bruce was there, too. Rocket gagged. “Not in my lab.”

You didn’t make it to dinner before you ended up in Bucky’s apartment.

This time, the urgency was there. Five days was longer. You could do more than cuddle in five days.

Bucky kissed you against his front door with one hand at your waist and the other braced beside your head. You laughed into his mouth when he almost tripped over your bag, and he muttered something about you being a menace before kissing you harder.

Afterward, as your skin cooled beneath his sheets, Bucky went quiet.

“What?” you asked, turning your head on the pillow.

He stared up at the ceiling, one hand resting on his stomach. “I went on a date.”

He looked like it had been eating him alive. He looked like he hated himself for it.

Against your better judgement, as you took in the absurdity of the conversation, you laughed. It came out a little too bright.

“Oh,” you said. “Okay.”

Bucky looked at you. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.” You pushed yourself up on one elbow and tried to look mature. “That’s good.”

He didn’t answer. He almost would rather you shout at him, even if you never said you were exclusive and had no reason to assume so.

You kept going because silence was dangerous. “You live here. You should date. You should have… Terran meals and Terran walks and whatever else dating is.”

“I had dinner where she worked,” he said quietly.

You looked at him for a moment, then asked another question because you were stupid and cruel to yourself. “How was she?”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Nice.”

“Nice is good.”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty?”

He turned his head toward you, and he looked hurt now. “Don’t do that.”

Bucky seemed to regret saying it as soon as he did. He looked away again, but you had already seen too much.

You swallowed. “It is not like we’re in a relationship.”

“I know.”

“You can date.”

“I know.”

“Then how was it?”

“She…” he gulped, knowing it went nowhere, knowing he would never see her again because it felt so wrong, he felt nauseous afterwards. “She’s not you.”

Oh.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

You wanted to tell him not to wait for you, but the thought of him not waiting made your breath hitched. You wanted to tell him to date someone else, but not her. Actually, not anyone. You wanted to say you were sorry, or that you loved him. 

Instead, you reached for his hand.

He let you take it.

“I don’t want you to be lonely,” you said.

“I know.”

You looked at him. “But?”

Bucky squeezed your fingers once. “But I still am.”

—

The third time, you visited, you stayed for a week

That time, Sam invited you to a Wilson cookout at his sister’s house.

Bucky asked badly as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Sam’s having a cookout. Sarah’ll be there. The boys too, but… we don’t have to go.”

You stared at him. “Do they know about me?”

“Yes.”

“What do they know?”

He looked uncomfortable.

You narrowed your eyes. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Oh, now it’s the full name?”

“What do they know?”

“That you visit.” He smiled faintly, but it faded quickly. “I… I just wanted you there.”

So you went on the short flight to New Orleans with him.

The Wilson’s Louisiana house was warm and smelled of grilled food and salt air. 

You stood beside Bucky, as kids pointed out your markings, and suddenly became very aware that you didn’t know how to be introduced.

Sarah solved that immediately by smiling at you like she had already decided she liked you.

“So,” she said, handing you a plate, “you’re Barnes’ long-distance girlfriend.”

Bucky froze. Sam took one sip of his drink like had been waiting all day for this.

You laughed at once. “That’s not what this is.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted.

“It is more like…” You glanced at Bucky, then away, because his face had gone blank. “What you Terrans call an intergalactic booty call.”

Sam choked.

One of the boys immediately asked, “What’s a booty call?”

“Ask your uncle,” Sarah said.

Sam looked betrayed. “Why would you do that to me?”

You wanted to take it back.

You wanted to say, actually, no, that was wrong. Actually, he’s not that or I cross galaxies for him. 

But you didn’t say any of that.

Later, while Sarah’s boys asked you increasingly strange questions about space, you caught Bucky looking at you from across the yard. He was leaning against the railing beside Sam, who was saying something to him. But Bucky was not really listening. His eyes were on you like a lost puppy.

You mouthed, stop.

He smiled faintly.

Three days later, you begged for his spare arm.

Bucky said no before you even finished explaining.

“It is for Rocket,” you insisted.

“That makes it worse.”

“It’s for Christmas!” You told him, leaning across his kitchen table. “He’s my best friend.”

Bucky leaned back, looking at you. You were wearing one of his shirts again, hair still damp from his shower. His apartment looked both wrong and right around you, as if you had always belonged there and were always about to leave.

“Fine,” he said at last.

Your face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I want something.”

You immediately narrowed your eyes. “I don’t make deals with soldiers.”

Bucky smiled, but it was fragile. “Just come back soon, yeah?”

Oh.

He didn’t look away, even though you could tell he wanted to.

Soon.

As if soon was easy, as if your life was not a mess of missions, emergencies, broken engines, family obligations, cosmic disasters, and Peter doing stupid things with massive diplomatic consequences.

“Bucky…”

“I know,” he said. “I know you can’t promise me anything.”

You swallowed.

“I know,” he repeated, but his voice was rougher now. “Just… try.”

You could have fought a demand or mocked a plea. But this…

You reached across the table and took his hand.

“I’ll try,” you said.

—

The fourth time, you came back two months later.

He opened the apartment door and just stood there, staring at you like he couldn't quite believe you were here. 

You held up a bag, because apparently, you had taken a detour on the way to his apartment. “I brought bagels.”

His eyes dropped to the bag, then back to your face.

You lifted the bag higher, because you couldn’t survive much more of that look. “Bread circles, Bucky. Are you going to let me in or do Terrans eat in corridors now?”

He let you in.

The bagels were forgotten on the counter within minutes.

You told him about Mantis on the second night.

You were in his bed, his arm around you, the room dim except for the weak city light through the blinds. The dog tags rested against your bare sternum, rising and falling with your breathing. Bucky’s fingers had been tracing absent shapes along your side, soothing, when he asked about how Christmas in Knowhere went.

So you told him that Rocket loved the arm, but you also told him the bigger revelation.

“Mantis is my sister,” you said.

Bucky’s hand paused for a second. “Your sister?”

You nodded, staring at the ceiling. “She’s one of Ego’s, too.” You said with a smile. “She was already family. I mean, before. She was already one of ours. But now…”

“Now it’s different,” Bucky said.

“Yes.”

He shifted slightly to look at you. “How do you feel?”

You took a long breath. “Happy. I want to kill him again, but he’s already dead, so...”

Bucky smiled faintly. “I’m glad you have her.”

You believed him.

And he was telling the truth. He was glad, and Bucky would rather jump off a bridge than ever be cruel with your happiness. He never made you feel guilty for having family beyond him, never treated the Guardians like a competition, never asked you to shrink your world until only he was left in it. He loved you too much for that, even if neither of you had said the word.

But mantis being your sister, when all you ever wanted in life was family, meant that you’ve got another reason to stay up there.

Every piece of family you found among the stars tied you tighter to a life Bucky could only visit through broken messages and sparse wondering.

And what did Earth have?

One soldier in Brooklyn. 

And later, after you fell asleep, Bucky laid awake beneath you and looked toward the window. 

He wondered where you would be in a month.

He wondered if the communicator would work or if Rocket would be stripping it for parts again in an emergency.

He wondered if one day you would stop coming back and he would still find himself on the roof, looking up, waiting for you.

Then he looked down at the dog tags resting against your chest. For a few days, at least, the universe was small enough to fit in his bed.

—

Months later…

Rocket almost died, not in the abstract way all of you almost died every other cycle, either. 

Rocket actually almost died.

You could still see it when you closed your eyes: his body on the table, fur matted, chest refusing to rise like a normal raccoon. 

For a second, you thought your best friend had gone somewhere none of you could follow. 

Then he came back.

Against all odds, Rocket lived.

The High Evolutionary was gone, his ship was wreckage. The children and the animals aboard the ship were safe. Knowhere had become both an ark and a home to many, many new faces. 

Everywhere you looked, there was evidence of survivals. There were kids sleeping in corners because they hadn’t yet learned beds were safe and strange animals blinking under unfamiliar lights. 

And now, your family was changing.

Mantis said she wanted to go. Although it felt like your sister was abandoning you, she reassured you that she wanted to see the universe without Ego. She wanted to find herself without the guardians breathing down her neck. 

Which was fair 

But she was your sister. You had barely gotten to have that before this. And yet, you understood.

Then Peter said he was leaving, too.

He was leaving for Earth because he wanted to see his grandfather again.

Peter tried to say it casually, but he was terrible at it. When he said it, he was not Star-Lord. He was not the idiot who had danced in front of Ronan, or the man who had lost Gamora, or the brother who had thrown bolts at you across Ravager floors.

He was just Peter, a little boy who had been taken from home, finally admitting there was still someone there he needed to go back to.

And maybe because everyone else was saying the brave thing out loud, you did, too. 

“I could come with you,” you said.

Peter blinked at you. Then his face scrunched up in immediate disgust. “You can’t come live with my grandpa with me.”

You smacked him upside the head.

“Ow!”

“No, dumbass,” you rolled your eyes, "I'm not gonna live with you.”

Peter rubbed the back of his head, wounded and hurt, but then his eyes dropped to the chain beneath your shirt.

His eyes changed.

