Archive of Our Own

“I’ll be there in ten. Wait inside with the boys, okay?” Knowing your boyfriend, he’s twice more likely to forget what you instructed when he called all those minutes ago considering how drunk he still sounds with that ‘baby’.

There’s a hiccup on the other side of the line, more indistinguishable laughter and conversation in the voice of his friends, and Bucky goes, “Kay,” sharp and decisive— you can see him nodding in compliance in that cute military way he sometimes does; “By the way, Steve said— hic— said you’re WHIPPED. For me,” he clarifies after the giggled ‘whipped’, and it comes out high-pitched, sounding a little incredulous of Steve’s accusation.

You roll your eyes, trying your best to pay attention to the traffic and what Bucky is saying. After turning on the right street, you answer. “I kinda am.” It’s the truth. MJ would laugh in your face for admitting to it, and the thought makes you smile. “I am picking you up at almost four in the morning on the other side of the town. I don’t drive all this for anyone, Barnes,” you tease. “MJ’s been my best friend for four years and my roommate for two and I still tell her to get the bus sometimes when she calls me asking for a ride.”

Bucky laughs. “I told her I was cuter than her,” he says.

“Smugness is an awful look on you, babe.” The GPS tells you that you’re two streets away, so you call Bucky’s name to get his attention. “I’m hanging up to find a spot and park and I'll find you. Mwah,” you kiss the air.

“Love youuuuu.”

Bucky’s tendency to become a Disney prince and start singing, it turns out, goes beyond just his morning shower or when he decides to cook dinner for a change.

When you’d met him in the Nanotechnology class your courses shared, you’d heard from Natasha he was a bit of a playboy. “Not too bad—he’s not a dick or anything, but with a face like that—can’t blame the dude.”

The rumors did nothing to phase you; judging people by whether they liked to have casual fun or not, fortunately, was something you never thought of.

Becoming one of the lucky ladies to get the attention of Bucky would be lucky, you had considered, and then the universe threw you the curveball when Bucky laid his eyes on you.

According to his own words and the imprinted memory of him seeing you a few roads away and halting the twirling of his pen— eyebrows raised, mouth falling slightly open, then slowly, very slowly because in the same way he froze, so did you, a smirk started forming in the corner of his mouth.

You were the one to break eye contact first.

What on earth possessed you to keep looking at him when he stared at you, you didn’t know.

Even without knowing, you thanked it whenever you could. Even if that meant navigating a sea of sweaty Chemical Engineering grad students at ungodly hours of the morning; hours you were gladly wasting away by binge-watching Love, Death, Robots with MJ.

With eyes like a hawk, you find Bucky in less than two minutes inside the pub.

Steve’s boisterous laughter helps, as well.

You nod hello to Luke when passing the bar — Cage had been the one to make Bucky phone you, and you had to thank the bartender before leaving — and walk straight to the table where Sam, Steve, Natasha, and Bucky are sitting.

Their faces are all flushed but to different degrees. Nat appears the least inebriated, and Bucky by far is the most.

Taking his stellar grades into account, he deserved even a couple more shots, in your opinion.

(Bucky’s report card had been immaculate. Few people knew this about the star playboy nerd of the Chem course, but Bucky Barnes was ridiculously intelligent.)

None of them notice you at first, but when Bucky’s eyes fall on you, the funniest thing happens.

“Woah. You’re pretty,” he blurts out, the words are slurred in person as they were over the phone. You grin at the compliment and watch as all eyes on the table turn to you, but before you can say anything, Bucky shakes his head to himself. “Sorry! My bad. Shouldn’t be talkin’ to pretty girls, ‘ve got a girlfriend. She’s a pretty—hic—the prettiest girl!” He’s too busy squinting his eyes at you to see Steve trying to hold his laughter behind his hand. “You look a lil’ like her. ‘s why I was like ‘... woah.’ You know?” He blinks a couple of times at you and then, before the whole table bursts into laughter, Bucky’s eyes widen and he exclaims happily. “Baby! It’s you!”

Unlike all of his friends who are doubling in laughter because of him, you manage to hide your mirth in just a smile.

