"Hungry eyes..."💍

The way his eyebrow ticked up told you he’d heard that a thousand times before. From Steve, probably. From you. He pushed off the door frame, closing the distance in three easy strides. Before you could protest, he plucked the plate from your hand and set it down with deliberate care.

Then he scooped you up.

“Bucky!” Your squeak bounced off the walls as your feet left the floor, a small giggle falling from your lips.

His arm hooked under your knees, the other bracing your back like you weighed nothing. He didn’t even glance down, just held you snug to his chest as he turned toward the hall. “Nope. Not today.”

You wriggled, indignant. “I said I’m—”

“Fine, yeah, I know. You sound just like Steve did right before I had to drag him outta alleys or haul him home half-dead.” His voice was dry, but his grip on you was firm, protective. “Newsflash, sweetheart: I can spot someone runnin’ on fumes a mile away. And you’re swayin’ like you’re on a damn boat.”

You dropped your forehead against his shoulder with a groan. His chest shook with a quiet laugh.

He nudged the bedroom door open with his foot and crossed to the bed, laying you down with more care than he showed in the picking-up part. He pulled the blanket up to your chin and crouched so he was eye level, pinning you with that sharp, almost scolding look.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice lower now, softer. “You don’t gotta keep pushin’ just to prove somethin’. Not with me here. You hear me?”

Something in your chest loosened at that, and you finally let yourself sink into the pillow.

“That’s better,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. His lips pressed against your forehead, warm and lingering. When he straightened, it was only to grab the glass of water waiting on the nightstand. He held it out, metal hand steady as steel when your hands trembled. “Drink.”

You obeyed without thinking. He watched until the glass was empty, then set it aside and toed off his boots. The bed dipped under his weight as he stretched out on top of the blanket beside you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyelids already heavy.

“Stayin’ right here. Keepin’ you in line,” he said, reaching into the drawer of the nightstand. He pulled out a battered paperback, cracked the spine with one hand, and flicked his gaze to you. “Don’t argue.”

You sighed, sinking deeper. “I wasn’t—”

“Mmhm.” He smirked, already reading.

His voice was low and steady, each word curling around you like a thread, weaving you into something safe and warm. The sound of it tugged at memories you didn’t have — him reading to a half-conscious Steve, maybe, his best friend stubborn and sick and pretending he wasn’t all with a pout of defeat curling his lips.

You shifted, gravitating toward the warmth of him. Without missing a beat, he slid his flesh hand under the blanket, found yours, and laced his fingers through. His thumb rubbed lazy circles over your knuckles.

Your eyes fluttered shut. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

“Thanks.”

His reading paused. For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of his breath. Then he bent, pressing his lips to your temple.

“Always,” he murmured.