“Ohhh,” he said.

You looked away at once. “Don’t.”

Peter’s mouth opened wider. “Ahhh.”

“Peter.”

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t.”

But he was already grinning, all mischief and brotherly cruelty. “I see now.”

Drax leaned forward, deeply alarmed by being left out of something. “What? What are we seeing?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

Nebula folded her arms, finally catching up, “Guess who else is on Terra?”

Your face went hot.

Drax’s eyes widened. “Ah.”

“I am not going because of him,” you sputtered out, clearly lying through your teeth, “maybe I just want to learn of Terran music!”

The pretense was paper thin, and even you knew it. 

Rocket made a rude little noise from his seat.

You turned. “What?”

He lifted both paws. “Didn’t say anything.”

“I am Groot,” Groot said mildly from beside him.

Rocket nodded. “Exactly.”

You looked at Groot in betrayal.

Groot only blinked at you with those gentle eyes.

Mantis smiled softly. “You do touch the metal necklace every time someone mentions Terra.”

“I don’t.”

“You are touching them now.”

You dropped your hand like the metal had burned you.

“This is amazing.” Peter looked delighted. “My sister is moving to Earth for that old robot. We’ll practically be neighbors.”

“He’s not old.”

Nebula finally looked up.

Peter held up a finger. “He fought in World War Two.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“It means old.”

“He looks fine.”

Rocket barked a laugh. “Oh, she’s got it bad.”

“I don’t have anything”

Drax nodded with grave certainty. “She has been claimed by the metal warrior. He gave her necklace plates.”

“They are called dog tags.”

“You are not a dog.”

“That is what I said!”

Nebula smiled a little, which for her was basically hysterics. “You cross galaxies to crawl into his bed and wear his military identification around your neck.”

Well, when she said it like that…

Mantis leaned closer. “He makes you less lonely.”

Finally, everybody shut the hell up. 

Because yes. He did.

Right. 

Rocket looked away first.

He was picking at a seam in his jacket, claws worrying the fabric until the thread started to pull loose. His ears were low, though he was clearly trying to make them not be. His mouth had twisted into that flat line he wore whenever feeling like he wanted to bite.

Mantis was leaving. Peter was leaving. You were leaving. The children of Ego, all drifting off in different directions like the dead bastard pleft cruelty in your blood.

Rocket scoffed. “Great. Real touching. Everybody’s got somewhere better to be now.”

Your hearts felt hurt. “Rocket.”

“What?” he snapped, too fast. “It’s good. It’s great. Everyone’s got somewhere to be.”

Rocket didn’t look at you.

He had almost died. He had woken up into a universe where he was finally captain, and now his family was peeling apart.

“Family’s still family,” you said, “Even when we’re spread out.”

You looked around the room at the only family you’d ever really known, and here was Rocket pretending not to be sad.

The raccoon looked up at you three, and this time, he looked… okay. 

“I am groot,” Groot said, finally. 

I love you guys. 

—

Bucky wasn’t expecting a knock on a random Tuesday.

He should have been, probably. 

That was his life now: he always had knocks at weird hours, which was usually campaign staff with clipboards. Sometimes it was Sam showing up because apparently “boundaries” were optional during election season. Other times it was someone from legal, or from security, or an intern from the press being brave enough, or stupid enough to knock on the former winter soldier’s door at 8AM. 

He had only just started his campaign for congressman, and already his personal life felt less personal the more people tried to pry open his head with a crowbar.

So when the knock came, he thought someone had leaked his address.

He thought this must be a reporter. His life must be blowing up. 

He set the mug down, rubbed a hand over his face, and walked to the door trying to make his expression less like it belonged on a wanted poster.

Then he opened it and the entire world stopped.

You were standing in his hallway.

You.

You were actually there, clothes damp from rain, hair windswept, a duffel bag hanging from your shoulder, his dog tags tucked beneath your shirt.

Behind you, Peter Quill stood near the stairwell, a respectful amount of distance, but probably a reminded that he was still your brother. He gave Bucky a small thumbs-up before scurrying down the stairs. He had already said goodbye in the car and given you his address in Missouri after driving you here, obviously. You didn’t know how cars worked. Yet. 

Bucky barely saw him, mostly because he couldn’t stop looking at you.

You looked nervous, which was so wrong it almost hurt to see. You had fought gods, monsters, armies, and living planets. And now you were standing in his doorway like you were afraid he might say reject you.

“Hi,” you said, voice smaller than usual.

Bucky’s hand tightened around the edge of the door.

“I’m here to stay,” you said. “If that’s okay.”

For a second, nothing existed to Bucky, not even the campaign or reporters or Earth or  space. Just you.

Then Bucky stepped forward and pulled you into his arms.

Your duffel slipped off your shoulder and hit the hallway floor, but neither of you cared. His metal hand spread across your back, gentle even when the rest of him was shaking. His human arm was wrapped around your waist as buried his face against your neck.

You went still, startled by it, and then folded into him without any resistance whatsoever.

Bucky closed his eyes.

His throat tightened so suddenly he almost couldn’t get the words out.

“How long?” he asked.

Your fingers curled into the back of his shirt. “For the foreseeable future.”

Oh.

Oh, stars.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you.

Your eyes were watering. His probably were, too, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have room to care. You swallowed.

“I should’ve asked you first,” you rushed out. “I know. I just wanted it to be a surprise, and Pete thought it might be a good surprise, so I’m—”

Bucky kissed you.

He couldn’t stand to listen to you ask permission to be wanted. Because of course you were wanted.

Yes.

Yes, stay.

Yes, here.

Yes, with me.

You made a broken little noise into his mouth, and Bucky’s hand slid into your hair, holding you there like he was anchoring both of you to the same planet.

When Bucky finally pulled back, his forehead stayed pressed to yours.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then you whispered, “Good surprise?”

Bucky let out a laugh, but it broke. “Yeah,” he said, voice wet. “Yeah, sweetheart. Good surprise.”

You sighed then. 

Bucky bent down, picked up your duffel, and stepped back into the apartment. You crossed the threshold, eyes moving over the campaign papers on the table, the tie abandoned on the couch, the books stacked by the window, the stupid square Terran box of a home you had to teased every time you visited.

—

And then life kept going.

You stayed, and the world didn’t collapse.

Bucky still had campaign meetings and reporters still asked questions that made your fingers twitch toward knives you were no longer allowed to carry in certain government buildings. Peter sent too many messages after getting you both a smartphone. Rocket called every once in a while, calling Earth “a bureaucratic sinkhole.” Bucky tried to teach you how primaries worked, and you told him Terrans had made voting sound more complicated than interstellar smuggling.

He won anyway.

By the time Mantis visited Earth months later, Bucky Barnes was now Congressman Barnes, which still sounded fake to your alien brain.

The news loved it, obviously. They wrote all sorts of headlines: 

Former Winter Soldier wins historic congressional seat.

James Buchanan Barnes sworn into office.

Congressman Barnes has an alien girlfriend.

That one was your favourite.

You framed it.

Bucky came home one evening, saw it hanging in the hallway of your new DC penthouse, and stopped dead with his briefcase still in his hand.

You were sitting on the floor nearby, sorting through a box of your things and pretending very hard not to watch him notice.

He stared at the headline.

“You framed it,” he said.

“Yes.”

“In the hallway, where guests can see it.”

“That is usually why people hang things in hallways, is it not?”

Bucky sighed, but he didn’t take it down.

The penthouse had been a compromise, which was to say Bucky had wanted something secure and reasonable, and you had wanted the biggest house with the biggest windows.

You’re still not used to Terran skies, but from high up, DC was lovely. You could see glowing roads and  monuments with headlights and ridiculous little wheeled vehicles dragging themselves around.

Bucky said the place made sense for security.

When Peter visited for the first time, he looked at the glass walls, the high ceiling, the guest rooms, the kitchen big enough for a small diplomatic crisis, and said, “Oh. So you guys are rich rich now.”

“It’s practical,” Bucky said, even though rich wasn’t a place he’d use. 

“It has what? Two walk in closets ” Peter said, and guessed right.

“I wanted a third one for all my knives,” you said. “But I had to compromise.”

Bucky looked at you like he loved you and regretted encouraging you at the same time.

And slowly, it became yours.

You had your weird human boots by his polished shoes. You had strange little space trinkets on his shelves, and your faux fur jacket thrown over the back of his very expensive chair. 

When Mantis visited, Peter visited, too.

He was still arguing with security about his blasters when she stepped into the penthouse and looked around with wide eyes.

“Oh,” she said softly. “You live very high.”

Bucky was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, opening pizza boxes.

“Your sister likes windows,” he said.

He said it like your wanting mattered enough to explain the whole place.

Mantis smiled.

Bucky glanced at you, then slid a box toward all three of you. Eventually, Peter sat on the floor like he owned the place. Mantis sat cross-legged beside him, studying her slice with concern. You curled into Bucky’s side on the couch, his arm along the back of it, his knee against yours.

Mantis took one bite and her eyes widened. “This is amazing.”