Because of his passion for games and coding, Bucky’s sight took a hit in his teenage years and another thing few people know about your boyfriend is that he sees jack shit.

Well—not complete shit.

His glasses are not the thickest you’ve seen in your life, but his impairment definitely allows for happy mistakes such as this to happen. You know how foggy lenses can get when you’re piss drunk the way he is because the near-blindness is a common trait between you two.

“It’s me.” You wave a hand in everyone’s direction. “Who’s taking all of you troublemakers home?”

“I called Clint already,” Nat smiles at you, sheepishly thankful for the concern.

“Sarah said she’ll pick us up from the party she’s at,” Sam tells you, pointing between him and Steve. “She’s her friends’ designated driver anyway.”

Good. Everyone’s making it home and you don’t need to give anyone else a ride—that’s perfect.

A voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like Peter’s says ‘You’re such a hermit, Y/n’.

That may be true, but at least you’ve found someone who likes you exactly like that.

Bucky smiles besides Steve, looking at you with a gleam in his eyes that makes your stomach feel all sorts of funny things, then claps out of nowhere, snapping from his own trance. “Well! I’m out. Byeeeee, losers. M’girl is here, we’re goin’ hoome.”

Not trusting his motor skills abilities all that much, you step closer to the table. “Yeah—c’mon prince Barnes.”

Bucky stops his sluggish steps to make an adorable face at you. “You think I’m a prince?”

Sam laughs and taps Bucky’s side with his hand. “You’re the picture-perfect of a Disney prince, buddy. Sing your way home.”

He does.

When you turn on the radio, Bucky’s attention shifts from the story he was telling you of Nat and Sam’s performance during the beer pong game — which he won, and which also explains the drunken rambles you magically are able to understand — straight to the music.

Bucky looks at you and asks you to sing with him.

How could you not?

The way home is filled with whatever crap is at the top forties right now. Bucky knows all the lyrics and you don’t, but he sings them to you anyway.

It’s nice to hear his voice.

When he’s sober, Bucky claims not to know why people talk about his ‘singing’. If sober Bucky could meet his drunk version, he’d understand so many things.

Saying you dislike how silly he gets would be a lie; Bucky’s a touchy, funny, and flirty drunk.

He drapes himself over your back and wraps his arms around you like a bear. “Is MJ awake?” The way he says eemjeee makes you laugh, and you lose the keyhole a couple of times because he decides the door is an excellent place to start making out with your neck.

“She’s always awake. Girl’s a vampire,” you snort. The door opens and you pull Bucky inside by the hoodie, then close it while struggling to get away from his octopus hold taking over you again. “Bucky,” you whine.

His giggle feels like soft feathers on your neck. “Sorry. I’ll behave.”

“Liar.”

“I will!” The arms around your body loosen their hold and you miss their heat as soon as it’s gone. Bucky turns around, taking off his black baseball cap. “I’mma drink water.”

“Great idea.” Water on him means sobering him up and fewer chances of Bucky throwing up on your room’s trash. Some things are better not repeated.

While Bucky hydrates, you go knock on MJ’s door to interrupt her gaming and let her know you two are back, and gain a thumbs up as a response.

You find him already in your room, slipping out of his clothes clumsily, a glass of water on your nightstand.

“Come ‘ere.” Bucky smiles at you with his head stuck in his t-shirt and you walk closer to help him out of his clothes. “Did you have fun tonight?”

His naked skin is flushed, and they only highlight to you the beautiful color of his eyes. “Soooo much.” From the sleepy way he smiles, Bucky’s ten minutes away from blinking into unconsciousness. “Stevie said our bet’s nerdy. And that we’re nerds.”

Pulling his jeans and his socks, you snort with amusement. “We are, baby.”

Bucky lies back completely, and points at you with a smug grin. “You more.”

There’s no point in denying it, so you only shrug again. “You’re the one who decided to date the nerd from the Aerospace course.” You hand Bucky his sleeping t-shirt and after he (clumsily) puts it on, he pulls you by the back of your knees to lay on his lap. Bucky’s smiling at you, and you recall what he was telling you before leaving for drinks earlier that day. “Did Nat and Clint solve their issues?”

His eyes are closed from your fingers running through his face, so he only nods and hums. Eager puppy, you think. “They never get upset at each other for more than a day,” he tells you after a few moments.

“That’s a good sign.” Couples who left minor stones linger between them usually ended up with too many little things to bother them. Movement underneath you calls your attention to Bucky again, and he’s making grabby hands behind your back to the glass of water. Faking his voice, you sass. “‘Baby, can you please get it to me,” you lean back to get him the cup, and he flashes you a smile as thank you.

Bucky starts telling you all about Luke’s competition while he downs his glass of water like a good boy, and you listen with interest, laughing at the detours his brain sometimes takes and how muffled his voice still gets.

By the time he’s done with the water, he’s done with the story and almost falling asleep with you on his lap.

You pull him by the arm to lie on the bed with you and his muscle memory kicks in— Bucky wraps his legs between yours and pulls you close by the waist, burying his face on your neck.

Before you picked him up, the TV and the energy drinks kept you wide awake.

Bucky brings you peace.

It’s like twilight— a magical moment between bright and awake, then dark and quiet.

Bucky rubs his fingers on your back absently, still whispering to you questions about how your own night went. Even though he will remember only bits and pieces, you answer him.

Going out is not really your scene; when you met him, Bucky and his group tried dragging you to their bars and beer pongs, but over time, he noticed how much you truly enjoyed your alone time.

You knew Bucky Barnes was in love with you when, willingly and without you even asking, he ditched one of the biggest parties on campus with Steve and Nat in favor of playing video games and watching TV with you, MJ, Peter and Clint.

When you think he’s drifted to unconsciousness, Bucky places the softest kiss on your neck. “Missed you tonight.”

It’s a simple statement—he misses you often, and verbalizes it whenever it happens.

It still flutters your insides and brings a dopey smile to your sleeping face.

Kissing back what part of him you can reach, you answer. “We have tomorrow.”

There’s the vibration of a hum on your skin, and you feel his lips opening in a smile. “We’re free from morning classes.”

God, he’s adorable. “We are, baby.” Bucky studies hard; his dedication to school comes from both his passion as well as his desire to provide for his mother and sisters in the near future, and you know how much he deserved this celebration. You two did good. “Love you, James.”

Bucky lets you win in almost everything—video games, football matches, he even gives you the last slices of pizza.

The one thing he never gives up on having the upper hand is this. Like clockwork, he answers. “Love you more, Y/n.”

If two years ago someone told you that deep and peaceful sleep would only come in the arms of someone, you’d have rolled your eyes, perhaps scoffed and gave a sassy reply back.

Then again— you were yet to be embraced by him.

It's time to go, take it nice and slow
Tiptoe to the bedroom, lookin' at me like when it's cold
You gon' keep me warm
All I wanna do is spend my time with you
Even when the learning's done and nothing's new

When you were young, your grandparents always told you that there was such a thing as a ‘special match’.

The concept was lost on you for a long time.

In your teenage years, skepticism took you over and you’d swear up and down that love, actually, was a waste of time.

There was no plausible explanation in your mind as to why someone would decide to spend the rest of their days by just one person’s side.

Relationships all around you deteriorated and, every time that happened, every time the upstairs neighbors fought loud enough for the entire building to hear or you saw couples in the grocery store aisles having scream-whispered arguments over cereal or kale, you recoiled.

It seemed… too much.

Too forced for all the trouble.

When you got into University, while all your friends embarked in on-and-off relationships which resulted in either heartbreak or just horrible stories, your time was given to your insanely thick textbooks and your friends.

Even they teased you relentlessly for it, or tried setting you up on dates without you noticing every now and then.

None of it mattered.

The reason why relationships seemed so feeble and unnecessary to you was one only, and when Bucky waltzed in Nanotech I, he turned it into dust within a week.

The reason was that things, more often than not, felt forced.

Nothing with Bucky felt forced.

Bucky came in as a breath of fresh air and, even through the difficult moments, complicated confessions and overwhelming weeks, you two worked it out like a well-oiled machine.

With bumps, and stops. Through tears, sometimes, if it meant you stumbled upon past traumas and darkness— regardless of what came into your life so far, the important part was, you two faced it together and made it work.