You looked at Peter, your brother, who had once thrown bolts at you across the floor of a Ravager ship and now sat eating pizza in your living room. You looked at Mantis, your sister, free and alive and choosing her own way through the universe. You looked at Bucky, the man who had once been a one-night stand in a motel room, but now, he was your home in every sense of the word.

And tonight, the universe was small enough to fit in one living room.

Mantis leaned back, pizza balanced carefully in both hands.

“I like Earth,” she said.

You looked at her, then at Peter, then at Bucky.

“Yeah,” you said, leaning into your lover’s side. “It has one or two good things.”

—end. 

Mia was gone. Sure, the larger-than-life portraits and billboards he passed to get to work each day mocked him, but she was gone, married, a daughter, without Sebastian. He had the jazz club, without her. And her visit three months prior was haunting him deeply, the way she’d still made an effort to turn and find his eyes, skin coated with blue light as he painfully smiled and watched what he thought would be his future walk out on him… again. But he forced himself to move on. The flame was still kindled but inaccessible, and he needed to learn to look forward instead of getting stuck in the warmth.

You had applied to Seb’s, freshly graduated from UCLA and struggling to navigate the job market. You’d been hired as a waitress and hostess, shifting where they needed you. You couldn’t complain; the company was friendly, and with it being such a popular spot, tips were decent on a good night. The constant jazz definitely helped, too. The liveliness kept a pep in your step as you waited tables, making it easier to get through long shifts.

Sebastian’s eyes caught on your name as he glanced over his schedule plan, a soft smile finding his lips. His staff was small but tight-knit and strong; guests often told him how wonderful the service was. Over the past few months, you’d become his best server and hostess, effortlessly navigating his space and rarely receiving any complaints from customers. Your tip-outs were always the highest, and he wasn’t blind to the way some of the other servers eyed you with jealousy. 

You’d felt like the first person to break through the fog of his heartbreak, soft eyes and light steps, a constant each night in his life. The music helped, too, of course, by distracting his mind, with patterns and rhythms that slowly eased his heartache. HE refused to acknowledge that your presence was slowly filtering into his music.

“Hey, Seb?” He whirls around to face you, looking up from his notes. Seb’s was an hour from opening, and you’d strolled in to begin opening work.

“Hey, you…” A smile graces his face as you adjust your bag on your shoulder.

“I know, it’s uh– really late notice, but I need next weekend off.” His brow raises as he shifts in his spot.

“Can I at least get a reason?” You give a weak smile.

“Death in the family, I need to uh– attend the funeral.” Sebastian’s eyes soften as he slowly nods in understanding.

“Oh gosh, yes, of course! Do you need any other days? You can have the whole week if you need it.”

“I– are you sure? I don’t–”

“If you so help me apologize, that will be more insulting than asking for time off late.” 

“If I could have next Friday through Wednesday… that would be wonderful.” You watch the man grab the schedule, scribbling your name out and blocking out the dates.

“You’ve got it. Do you… Need anything?” You shake your head softly, eyes moving towards your shoes.

“Hopefully, a busy shift. Helps keep me occupied.” He nods gently, resisting the urge to reach out and give your hand an assuring squeeze.

“I’ll tell Jason to keep a steady flow in your section whenever he gets here.”

“Thank you, Seb… Thank you.” You mutter, fiddling with a piece of your jewelry and avoiding the older man's eyes.

“Of course, sweetheart. You’re the best employee I’ve got. Just let me know if you need anything. Anything, I mean it.” The pet name makes heat flutter along your spine as you nod, gently dismissing yourself towards the back of the restaurant. 

𝄂𝄚𝄚𝄞ㅤ

Your mind buzzed contentedly as your shift passed, music fluttering through the air as you shifted from table to table, between the warmth and grease of the kitchen and the cool blue lighting of the floor. Seb’s eyes would catch you every so often, drifting up from his fingers, watching the light bounce in your step as you breezed between your tables. 

As he started a more somber piece, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. His fingers drifted across the keys, a soft rhythm to mimic the way he saw you work. A deeply forgotten feeling rumbles through his chest as he works his way through the middle of his piece, eyes falling to his hands as the realization washes over him; He might’ve finally found someone else.

𝄂𝄚𝄚𝄞ㅤ

The few days without you were a struggle. He noticed your lack of presence more than ever before, his ugly realization of possibly liking someone again, tearing his mind apart. His music wasn’t as strong, mind stuck between visions of your eyes and his fingers on the keys. He was completely out of it.

When you did return, he could barely face you. A blubbering, awkward mess, making your brows furrow in confusion. “Is everything alright?” He nods slowly, avoiding watching as you shrug your jacket off. You wore a dark green blouse the fitted you kindly, and he had to force himself to look away.

“Everything’s fine. Just get ready for service.” His clipped tone makes your brows furrow as you stop for a moment, mouth parting softly in confusion.

“I can uh– pick up some extra shifts next week to make up for me being gone.” You offer nervously, and his spine jolts with guilt as he realizes his tone made you think he was mad at you.

“Oh god– no– sweetheart, you’re ok. I’m sorry, promise I’m not mad at you– just having an uh– day? Y’know?” You nod softly in understanding, and he watches the nervousness slip off your shoulders as you straighten your posture. “How was the funeral?” You shrug softly.

“It was… a funeral. Sad.” He nods slowly.

“Gonna be alright on the floor tonight?” Your eyes light up for a moment.

“Oh– right– could I just uh– buss tonight? Not really in the mood to try and be cheery for tables.” 

“Yeah, of course! I’ll go let Jared know he’s on tables.” You give a grateful nod before walking towards the back, Sebastian watching you closely as you disappear from his sight. He was fucked.

𝄂𝄚𝄚𝄞ㅤ

“You’re kidding, right?”Lilly laughs, sipping whatever drink she’d gotten, sitting across from you at the small club the two of you had found. “Sebastian? As in your boss?” You groan, setting your martini down and burying your head in your hands.

“I don’t even know what to do! I’ve dropped two trays in the past three weeks because I get so fucking distracted!” Her laugh gets louder, making the smallest smile twist across your lips. 

“I can’t lie and say he’s not gorgeous.”

“And he can sing and play piano! He owns his own club for goddess's sake!”

“At least we know he’s good with his fingers.” She teases, wiggling her brows and making you kick her underneath the table.

“Lilly!” You shriek, moving to cover your warming face again.

“Am I wrong?” She muses gently. A defeated no leaves your lips. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, I don’t know, he could fire me and blacklist me from the club!” You groan, moving to slump backwards in your seat.

“Or he likes you back.”

“He’s like– ten years older than me!”

“Age is just a number! I bet he writes music about you.”

“Lilly!” You groan.

𝄂𝄚𝄚𝄞ㅤ

The clatter that surrounds you as the dishes hit the ground makes you flinch and freeze as you look at the mess on the floor. You can hear the surrounding teasings, ooohs, as you move to start picking up the pieces. A soft hiss leaves your lips as a piece of porcelain slices the palm of your hand, red blooming from the cut. You drop the pieces, biting your lips to soften a sharp cry as you shakily stand back up. 

“Seriously, guys? We cannot keep losing dishwe– Are you ok?” Sebastian’s concern wraps you in a warm blanket as you rip your eyes from the dripping blood and to his eyes. “Margo! Go get a broom and clean this up, please!” The woman nods, rushing off as Sebastian leads you away from the mess and grabs a clean rag to wrap around your hand. “You ok?” He asks again, making your head shake awkwardly.

“Blood.” You murmur, making him slowly nod.

“Ok, ok, breathe, alright? You’re ok.” He soothes, making your insides twist as you manage a nod, eyes focused on a strand of loose hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Can I take you to urgent care? Please? I’ll cover it.” You send him a long, dazed glance, head swimming at the sight of your blood seeping through the rag. “Actually, you don’t get a choice. C’mon.” One of his hands gently drifts to your back as he leads you out the back door and towards his convertible.

“Your seats– don’t want to mess up the leather.” An affectionate smile graces his lips as he opens the door.

“Well, I don’t want you passing out. Blood can be cleaned, but hitting your head from passing out could lead to a lot worse.” You slowly nod as you take in his words before slipping into the passenger seat and distantly hearing him shut the door.

The ride is a slow blur, your head leaning against the window, wind blowing across your face as you breathe in the fresh air. Your eyes drift from the bright lights illuminating the streets to Sebastian’s face as he drove. His brows were pinched with worry, making a gentle smile grace your lips as you trace the line of his nose. “You ok?” He asks gently, making you nod. “Almost there.”

“It… hurts.” He looks over at you, frowning.

“I bet. We’re almost there.” You couldn’t tell if he was assuring you or himself.

𝄂𝄚𝄚𝄞ㅤ

Your eyes were focused on the speckled pattern of the ceiling tiles as the nurse gently stitched your hand up. Sebastian’s hand was warm in your uninjured hand, which you gave a squeeze at the numbed pressure of the needle in your skin. He watched you closely, heart finally starting to slow. You were ok. The blood on his white cufflink wasn’t lost on him, but he couldn’t find it in him to mind.