That meant picking up drunk boyfriends on end of terms, it meant being picked up when you were drunk with MJ in the middle of Central Park in cosplay, or having him find you drenched like a duckling in your apartment laundry area.

Bucky’s hurried steps can be heard over the loud, clunking sounds of the breaking washing-machine.

When he finally gets a view of the scene in front of him, Bucky’s laughter escapes between his bitten lips.

You scream. “IT HATES ME!”

Laughing hard enough to double his body with it, Bucky runs through the soaked floor and finally finds a way to turn off the bumping and spinning sounds that the broken thing was emitting.

There’s soap and water all over the floor and since you tried turning the machine off by the plug on the back, there’s water all over you too.

You’re aware you look like you forgot your umbrella right before a horrible storm and when Bucky turns around to get a look at you, he’s right back at laughing, slapping his knees and leaning back against the machine.

You stand in front of him looking like an angry and wet chicken while he lets it all out, and when he’s finally done, he takes a couple more steps to you and pulls you into his arms without caring if he’s gonna get wet or not.

“Baby,” he mutters in your ear, still giggling. He presses a kiss under your ear and you whine, hiding your face on his chest. “I told you to call me when you do laundry, Y/n.”

Huffing, you wrap your arms around his waist. You hate feeling useless and asking for help is not your strongest suit. “I finished cleaning the place with MJ and I didn’t wanna wait for you to come back,” you whisper with a pout. “I thought I had it.”

Bucky had taught you the ‘tricks’ for how he made that stupid old thing function without causing absolute chaos but, unlike what you’d thought, you hadn’t learned them.

“I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but I don’t think you had a choice.” With a theatrical voice, he leans down a little to be in the same eye-level as you and whispers. “That thing is sentient, Y/n. It hates you, babe. Remember when you tried using another one? They’re all in this, together.”

The petulant child inside of you still wants to be mad to be drenched and defeated by a stupid appliance, but his words summon a smile against your will.

Bucky clearly picks up on it. “I shouldn’t even be seen with you if you want it to answer to me,” he continues, dramatizing it. “Why don’t you go upstairs and I’ll do the laundry?”

The pout comes back, and you drop your entire weight on his chest again. There’s a muffled ‘umph’ when your face gets buried on his hoodie. “You don’t separate your laundry.”

Bucky laughs. “I’ll separate yours.”

You’ve seen Bucky Barnes doing his own laundry before. Not trusting him, you lean your head back and narrow his eyes at him. “White, colors, delicates and jeans?”

Bucky smiles fondly down at you, runs one his hands over your face, taking the wet strands of hair away from your forehead and eyes. “Yes. I’ll do ‘em all, promise.”

The offer makes you pout harder, feeling overwhelmed.

Blame the accumulated stress of a semester, the physical labor you did all day and then becoming Stuart Little, but Bucky’s attentive care makes you want to try.

He sees your trembling lips and his expression does an 180 turn, from fond to worried. “What’s wrong?”

Going up on your tiptoes, you smack his lips. “You’re great,” you sniffle. Bucky holds your face between his hands and kisses your lips again, slower this time. “I’m all wet,” you whine.

He looks down with a sympathetic look. “I know, baby.” After one more peck, he whispers. “Go shower. Order food. I’ll be up when these monsters are under control and doing their job, okay?”

You giggle at the dramatic way he says the last part, and nod.

Bucky’s good with machines so you’re not worried about his day ending in tragedy like yours did. You leave him after a couple more kisses and go upstairs for a shower.

MJ and Peter are passing by the living room when you enter the apartment still dripping and the rest of your bad mood dissipates when your ridiculous state is enough to bring the couple to tears with laughter.

It drains the rest of the broodiness out of you, but you still cry a little bit in the shower.

The reason?

Your boyfriend is a few floors under you, doing your laundry.

It may be a ridiculous thought to others, but when you’re alone under the stream of the water, all you can suddenly think about is your grandmother talking about the special match.

“What’s a special match, nana?”

“Hmmm, you really wanna know, bug?”

“Yeah!”