The panic that had flared through his body as he’d rounded the corner, frustration searing through his bones at the thought of losing more dishes before it had suddenly frozen at the look in your eyes. His eyes fall to the stained cufflink as you squeeze his hand again. “Alright… we just need to get this wrapped up, and then I’ll print out the aftercare, ok, hun?” The woman says gently, making your eyes snap to her as you give a distant nod.

When you walk back into the parking lot, you take a long breath, Sebastian’s steps sopping behind you. “I hope you know you’ve got the next few days off and then you’re hosting until further notice.” He muses gently, making you nod.

“I’m sorry about the plates.” He shakes his head, stepping closer and lifting a hand to your back.

“Your safety is a lot more important than some plates. And whenever you get the bill, send it my way, ok?” You turn to look up at him over your shoulder, cheeks warming at how close he is.

“Thank you for uh… all of this. Tonight. Yeah– thank you.” You mumble, making his grin widen as he steps the slightest bit closer.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He asks, voice lower with a tone you couldn’t bring yourself to think too hard about.

“Still a little queasy.” His fingers twitch against your back.

“Come back to my place.” The words are so rushed from his lips that it takes you a long moment to process them.

“...what?”

“Stay at my place tonight. Let me uh– make sure you’re ok.” A soft noise leaves his throat as he awkwardly clears his throat, eyes moving to find something anywhere but yours.

“Are you sure?” You whisper, making his head shake as a smile graces his lips.

“More than. Please.” You were in the passenger seat of his car again before you could blink.

𝄂𝄚𝄚𝄞ㅤ

Sebastian’s apartment was a lot smaller than you anticipated for someone owning such a bustling club. The walls were an uninviting yellow, sparse with decor. The coffee table was littered with a few empty cans and glasses, blazers thrown over the back of the couch. 

Sheet music littered the small kitchen table and the top of the piano, an unopened letter strewn across the kitchen counter. Aside from the counter, the kitchen was the cleanest spot of what you could see. “Do you like to cook?” You ask gently, eyes scanning the fresh vegetables and fruit.

“I do, yeah. I’ll make you something, sorry about the mess– wasn’t expecting company.” You wave him off with your good hand, moving to sit on the couch. His smell enveloped you pleasantly as you traced the gauze on your hand. “Do you need some water?”

“Yes, please…” When he walks over, he hands you a plate and a glass of ice water before sitting in front of you on the floor, legs crossed, back against the coffee table as he looks up at you.

“Feeling better?”

“A little. Still… lightheaded.” 

“The nurse said that it should go away by morning.” You both eat in silence for a long couple of moments, and you pretend not to notice the way your heart flutters each time you notice him glancing up at you. 

“Thank you… again.” He gently waves you off with a bashful grin.

“Anything for my best employee.” Your stomach felt like molten lava as you took the last few bites of food. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep out here.” He shuffles gently as he stands to grab both plates and move back into the kitchen. You stand to follow, socks against the cool tile of the small kitchen. The space felt hot, and probably not because of the cooking that had just been done.

“I can’t take your bed.”

“You’re not taking, I’m offering.”

“You're back–”

“Who said I have back problems?”

“It’s your bed–”

“So it’s mine to give.” You huff gently as he turns to face you. The world blurs for a long moment before you step forward, grabbing his tie with your uninjured hand and pressing your lips against his. The noise he lets out is one you’d never heard from the man before, his body relaxing as his hands move to your sides.

“Share the bed?” You whisper as you pull away, eyes focused on his mouth and the way it curls into a smile at your words.

“Sharing is good. Sharing sounds wonderful.” A searing kiss meets your lips as his arms tighten around you. 

Steve seems satisfied with your answer and lets you go, making his way to his own quarters for the evening. You let out a sigh of relief as you walk away from the blond.

As much as you loved the team for keeping you safe and letting you stay with them at the compound, sometimes you just really needed some time to yourself. Especially since now you have to be up by seven or the super soldier would be banging on your door to make sure you were ready to hang out. 

You debated walking out to the forest to be truly left alone, but you didn’t have the energy to try and sneak out to the woods surrounding the compound. You quickly changed into some sweatpants, a comfy crewneck sweater from your university, and some ridiculous fluffy bunny slippers Tony had bought you as a joke last Christmas. After a second thought you grabbed a thick blanket and made your way up to the roof of the compound, going as far away from the doors to the roof as you could. You plopped down at the edge of the roof, letting your legs dangle over the edge. You secured your blanket around yourself then pulled out a tin of joints and a lighter. 

You’d started smoking when you were 14, just a few years before Tony found you. 

You had always been told your Dad took off so you never gave much thought to him. Your Mom had worked like crazy over the years to try and support the two of you in your apartment in the Bronx. By the time you hit high school you’d had a serious chip on your shoulder and you’d become an intense brand of bitter. You and your Mom had constantly fought over everything right up until she died in a car accident a few months after you started your junior year. 

Life got hazy after that. 

You’d tried everything to drown out your feelings until one day Natasha came to collect you from a shitty apartment. You weren’t sure how they’d found out about you, but there was no doubt in Tony’s DNA test and he’d immediately taken you in. 

Being the daughter of Tony Stark and granddaughter of Howard Stark, no one was surprised to learn that you were brilliant. Sharp and just as quick-witted as your father, you began to far surpass your peers once you had access to financial support. You’d decided to go for your GED, then you applied yourself to University. 

Tony made sure you were set up for success in academia and when you moved into your apartment you were able to devote yourself to your studies. You had a love for plants and biology as a kid so when you finally had the money to pursue a higher education, you decided to apply for several doctorate programs in botany. You were currently working through your second year at University as well as negotiating a contract with a promising startup in agriculture.

Tony had you go to therapy for a few years after your Mom died, until you’d been ok enough to slowly reduce the appointments to only once a week. Even though the absence of your Mom still hurts some days, you no longer felt the need to dull out everything in your life. You’d stopped drinking and any other party favours entirely, limited smoking to every once in a while. Despite everything that got you to where you currently sat on the roof of the Avengers compound, life had been pretty great the last few years.

You lit the joint and took a long drag, holding it a few seconds in your lungs, before you exhaled and released all the tension you could in your shoulders. Rolling your head from side to side you took another drag, furrowing your brows when you realize you forgot your headphones downstairs in your room. You plucked the joint from your mouth and tilted your head up towards the moon as you exhaled. 

“You too?” a smooth voice from behind you asked. You choked a little as you whipped around in shock. 

James “Bucky” Barnes held up a carton of cigarettes towards you and you pound your fist into your chest as you coughed. 

“Jesus Barnes, warn a girl won’tcha?” you wheezed. 

Bucky just smirked. 

“Sorry Y/L/N, won’t happen again.” he teased as he walked over and sat next to you, your legs dangling down the side of the building. 

You held out your lighter to him and he smiled. 

“What kind are those? They smell fuckin’ awful.” he asked, lighting a cigarette and handing your lighter back to you. 

“They’re...uh… not tobacco.” you mumbled.  Bucky’s brow furrowed for a moment. 

“Oh, uh… huh.” he said. 

You tried to find the right words and your mouth dried up. 

“It’s pot, um...marijuana? Look I don’t really know what the attitude was towards it in the 40’s but um.. It’s a bit less of a big deal now? Just please don’t tell Tony!” you blurted out, suddenly terrified he’d rat you out to your new dad and you’d get in shit. 

Bucky just stared at you for a second before a small, disbelieving smile crossed his face. 

“Don’t tell Steve?” he asked, gesturing to you with the cigarette still lit in his hand. 

Just like that, you knew you were going to be great friends with Bucky Barnes. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a bit after that. Occasionally piping up to make awkward small talk but for the most part you just enjoyed each other’s company.

“I’ve never come up here before. Normally if I’m gonna do this I go for a walk but I just didn’t have the energy after today.” you’d admitted after a while. 

You’d both finished your smokes and put the buds out before you could come up with something to say.

“I don’t do it a lot, just sometimes when everything gets too overwhelming, I’d go out for a walk about the city or to the park near my place and have a joint.”

Bucky put a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“I heard about today. I’m sorry that happened to you.” he assured you and you smiled gratefully as you wiped some stray tears away. 

“Thanks Barnes.” you said quietly, offering up a watery smile. 

Today you’d officially been moved into the Avengers compound for your own safety. 

You’d been staying in Tony’s apartment building for a few years, but today was the first time anyone had ever broken in. Some criminals who wanted to get to Tony had learned about you and tried to kidnap you. F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's security protocols had alerted the entire team, and Tony had been able to get to you in minutes with the rest of the Avengers not far behind him. 

The men had been arrested but it seemed that somehow word was getting out about Tony Stark’s secret daughter. 

Moving into the compound hadn’t felt like a huge shift, but the events that caused it were more than enough to shake anyone up. The upside, if you could call it that, was that you’d already spent tons of your free time at the compound. You and Wanda had really hit it off since you were around the same age, and she was taking some online classes at a local community college. 

You were trying to convince her to transfer to your school but she was nervous about her relationship with the public and wasn’t quite ready to be amongst them all the time. The two of you could often be found sprawled out in the living room with textbooks and markers all over the place. “Auntie Nat” as you liked to tease, would often join the two of you for terrible rom com marathons and spa nights. 

“Well what do you normally do?” Bucky asked as the two of you leaned back on your palms and looked up at the sky. 

“Um, normally I’d bring headphones and listen to music for a while. I like to draw sometimes too. Steve and I like to sketch together in the mornings when we’re both here, so if I’ve got a piece going I’ll do the colour while I’m alone. Or I’ll grab some snacks and go for a picnic with a book. The forest areas here are actually pretty nice when the weather is good.” you smiled. 

“That sounds nice.” Bucky said, still looking up. 

“You could come with me if you want?” you offered, biting your lip. 

The two of you had never really spent that much time together, and certainly not just the two of you… but tonight was nice. You’d been chatting comfortably and Bucky had seemed to enjoy himself. What was the harm in offering?

“Ok.” he murmured. 

He spoke so quietly that for a second you thought you’d misheard him. 

“Do you come up to smoke often?” you asked. 

“Nah. Stevie hates it when I do it. I’d never smoked before the war, Steve’s lungs couldn’t handle being around the stuff and it was an extra expense I couldn’t worry about. Then when I got drafted, everyone else was doing it and it was one of the only stress relievers we had readily available at the time. It doesn’t really do anything for me now, but the taste of it… it brings back some memories. Memories of our friends.” Bucky smiles softly, sitting up to look at the hands in his lap before frowning. 

“That’s really nice.” you sighed, Bucky looking up at you. “That’s nice that you can relive those memories. I mean, with your super soldier lungs it probably isn’t as terrible for you as it is for everyone else. Plus I really can’t judge now can I?” you joked. 

You were very pleased with yourself when Bucky huffed a small laugh.  

“Yeah I guess. I never really thought about it to be honest.”  

You just giggled in response. 

“If we hang out when I smoke again, you’ll find I’m over-thinking everything and none of it will be very intelligent.” you said, a silly grin workings its way across your face. 

Bucky just smirked back. 

“I wasn’t aware you had any intelligence," he teased. 

You gasped, pretending to be insulted but secretly delighted that he was joking around with you.  

“Well that’s a mistake you won’t make again after this I assure you!” you cry in mock outrage. 

Bucky let out a small but genuine bark of laughter and you beamed. 

You’d never really seen him laugh before this. You’d seen the cocky smirk of an over confident fighter, the occasional shy smiles when he met new people, but this was something new. 

The two of you chatted a little longer about small stuff, like Bucky’s preferred cigarette brand and gummy bears vs gummy worms, before Bucky helped you to your feet and you both made your way back inside. 

The joint’s effects had slowly started to fade away and you leaned against the elevator on the way to the residential floors. Bucky’s room was in a different wing but you were surprised when he walked you to your door. You bit your lip as you reached out to grab your handle, turning back to find Bucky smiling at you in amusement.

“Don’t tell Tony?” You asked. 

Bucky smirked. 

“Don’t tell Steve.”

___________________________

Since that night, you and Bucky began meeting up on the roof once or twice a week. 

You’d kept bumping into him at first, with classes ramping up you’d found yourself more stressed and in need of fresh air to study properly. As you settled into life at the compound, you’d notice Bucky disappear from the common space later in the evenings when everyone was finished with dinner. So you’d grab your blanket to sneak up to the roof.

Tony had a pretty nice patio set up installed after the compound was completed and the majority of the team moved it. It was mostly used for parties, and the rest of the team didn’t seem to have an interest in the rooftop. There was a large outdoor sectional with a fire pit table in the middle. A BBQ and outdoor cooking station set up a few away, closer to the doors. 

You and Bucky would lounge on the couch together, usually in comfortable silence, just decompressing after a long day. Occasionally you’d bum a light off of him, but more often than not you’d bring a thermos of tea up for the two of you and whatever art project or assignment you were working on at the time. Even without the weed, just being up on the roof top and watching the stars come out was enough to calm you, and Bucky’s added presence didn’t hurt either. 

Every night ended almost the exact same way. One of you would stand and stretch, declaring it was late and that you both needed to head in. Then you’d make your way to the elevator to head back to your rooms and as you exited the elevator you’d both grin at each other. Every night ended the same, regardless of if either of you had smoked that night;

“Don’t tell Tony?”

“Don’t tell Steve.”

It was… nice. 

Over the next two months of you both meeting up on the roof you noticed Bucky slowly come out of his shell more and more. If you were lucky you could usually pry a rant out of him. You knew that he really only felt close with Steve and Natasha, given their history, but it was endlessly amusing to get Bucky complaining. 

It slowly became the highlight of your week. Sneaking up to the patio for whatever Bucky wanted to bitch about that evening. After weeks of meeting up on the roof, you found you no longer needed to pry conversation out of the soldier. 

Bucky would come up to join you on the roof, making sure you were warm enough and that you had your tea or homework with you. Then he’d light his cigarette, take a deep drag and launch into whatever stupid, self-sacrificing shit Steve had pulled during the most recent mission. 

“His shield was stuck in a tree, Y/N! And he just ran head first into the gun fire like he’s trying to die. I swear sometimes that serum just made him super stupid because that punk couldn’t stay outta danger if… well if his life depended on it!”

You loved Bucky’s Steve rants. 

Almost as much as you loved Bucky’s the-modern-world-has-shittier-music rants. 

“Ok LISTEN, you can enjoy whatever music you want, but whatever happened to good old fashioned instruments? I don’t understand why everything needs to have so much bass. Why do people like listening to music so loud your eyeballs rattle? I don’t even know what I’m listening to half the time! Don’t even get me started on auto tune Y/N. I swear to god we will be out here all night.”

Not that you’d mind spending all night out on the roof with him. 

You found you didn’t want to smoke when the two of you spent time together. Your time spent with Bucky made you feel more at ease than being stoned. You wanted to be alert and enjoy every snide comment Bucky had to make about his best friend or whatever bullshit the team had dealt with that week. Needed a clear head for when Bucky wanted to know more about your life and how classes were going. His eyes would widen and he seemed to hang on every word about your most recent lecture or if that girl in your organic chemistry class was still giving you attitude. Every once in a while Bucky got this incredibly soft look in his eyes as he asked you about your Mom or grabbing coffee with a friend and Happy after class. 

It didn’t make your breath catch in your throat at all. 

Nope, not one bit. 

One night, you’d sat almost thigh to thigh and spoke openly about your drinking problem and how Natasha had found you. 

“I never had a big family. It was always just me and my Mom. I didn’t mean to, but I guess I became very bitter and angry with how unfair my life was. Then when she died it was like the final nail in the coffin. I left high school and fell in with a bad crowd for a while. I think that’s how Tony’s A.I was able to find me in the first place. Natasha just showed up one day at a friend’s apartment and took me. I was so high I couldn’t even grab her wrist to get her off me. Next thing I know I’m meeting Tony Stark and he’s my long lost Dad? I couldn’t believe it. It took a while for me to come around, but Tony is hands down one of the best things to ever happen to me. He understood the drinking and got me set up in a program so that I could work on it. Natasha helped me sort out my shit enough to apply for university and the next thing I know I have a big family of other misfits. It’s nice… having people that care about you. It makes me upset how much I took my Mom for granted in the end.” you finished softly. 

Bucky had held your hand with his flesh one after that. 

The two of you shared a cigarette after that admission. Bucky only had the one left and he could tell you needed it. 

“I had a baby sister.” he whispered one night, about two and a half months after you both started sneaking away to the rooftop. 

“I’m older… or I was older by four years. Becca used to wanna go everywhere with Stevie and I. When we were growing up, mostly in secondary school, it used to drive me absolutely nuts. Less so as I got older...God I miss Becca more than anything. Steve looked her up when he woke, but she passed sometime in the 90’s. She died thinking that I died during the war and that’s probably for the best, but I can’t help but be jealous that Steve at least got to see Peggy a few more times.” 

You’d put your mug down as he spoke about her and cupped his right hand in both of your own. 

“I’m sorry.” you offered. 

Bucky just sniffed and nodded, trying to keep the tears from falling. 

“I know it’s been said, but you deserved so much better Bucky Barnes. I’m so sorry for everything.” you spoke quietly, trying to keep your own tears at bay. 

Your heart clenched as you watched the bitter tears roll down his cheeks. 

Slowly you reached your arms out and keeping watch to make sure he was ok with it, you wrapped them around his shoulders and held him close as he cried. His arms hesitantly, then desperately wrapped around your torso. Neither of you said a word while you kept kneeling on the bench pressed into Bucky’s side, running your hands through his hair as you both mourned everything he’d lost. 

Eventually the tears slowed and Bucky wiped at his eyes as you pulled away from him, not entirely though. You threw your blanket over his legs and sat with your shoulders pressed together as you both looked up at the stars. 

“Tell me about your sister. What was she like?” you asked quietly. 

Bucky let out a shaky breath then smiled softly. 

“Becca was my baby sister…” 

That night you listened to him talk for hours. 

He talked about growing up in Brooklyn, his Mom Winnifred and how she always made the best banana bread, how he met Steve in a school yard scrap, working at the docks to support his family. 