“Well… you asked why your mama and your papa scream so much at each other, and this is a secret, so I shouldn’t be telling you, but… they’re not a special match. They’ve… your mama and papa decided to be together for a lot of reasons, but they knew they had a lot of differences. And all those differences are the reason why they fight, bubba. It’s not about you, okay?”

“If they’re so different why did they decide to be together, nana?”

“‘Cause grown ups insist on doing the wrong thing sometimes, lovebug. Because they’re stubborn, or proud, or they’re scared to look for the right thing. Finding the right thing takes time, and it means you have to be alone for a while, and some people don’t like being alone.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause they never learned who they are, and what they like, and what they love, so they don’t enjoy their own companies, baby. And that’s sad. That’s why Nana tells you to learn what you like without others, you see?”

“Yeah… and… you and grandpa are a special match?”

“Oh, yes. See— sometimes, if you’re patient, you find a match out there that’s special. There’s more than one ‘cause there are so many people in this world, but very few of them are special. Wanna know why?”

“Why, nana?”

“‘Cause they vibrate in the same frequency as you, lovebug. A frequency is your energy inside and around you, see? And it changes depending on who you are, what you like, what you do, it depends on a lot of different things. And… if you meet a person who has a frequency that’s almost the same as yours… there’s fewer reasons to fight. Even if you two enjoy little of the same things, or if you see things a different way… they’ll always be able to see and hear you better. They want to understand you. They accompany you, side by side, and that’s when you have all these years together, like me and grandpa. It can get hard, and sad, and very complicated sometimes, but I know that with your grandpa by my side, I can get through all of it easier.”

The conversation replays in a loop in your head.

That’s how Bucky finds you— sitting in the kitchen counter with the phone in your hands, your knees pulled up against your chest and your mind miles away.

There’s a wet patch on his hoodie in the middle of his chest, but other than that, he’s golden.

A little flushed and hair in disarray, but that’s a great look on him either way.

“Hey.” He walks to the fridge and opens it, grabbing a bottle of water. “What did you order?”

Is he it? Is Bucky your special match? Looking at him, all the words she said make a lot of sense to you. “Chinese.”

He looks back with a smile. “My favorite.” I know, you think. “Thanks, love.”

It’s the least you could do for him. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

When you think of how to ask him the question, Bucky stops drinking his water in favor of observing you with sharper eyes. He walks closer until he’s standing right in front of you. “Are we… d’you think we’re good together?”

The question comes out in a whisper, and by the raise of his eyebrows, it gets his attention.

Putting the bottle by your side, Bucky crowds your body between his arms, placing both hands on each side of your waist by the counter. “I’d say ‘silly Y/n’ and give you a kiss, but I can see that’s a serious question?” The way he phrases it sounds like a question too, so you nod. Bucky hums.

Unlike you, Bucky’s had a few relationships in the past. Maybe that’s why your grandmother’s words are ringing in your ear and why you’re scared you feel them— what if you’re the only one to?

He gets your attention by poking your thigh, and Bucky’s eyes on you are as serious as they were when he told you he loved you for the first time.

They’re darker when he’s being serious—the blue of his eyes are a direct window for whatever the weather is inside the head of a Barnes.

(You’d met Becca— it was a shared trait.)

“I think…” Bucky’s eyes are roaming your face, from your eyes to your lips, and one of his hands goes up; the tip of his finger starts tracing lines on your face, but you resist the urge to close your eyes because seeing him is more important than anything right now. “Remember when I told you I love you?”

Sometimes you do that.

Both of you, actually— saying what the other is thinking became a running joke among your group. The telepathic couple, they called you when it happened.

Nodding, the corner of your lips lift in a smile. “Vividly.”

“Good.” He nods seriously, and closes the distance between his waist and the counter. Bucky pulls your legs down with his other hand and they fall naturally, wrapping around his waist. “‘Cause that was the first time I meant those words,” he tells you. “I’ve said them before but… I didn’t know what they mean.” Bucky licks his lips, completely unaware of the hurricane he’s started in you. “But I definitely do now,” he chuckles. “You know—at the pub last week, Steve was making fun of me ‘cause according to him, he thought I’d be the guy that would only really learn what being in love’s really like when I’m in my forties or somethin’, but— well. Here we are,” he laughs again, and so do you. “He said he was happy, though, ‘cause that means he gets to see me making up songs about my person and embarrassing myself for many more years,” he concludes, pressing a kiss on your smiling lips.

My person.

Bucky says it simply, without a trace of fear.

He’s come a long way from the shy boy who hardly ever admitted he wanted to spend more time with you because he wanted to ‘look cool’.

A piece of that speech stays flashing in your mind like a neon sign. “Many more years?” You ask in a whisper, and there it is.

Bucky stops for a second and, noticing where your mind is, smiles even wider.

“Yeah.” He nods with confidence, and the hurricane takes you from Texas to the land of Oz in a blink. Guess we are home now, Toto. “You think you're getting rid of me any time soon, babe?” Bucky scoffs out loud, and you laugh at his joke. “Please. My girl’s gonna be an astronaut engineer. I can’t fucking wait to be a stay at home partner who works every now and then while my babe makes six figures a year.”

That teasing renders you to loud laughter.

Ever since the first date, Bucky’s loved talking about how your career path was much more interesting than his and as soon as you two officially started dating, you’ve watched him brag to others about your big brain and how much he adored you for it.

“I see what this is,” you say between giggles. “You’re just with me to live your fantasy of going to Mars through me.”

Bucky stops laughing to give you an offended look. “To Mars?!” He shrieks. “Babe, are you insane?” He grabs your laughing face between his hands and says with fake desperation. “Y/n if you go to Mars I will literally die. Oh my god, are you kidding me?! Do I get a vote in this?”

He continues his antics for a while; matter-of-factly, Bucky’s still daydreaming about scenarios where he’s abandoned when Peter and MJ join you for dinner.

The jokes only get more and more out of control, and he’s almost faked tears before all the take-out is eaten.

You, MJ and Peter almost choke on your food a couple of times, too busy laughing at his crazy goofiness.

When you catch MJ’s eyes across the table at some point, the look she gives you makes you answer your own question.

That’s special match material, right there— singing and dancing “Hungry Eyes” in the middle of the living room.

You, know you're really different, baby
You, you might be the main thing, baby

Although it’s rare, sometimes you go for drinks too.

Not exactly ‘go’ as ‘have multiple drinks with MJ while you two play several games in only one night’, but the idea is still the same.

Game Night, officially, is a thing between you two, but it’s often crashed in by your friends and, occasionally, boyfriends.

You’re swimming in happiness that weekend.

It’s officially summer, your internship has been evaluated and accepted and, the cherry on the cake— Bucky had asked you to go to his town for a few days with him to meet his parents.

While you knew his sisters, parents were still a threshold you two were yet to cross and when he nervously approached you a couple of days ago, you’d barely contained yourself from attacking him in kisses and love when he’d extended the invitation to you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now, but I didn’t know how and I didn’t wanna do it during exams ‘cause, you know— didn’t wanna put pressure on you while there’s already pressure, but my mom called last night demanding an answer, so. Here I am.”

This Game Night, Bucky had come to your place after boxing practice with Clint and Nat, and sat there watching everyone play.

That was the kind of chaos you lived for.

At a certain point, the neighbors from downstairs came knocking on your door to let you know it was too much and Bucky played the friendly host who would definitely make the kids tone it down.

What he did was make piña coladas with Peter and turn the video games into a marathon of Rick and Morty so all the drunk minds could gather around and diminish the havoc.

It worked wonderfully, but it also meant two couples snuggling together until they were each in their own worlds.

Sometime after 3am, Peter bids everyone goodnight and carries a sleeping MJ to her room.

You turn to Bucky, smiling through the foggy vision. “Hiii, babe.”

He smiles down at you and tucks your body closer to his. “Hi.” He kisses the top of your head. “Wanna go to your room?”

Bucky Barnes and your room, all in the same place? Count you in.

In wobbly feet you get up, grab him by his clothes and drag him as well as the rest of the piña colada jar to your room.

You and Bucky were always great at keeping the party up between you two, anyway.

You hook a horror movie that was on the watch list on your computer, serve the rest of the drinks and sit by his side, throwing your legs over his.

Watching horror movies is one of your favorite couples activities.