You must’ve dozed off at some point, curled up on the outside couch against his flesh arm, because the next morning you woke up on top of your bed with no memory of the elevator ride down to your room. When your alarm for school woke you and you blinked the sleep out of your eyes, a note folded on your nightstand caught your eye. 

Reaching out a tired hand out, you flushed as you read it. 

‘Thanks for everything, JBB.’ 

You beamed before burying your face in your pillow. 

He’d signed it with his initials. 

What a dork. 

___________________________

Your days at the compound became slightly more varied as the weather improved. 

You and Wanda would go to classes together during the day. Either taking her car or having Happy (or an approved person) escort you to campus since she’d finally worked up the courage to attend in person with you. Nat would occasionally pick you guys up so the three of you could go hang out in the city, coffee dates or shopping around at the malls. 

Friday nights became Avenger movie nights. Whoever wasn’t on mission was welcome to come join and watch awful movies with fantastic snacks in the common area. 

During the day on weekends you spent time with Tony in the lab. The two of you didn’t have a ton in common, but working alongside each other, (you writing a paper for school and him working on whatever program he was currently fixing), had been really great for father-daughter bonding. 

The two of you are always willing to drop what you could to make time for a ridiculously expensive restaurant with Pepper. The Busiest-Woman-In-The-World Pepper Potts would never replace your Mom, but she was a wonderful friend and role model with lots of insight on staying organized and efficient. Pepper always had constructive advice with how to maximize your study time/tactics while also making sure to take breaks for yourself. You had no idea how Tony had managed to bag someone as efficiently brilliant as her, but your grades thanked her every semester. 

In the evenings you or Bucky would message each other a question mark and meet up on the roof ten minutes later. 

The few nights it rained you propped the doors to the roof open and sat on the floor. Bucky would blow his cigarette smoke outside the door. You’d sit across from him with a travel mug of tea. 

The two of you could talk about anything together. 

Bucky didn’t like milk or sugar in his coffee. The two of you couldn’t get into baseball like Steve and Sam but you both loved MMA and boxing tournaments. You always opted for almond or oat milk because dairy gave you cramps, which had spiralled into a fantastic argument of “Y/N how the fuck do you milk an oat?” 

Bucky loves to hear you talk about school, especially your biology lectures. Since you’ve been hanging out so often in the last while, you’d discovered that Bucky Barnes was a huge nerd. 

He told you that he loved school, he would’ve loved to go to college back in his time but money was scarce so he’d gone to work at the docks instead. He always grins at you when you tell him about your assignments, your hands waving in the air to show your excitement. Especially if you’ve smoked a little bit before. 

The rare times you’d smoke with Bucky you’d lose any shyness you might’ve clung to. Your hands would move about animatedly as you ranted about dick head TA’s and tight deadlines, releasing all the stress that came with academic pressures. 

Bucky had teased you that it was your “old man” ranting. 

You’d thrown a pencil at him. 

One afternoon, about three months after you’d started meeting Bucky on the roof, you were hanging out with Nat and Wanda doing your nails when your phone dinged. You blew on your hand and slipped it into the little uv lamp before flipping your phone over on the table. 

4:34pm Bucket 🦾 sent a message: Would you want to go for a 🚬 tonight?

You let out an audible snort before tapping out a response, too amused to notice the shared glance between the two red heads. 

4:35pm Y/L Y/L/N sent a message: Did you seriously just use an emoji???  I need to screen-shot this for historical purposes. 4:36pm Bucket 🦾 sent a message: Why is my name spelt wrong? How do I fix it?  4:39pm Y/N Y/L/N sent a message: It’s funny. It’s a nickname. 4:41pm Bucket 🦾 sent a message: Bucky IS a nickname. I don’t understand why I need another one. Also where is the arm emoji? I want to send it to Steve.  Bucket  🦾 sent a message: Also also, you still haven’t answered my question.  Bucket  🦾 sent a message:Are you free tonight?

You burst into giggles. Fully invested in your phone, you turned away from Natasha and Wanda to send a screenshot of the emoji keyboard to Bucky.

“So Y/N, anyone special at school caught your eye?” Wanda asked, as nonchalant as possible. 

“Nah. I’ve been really focused on my projects. Plus it’s kinda hard to date around living here. I can’t exactly invite someone over to just “hang out” when I live with the Avengers.” you answered half-heartedly, focused on typing a response to Bucky. 

4:43pm Y/N Y/L/N sent a message: I’m hanging out with Nat and Wanda rn, but I’m free later. Meet you on the roof at 10? 

“So no one special you’re talking to lately?” Nat asked with a raised brow that you didn’t see because you were biting your lip, watching the little dots blip that let you know Bucky was typing back. 

4:46pm Bucket 🦾 sent a message: Actually, I have a bit of a surprise for you.  Bucket 🦾 sent a message: If that’s okay.  Bucket 🦾 sent a message: Meet me in the lobby at 8?

You grinned as you texted Bucky a thumbs up before finally looking up at Natasha and Wanda who were both smirking at you. 

“What?” you ask, causing Wanda to burst out in giggles. 

“No one special, huh?” Natasha asked with a smirk and a raised brow. 

You felt heat rush to your cheeks. 

“Okay okay! There is someone… but I don’t think he’s in a place to be in a relationship right now. And that’s fine! I’m happy being friends…” you trail off, thinking back to all your long nights on the roof with Bucky. 

“I see,” Nat nods, glancing at Wanda out of the corner of her eye. 

“And this “friend”... he wouldn’t happen to be the reason you seem to vanish every night?” Wanda asks and you groaned as Natasha’s eyes snapped over to you. 

“What? I’m- I don’t vanish!” you stammered very convincingly.

Natasha narrowed her eyes and you felt even more heat creep up the back of your neck. 

“I’m a student. I’m busy studying!” you cried indignantly under Natasha’s increasing glare.

“Are you leaving the compound without Happy?” she demanded.

“No!” you gulped. “No it’s just a friend! We're just talking. Sometimes I go up to the roof to talk…on the phone. I like the view and the fresh air…” you trailed off awkwardly. 

You really didn’t want to put Bucky in an awkward situation but outing your little meetups. You weren’t sure that he’d told anyone that the two of you had been hanging out. You also had a pretty good feeling that it was the only time Bucky spoke confidently and openly outside of maybe Steve and you didn’t want to put him in the hot seat with Natasha. 

Your response seemed to satisfy Natasha for the time being. 

“Alright. As long as you’re not sneaking off on your own I guess.” Natasha conceded and you let out a sigh and smiled shyly back. “But if you’re gonna bring someone around you’d better have security clear him properly beforehand!"

_____________________________

After the slight grilling, the alarm went off and Natasha was called to work, leaving you and Wanda to finish up your manicures. The two of you had spent some time watching trashy reality tv before splitting up and retreating to your own rooms. 

Hanging out with Bucky always made you a little nervous. You took a deep breath and looked around your room before deciding to start some homework. You had a test coming up and you’d wanted to review your notes but before you realized, it was almost seven o’clock. 

You jumped up and straightened out your desk before heading to your ensuite and hopping in the shower. You didn’t bother washing your hair, but you wanted your face to be clean and to wash the acetone smell away. Then you decided to take some time to put lotion on your whole body. 

After that you tested a few bottles of perfume before deciding on one that Wanda got you for your most recent birthday. You had been eyeing the bottle for a while and you felt so lucky to be her friend every time you wore it. You stared in the mirror at yourself for a moment before deciding to fix up your hair too. You tried to smooth it away from your face, which made you realize you should probably brush your teeth too just in case. 

After you’d primped as much as you could while still looking totally-cool-and-not-nervous-at-all, you opened your closet. 

Tony had given you a credit card when he’d found you, stating “money’s no object but don’t be a dick, yeah?” Since being on your own you’d built quite a nice wardrobe for yourself, full of pieces that had caught your eye and made you feel gorgeous. However tonight it seemed you owned nothing and you groaned while trying to figure out what you should wear. 

Ultimately you tried to remember that this was Bucky you were spending time with. He’d be the last person to give a shit about your fashion choices. You settled on your favourite pair of jeans with a bralette under an old sweater. You threw on a pair of sneakers and grabbed your fanny pack with your tin of joints and smoking stuff before making your way down to the lobby. As soon as the elevator doors opened you'd immediately told yourself to pick your jaw up off the floor.

It really was unfair how hot Bucky Barnes was without even realizing it. 

Bucky was waiting for you in a pair of dark wash jeans that hugged his ass in a criminal way. His hair was getting longer but today he was wearing it down and tucked behind his ears. Black boots, a black t-shirt that looked to be at least two sizes too small, with a worn black leather jacket. 

Bucky Barnes was the master of the bad boy look. 

“Oh good you’re in a sweater. Ok c’mon let’s get going.” he grinned as soon as he spotted you. 

“So what did you wanna do?” You asked, desperately hoping you were coming across as casual.

“Well since the weather’s been getting better I thought we could go for a walk.” Bucky answered, holding the door open for you. 

You smiled, internally fist pumping over your outfit choice. 

The two of you made your way to the wooded area at the edge of the compound that you’d told Bucky all those weeks ago was your favourite place to come for a smoke. When you reached the trees, Bucky started leading you in a slightly different direction instead of the path you’d normally take. 

“Trust me Y/L/N, I found a way better clearing.” Bucky insists and you laugh knowing he’d never even been to your favourite part of the woods. 

Bucky leads you through the forest for a few minutes before stopping and turning to you. 

“Okay, listen… I need you to close your eyes and trust me for a sec.” Bucky started, rubbing his flesh hand on his denim clad thighs. 

You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. 

“Yeah, okay. Sure Barnes.” You giggled, closing your eyes. 

Shyly, you feel Bucky’s right hand slip into yours as he gently guides you through the brush for a moment. You followed his lead and since you couldn’t see you found yourself focusing on the strong but gentle sensation of his grip. How there was a slight callous on the side of his hand under the first knuckle of his index finger. How soft the rest of his palm was. How his thumb seemed to nervously stroke the back of your hand… 

“Ok, we’re here.” Bucky spoke quietly, putting his hands on your shoulders and spinning you slightly so you’d be facing the proper direction. 

With Bucky’s permission you nervously opened your eyes and gasp as you take in the clearing in front of you. 

There was a thick, blue quilt laid out in a clearing of soft, long grass. A large picnic basket sat propped up in the corner with two pillows laid out and an extra blanket rolled up next to them. The clearing itself was beautiful. Small bulbs lined the small meadow and you could tell that in a few more weeks the whole clearing would be full of flowers. Your jaw dropped as you stepped forward, taking in the incredibly sweet sight before you. 

“I just thought you said you liked picnics so maybe it’d be nice to have one. It’ll be my first picnic in at least eighty years so you’ll have to show me the ropes.” Bucky joked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. 

You blinked at him for a moment before throwing your arms around his neck, startling him slightly. 

“This is probably the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, Bucky.” You spoke softly as you tightened your arms around his neck. 

You felt Bucky’s hands slowly come up to wrap around you, gently lifting you off of your toes and holding you for a moment. Too soon for you, Bucky gently set you down and led you over to the quilt where he unpacked some containers of different vegetables and dips. 

“I wasn’t really sure what you’d be in the mood for so I had F.R.I.D.A.Y order a little bit of everything.” Bucky explained as he pulled out some sandwiches and a solid plastic container that (much to your delight) was full of your favourite fruits. 

“This is absolutely amazing, Bucky. How did you even get all this stuff out here?” You asked, picking up a carrot stick. 

“It wasn’t easy. I couldn’t let Sam catch me or I’d never hear the end of it.” Bucky pretended to complain with a massive eye roll leaving you giggling.

“But I am the world's greatest assassin. Hydra would’ve been an even bigger failure if I couldn’t sneak out with some blankets. Tea?” Bucky offered, suddenly materializing a thermos.

You let out a surprised but delighted laugh and brought your hand up to cover your mouth, nodding as you chewed your carrot. Bucky grinned and passed you a small plastic mug of your favourite tea and you beamed taking in the sights. He had even thought to bring a lantern that cast a soft warm glow on the clearing around you as the sun started drifting towards the horizon. 

After you’d finished one of the sandwiches Bucky had brought, you grabbed your bag and pulled out your joints. 

You hadn’t smoked with Bucky in a while, but he spotted your movement and quickly pulled out his own carton of cigarettes. You pulled out a mini lavender lighter and lit the end of your joint, taking a deep drag before offering the lighter to him with a cheeky smile. 

“Don’t tell Tony?” You joke as per your tradition and Bucky shoots you a crooked grin as he tries to balance the cigarette between his teeth. 

“Don’t tell Steve.” He nods as he lights up. 

The two of you took a couple long drags together in comfortable silence, occasionally sipping on the tea that Bucky had packed. You slowly feel the effects of the joint creep into your limbs, your muscles and mind relaxing. When you start to feel slightly hazy you put out the joint and pack the roach away in an old mint container. 

Rolling your neck you scoot down the quilt and lay with your head on one of the pillows, Bucky staring down at you in amusement as you look up at the stars. 

“What does being high feel like?” Bucky asked, turning out the lantern and laying down next to you.

“It depends. There’s two different kinds of weed you can get, Sativa and Indica, and then there are like, different strains within those categories but I’m not really picky so I haven’t looked into them. Some are stronger than others and some are for different things. Indica typically makes me really tired so these are Sativa. They make me more relaxed and help drown out all the chaos in my head that makes it hard to focus. Some people get really hungry, that’s called “the munchies”. Some people get really tired and go straight to sleep,” you explain, “Personally, I just feel relaxed. I find it hard to be stressed, but some people have the opposite reaction and get really paranoid. A lot of people self-medicate for stress or pain relief.” 

You hope that your explanation makes sense as you turn to look over at Bucky who seems to be mulling your words over. 

“D’you wanna try some?” You ask, rolling on to your side and propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him. 

Bucky hesitantly met your eye before nodding. 

“It wasn’t something I ever tried back in my day and to be honest I don’t think it’ll affect me now after the serum. But since hanging out with you I started looking into it more and I saw a lot of veterans have started using it for sleep…” Bucky explained quietly and suddenly his interest in it clicked. 

You reached over to your joints case and pulled out a white tube. Turning back to the super soldier laying behind you, you offered the tube and your lighter to Bucky. 

“Here, you can try this if you want. This is an Indica joint a friend gave me as a gift. They’re a true wook stoner so it’s like, military grade weed. It’s not what I usually smoke so I haven’t tried it yet, but we can try it out and see if it does anything for you.” You offer as Bucky hesitantly reaches out and plucks the tube from your hand. 

He tips the joint out into his metal palm and stares at it long enough you start to wonder if he’d changed his mind. 

“I don’t know if it’ll be strong enough for you, or if you’ll even feel the effects but if you wanna try it, have at it.” You ramble. 

Bucky stares at the joint for another moment before turning to you with a small grin forming on his face. He sat up straighter and you couldn’t help but stare at his lips as they wrapped around the filtered tip of the joint. 

You watched as Bucky lifted the lighter and took a deep drag of the joint before promptly sputtering and coughing, setting you off into a fit of laughter. 

“Oh Jesus Christ Y/N, that’s fuckin’ awful!” Bucky wheezed as you cackled. 

Your hands shook with laughter as you tried to pour Bucky some more tea.

“Try taking a little less, then some plain air and holding it in. You don’t smoke it the same way you smoke a cigarette.” you explained. 

He took a large sip before bringing the joint back up to his mouth and taking a smaller drag this time. 

While Bucky got used to the joint, you told him about the first time you smoked back in high school and how you hadn’t been able to stop coughing for almost half an hour. You’d had to pause your story for a moment because you kept making him laugh while he finished the joint. You weren’t sure if he’d be able to feel the effects but about a third of the way through the joint you watched his eyes turn more and more bloodshot. 

Bucky Barnes is definitely a little stoned right now. 

Every little thing you do seems to set him off blushing and giggling, the sounds doing things to your stomach. He’s trying to play it cool, but you know something is up because every time he laughs he crinkles his nose in the cutest way…

You try to play it cooler as you squeeze out the cherry of the joint into the grass and put it in the tube, saving the rest for a later sesh. The weight of Bucky’s half-lidded eyes on you, your hands, your lips with every word you speak, is seriously making you wonder how stoned you really got after that joint. 

The two of you polish off the snacks he has so thoughtfully packed (Bucky doing most of the heavy lifting) and once the food is cleared away the two of you balance the thermos and plastic mugs on top of the picnic basket and sprawl out against the blanket. The sun had gone down not long ago and while the day had been warm, the cool air now had a sharp bite to it. Bucky reached out and threw the spare blanket around you, but you didn’t start feeling warm until you scooted close enough to feel the heat radiating from his right arm.

After all this time spent together, you’d gotten used to Bucky not having a lot to say unless you’d triggered a special irritation of his and been treated to a rant. So at first as the two of you laid there, looking up at the sky darken from crystal blue to lilac, the silence was comfortable, normal even. 

But eventually you peered over at Bucky to find him blatantly staring at you, then flushing red as he realizes he’s been caught. 

“I-uh I was just wondering if you were getting cold!” He stutters, immediately turning to look back up at the sky as you fail to stifle a giggle. 

“Sure you were. You’re so considerate Bucky, very sweet.” you croon, suddenly feeling emboldened by the flush creeping down his neck. 

“Just want you to be comfortable.” he mumbles, dragging left hand down his face before settling his thumb and middle finger against his eyes. 

You never would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes could be so bashful. He always seemed so suave before, so aloof that approaching him was intimidating. 

However here, in this little paradise Bucky had so thoughtfully created for you after weeks of sneaking around and stealing lighters from each other you saw just how truly soft this man could be. You risk a glance out of the corner of your eyes and you see that Bucky’s hand has come away from his face. He’s laying with his eyes closed and you admire the strong angle of his nose then your eyes land on his lips. 

How many minutes have you spent looking at them over the last few months you wonder. The pale colour, the fuller pout of his bottom lip, the way they curl when he smiles, the way his tongue ducks out pink and wet and-

“Who’s staring now?” Bucky asks smugly, eyes still closed and you flush, whipping your eyes back to the sky above you. 