The fun you two have watching people go berserk and be absolute idiots is the best. “What’s he doing?!” Bucky asks the screen, the straw of his glass still inside his mouth. “Oh, he’s so gonna die.”

As it’s tradition, you start placing your bets. “I give him… ten minutes.”

Bucky taps the screen on his phone to check the hour, then looks back at the screen where the character is breathing loud enough to be heard in any room of the house. “Too much,” he sips his drink and looks at you with a challenging glance. “He’s got… seven.”

“Deal.”

You two lean forward to seal the bet in a kiss, and go back to watching the movie with eager eyes.

The first bet is yours, but Bucky’s soberer than you and takes the next three.

“That was stupid,” you laugh at one of the characters.

“You’d never do that to me, right?” He asks.

You give him an incredulous look.

“I’m just confirming!” He raises both hands in defense. “I know you’re smart but some people seem to lose all functioning brain cells when shit happens.”

You scoff. “Yeah, no shit.” You poke him with your foot. “Watcha do when there’s a noise in your place and Steve ain’t around?”

Bucky hums. “I’ve got Alpine,” he winces. “When you’ve got a cat, blame always falls on them.”

That was true. “Kay… what if Alpine is lying in bed with you?”

Bucky licks his lips and absently pulls the straw between them, taking the last sip of his drink. “Well— First, silence. Right? Gotta see if it repeats.”

“Bam bam!” You slap his thigh, and he laughs at you. “It happened again.”

You know that laughter of his—that’s the ‘my girlfriend is being adorable’ laughter, but you’re too drunk to care about the fond way he’s smiling at you.

“That’s the noise? Bam bam?” He mimics, and smiles when you nod. He puts both of your cups on the nightstand, humming in thought. “Alpine is with me. There’s a bam bam sound…” He turns to you with what’s supposed to be a scary look, but only makes your skin grow hot. “I’ve got a butcher knife behind my nightstand for a reason, babe.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. That was new information. “You’ve got a knife behind your nightstand?”

He nods, oddly pleased with himself. “Sure do.”

“And you do what with it?” You ask, suddenly very curious.

Bucky laughs again before answering. “Nothing for starters, but I get it and wait for the next sound.”

“BAM BAM!”

Bucky bursts out laughing with your next slaps, and then pulls you by the legs, placing his body weight on top of yours.

With him lying on top of you and his face closer to yours, it’s harder to care about the destiny of the supposed intruder.

The movie’s forgotten, and Bucky’s lips are pink and pretty. When he speaks again, you’d almost forgotten about the scenario, too busy staring at him. “Knife in hand, I stay quiet.” He ducks his head and hides it in your neck, and the next part comes whispering on your neck. “I’m waiting for them behind my door…”

His words trail off, and you notice that your investment moved entirely with just a position change from him.

Now you’re not inspecting Bucky's moves— you just want him to keep talking.

“Bam bam?” It comes out in a breathless whisper, and Bucky starts giggling.

He pulls his head back to look at you, and fixing his gaze on you, Bucky creates a static in the air.

Suddenly, you’re it. The intruder, or at least, his enemy.

His prey.

Bucky’s looking down at you like he’d do it—like he’d attack you, pin you against the door, eat you alive.

The static is stronger than the earth after lightning. Bucky’s lips inch closer to yours deliberately slowly and you can feel the hairs on your arms lifting in goosebumps.

The cold late night breeze drifting through your window makes you want to become even smaller so you can fit entirely in his arms. With lips inches away from yours, Bucky whispers. “You should see how I can handle a knife.”

That’s so fucking hot.

Well—that’s new.

You never pegged yourself as one of those people who would find it hot when you see someone showing off their dangers, like people who enjoy others with guns, but the idea of Bucky flipping a knife flips your insides out.

You whine on the back of your throat and he chuckles in response. “See?” He whispers, ghosting his lips against yours. “I can be dangerous.”

Bucky is a nerd. He’s gentle, and he’s a great brother, a great student, a marvelous lover.

If there’s one word you’d never relate to him it would be that one: dangerous.

Still, for a moment, you believe him.

Maybe he can be dangerous given the situation, just like you.