“Shut up Barnes!”

____________________

Something shifts after that night. 

You suddenly can’t form a coherent sentence around Bucky to save your life. 

The two of you had sat under the stars for a little while longer before you’d begun shivering and Bucky insisted on bringing you back in. You’d helped him fold up the blankets and carried them while he carried everything else from your dinner and the two of you managed to sneak back into the compound without anyone catching you.

It’s only been three days since then but it’s been three days of pure torment because now you have hope.

Hope that Bucky feels something for you. Hope that you aren’t just reading into things, seeing things that aren’t there because of your own small infatuation. People don’t create incredibly sweet gestures like that out of thin air just because, right? It had to mean something?

You’d only met up on the roof once since the picnic and you’d found yourself so nervous at the idea of saying the wrong thing that the idea of smoking a joint and adding to your pre-existing paranoia seemed like a horrible idea. 

Bucky had only been halfway through a cigarette before you’d feigned a migraine and fled downstairs to your room where you could over analyze yourself in peace. 

You were in your room laying on your bed spiralling when your phone chimed Bucky’s text tone. 

6:47pm Bucket 🦾 sent a message: Hey, you free to meet up in a bit? You seemed kinda off yesterday, just wanna make sure everything is okay.

Bucky’s text releases a groan of frustration you hadn’t realized you’d been keeping. 

Of course you wanted to meet up and smoke like normal, but not if the possibility of something between the two of you would loom over you. Or worse, the possibility that you’d read too much into his actions and he was really just trying to be friendly. 

But like always, your desire to spend time with Bucky outweighs your nerves.

Deciding you need to pluck up your courage and go get your answer, you text Bucky back. 

6:50pm Y/L Y/L/N sent a message: Sure I could use a break. Meet on the roof at 7:30? 

Text sent, you stare at your phone in horror, the realization that you now had thirty minutes to make yourself presentable, sinking in like a ball of cold iron in your gut.

  6:50pm Bucket 🦾 sent a message: Sounds good. Don’t forget a sweater. It’s cold. 

With another loud groan, you run a hand down your face before getting up and throwing yourself into your bathroom. 

You stare at yourself in the mirror for what feels like an eternity, but in actuality is probably five minutes. 

‘This is just a casual hang, nothing crazy,’ you repeat mentally over and over while you tidy your hair and put on some tinted chapstick. 

‘Bucky is just a good friend. Just go into this like any other hang out,’ you think to yourself as you grab your school sweater and smoking stuff. 

‘You’re going to lend him a lighter, talk about school and training, and then come in and go to bed,’ you tell yourself as you approach the door to the roof. With a deep breath, you push open the door. 

And there he is. 

Bucky’s sitting at the patio set, ashtray and a thermos on the table in front of him. His head snaps towards you when he hears the door open and the smile he flashes you steals the breath from your lungs. It’s open and earnest, yet still shy and you can’t help but match it with one of your own. 

“Hey there Buckaroo, how was your day?” you ask, making your way over to him.

“Better now,” he grins, gesturing to the seat next to him on the sofa where a blanket is folded neatly, “Grabbed this just in case and there’s tea in the thermos for you.”

You press your lips together trying to keep your grin at bay. 

‘Thanks. You want some?” you ask, holding your bag up and Bucky grins. 

“Sure, no training till tomorrow evening. I’m hoping to sleep in.” he says dryly. 

You take a seat next to Bucky who shifts so that your legs are pressed together and you try your best not to blush while he arranges the blanket in your lap. You fish out the rest of the joint you’d given him last time and grab a hybrid one for yourself. 

“Here, we need to cheers lighters.” you say, trying to regain some composure. 

Bucky quirks a brow. 

“Cheers?”

“Yeah, here hold down the red part.” you say, handing him a bic lighter.

You can tell he’s trying not to smirk as you grab out your spare lighter and flick it to life next to his, the flame from your lighter igniting his as well. 

“See? Cheers!” you beam as Bucky throws his head back and laughs. 

“Cheers, Doll.” he grins and you both light your smokes. 

After a few tokes (and coughs from Bucky) the two of you settle into a comfortable quiet, content to lean back against the couch with your feet propped on the table in front of you and staring up at the stars. 

“You can see the stars way better here than from my old place in the city.” you say quietly after a while. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, taking another drag, “I don’t know if it’s the nostalgia talking, but they were brighter when I was growing up. Less pollution back then.” 

You hum in agreement. 

“Probably. Do you miss it?” 

Bucky’s quiet for a moment and you could almost smack yourself over how stupid the question sounds out loud. However, Bucky answers honestly like always and you’re grateful he isn’t offended. 

“Some things, not everything though. I knew I would probably never see my Ma again when I shipped out for war, I’d already accepted it. When I first woke up I’d hoped to see Becca again, but now I think maybe it’s for the best that I died for her back then. She never had to see what they turned me into.”

You frown and look over at Bucky who has his head reclined to stare straight upwards. 

“But you’re still you, Buck. Whatever they did to you, you came back from it. You’re still a good person.” you insist and Bucky lets out a bitter laugh. 

“You’re the only one besides Steve who thinks that, Doll.”

“That’s not true!” you insist, sitting upright and pressing your knees into his thighs as you turn yourself towards him, “The team can see it, even Tony can. You were forced to do things no one should ever have to do and you’re still kind. You’re still here, fighting to be better today than you were yesterday and that’s what matters. Not what they did to you when you had no control.” 

“Please. No offense, but Tony just puts up with me for Steve.”

“If that were true, and it’s not, he wouldn’t have bought you that motorcycle. Or used Stark Industries to lobby against the Sokovia Accords. He knows that what happened to his parents wasn’t your fault and if he didn’t forgive you then you wouldn’t be here at the compound, simple as that. You’d be hiding away in some remote corner of the world trying to not be found.” you say. 

Bucky just takes in your words, staring up at the sky. 

“I always thought Steve bought the bike.” he says quietly after a few moments and you let out a laugh. 

“Bucky, it showed up with a red helmet with the blue eye from the ‘Manchurian Candidate’ poster. C’mon.” you say with a smirk. 

Bucky huffs out another vague laugh.

“Look,” you say softer and more seriously, “If you need the express forgiveness of a Stark, you’ve got it. I forgive you for what you did when your body wasn’t your own. I forgive you for what happened to my grandfather and I promise so does my Dad.” 

Bucky’s eyes lock on yours and the two of you just stare for a moment. 

You can see the myriad of emotions running through him and if you spot his eyes watering faintly in the moonlight you know better than to say something. 

“You’re really something, you know that?” he asks and you smile shyly. 

“So are you.” you say firmly. 

Bucky’s eyes dilate, his tongue peeking out to wet his lip as he sits up and rests the joint in the ash tray before turning back to you. His left hand hesitates before coming up to cup your jaw. You’re sure you’ve stopped breathing as Bucky leans in. 

“Tell me I’m misreading this.” he says softly, his breath caressing your face and you shake your head gently into his palm. 

“You aren’t.” you say as you lean in and finally close the gap. 

Bucky’s lips are soft and warm against yours. His nose brushes your cheek and the cool metal of his left hand sends an explosion of goosebumps down your spine. You can’t help but bring your hands up to comb them through his hair, trying not to grin into the kiss as Bucky groans into your mouth. 

Kissing him is even better than you imagined. His tongue peeks out and you’re more than happy to part your lips, letting him claim every part of you. You can taste the faint traces of the joint you’d given him and while normally that would be a turn off, everything about Bucky was definitely a turn on for you. The groan he releases into your mouth has you pressing up against him further and his right arm snakes up to band across your back to hold you tightly. 

You aren’t sure exactly how long you spend on the roof top, kissing under the stars, but you know every single moment of it is magical. Eventually though, his kisses slow and you find yourself equal parts grateful to catch your breath and disappointed in reaching the end. 

“I wanna do this right,” Bucky says softly, gently tracing his nose against yours in a gesture so sweet it makes your throat tighten with emotion, “I wanna take you to dinner, maybe a walk in a park not crawling with agents, go to the movies, the works. You deserve someone who takes their time with you.” 

Bucky’s words are so sweet that you’re grateful your eyes are closed as the two of you sit with your foreheads pressed together. 

“Bucky you could ask me for anything and I’ll give it to you. We can take it as fast or slow as you want,” you say softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the apples of his cheeks that tighten as he smiles. 

“That’s supposed to be my line, Sweetheart. I’m tryna’ be a gentleman.” 

“Well you don’t need to try that hard, just be my Bucky.” 

At that, he pulls away with a grin. 

“Your Bucky?” He asks cheekily and your cheeks flush hot under his gaze. 

“Yeah,” you say, quietly but surely. 

Bucky’s eyes soften as he takes in your earnestness. 

“Okay Doll. As long as you’re mine too.” 

You smile, your sudden high having nothing to do with the joint that’s wearing off. 

“I think I always have been, since that first time you caught me up here.” you say and Bucky grins right back. 

“Yeah, I think so too.” 

With that, he swoops in for another kiss. The two of you giggling into each other's mouths as your joints burn out in the ash tray in front of you.