“So am I,” you whisper back to him.

You’re not. You’re a nerd too, and you’re not that good a sibling, but you’re a great daughter and if his praises are anything to go by, you’re a good girlfriend too.

But if there was an intruder in this apartment, or if the world ended in zombies, or if someone dared thinking they could hurt him— you could be.

The number of people you consider your people is small. Something else taught to you by grandma was the importance of differencing a colleague, a friend, an acquaintance and your people. Your closest friends, your family, the ones you chose to have and hold for good.

In this apartment alone, there are two people for whom you would become dangerous.

On top of you, Bucky licks his lips and nods his head. “Yeah.” He gets it. You see it in his eyes, you vibrate at the same frequency. “My dangerous baby.”

My person.

Bucky’s lips close the distance and capture yours in a soft and innocent kiss, which turns not so soft and not so innocent in under a minute.

He tastes of pineapples, rum and Bucky.

It’s your favorite taste in the world, and if you had it, you’d drown in it.

You drown in it.

Like magnets, your bodies move together, wrap around each other like octopuses and the kiss deepens. Bucky’s hand holding your head opens your mouth even wider at some point and the way he sucks on your tongue drives you insane.

His tongue’s ability to render you speechless, to make a mess out of you and to melt you into a puddle of nothing but willing and pliant limbs could never be mastered.

Could never be studied.

Bucky hums delighted when he feels you whining, but you know what’s coming before it gets there.

The kisses being slowed down are the first sign, but you don’t complain.

It’s hard to think about complaining when Bucky’s kissing you like he’d rather do that than anything else. Or when he pulls back and looks at you with swollen lips, a dreamy smile and the eyes of someone who’s looking at their favorite painting.

Bucky kisses your lips multiple other times, and kisses your face too, and his smile is reflected in your face when he stops pouring his love on you for the time being.

“You drank a lot today, miss,” he says, and there it is, you think.

Bucky wants you to shower, or to eat something, or to wait until tomorrow before you two can continue this delicious exchange he started.

You pout your lips at him, but all you get is a bigger smile in response.

What you want is to flip him around, straddle him, ride him until morning.

Bucky always looks lovely under the early morning sunlight. He’s tanned from practicing outside with Nat and Clint, but it’s the eyes and the smile that do you in.

“Shower.” The word reads like a command, and Bucky hums in surprise at your disposition so late at night.

He knows you to the dot— knows how much you like your sleep, and how easily you fall asleep after all that alcohol.

You lean up to press another kiss on his lips. “Wanna show you something really cool,” you tell him, kissing him again.

Bucky raises his eyebrows in curiosity, then leaps out of the bed, eager. “Well, let’s go!”

It makes you laugh. “You look like an NYU cheerleader.”

Bucky props his hand on his waist and lifts the other arm. “Gimme a C!” He wiggles his hips. “Gimme a dou-ble-O!” He spins. “Gimme an L.” He pretends to wiggle pom poms. “Gimmeeeeee something really cool!”

Your boyfriend is a dork. It’s only your luck—half of your time with him is spent either laughing or smiling and that’s when you know, your grandma is always right.

Maybe it’s the experience or the years, but she knew exactly what she was talking about when she said that the frequency mattered.

There are numerous differences between you and Bucky.

He’s sloppy enough to drive you mad sometimes, he’s an expert in postponing and a much bigger social body than you can dream of being.

But none of those matter.

When Bucky’s washing your hair while humming Disney songs, or waking up before you and cooking you breakfast, or just looking at you.

Outside of your shower, Ariana is singing about a person who is ‘really different baby, you might be the main thing baby’ and all you can think about is yeah, Ariana.

He might be the main thing.

He is.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Bucky rinses the conditioner out of your hair, and pulls you closer.

I’m thinking about how you might be it for me. Knowing your boyfriend, hearing that in a 4am shower might give him a heart attack. “Would ya face off a demon for me like that idiot in the movie?”

Bucky starts laughing, then he turns around and wiggles his head to you in permission for you to wash his hair now. “Sure would.” He looks back at you over his shoulder. “Would ya hold a snake for me?” He smirks.

You shudder with your whole body, but— well. “If it was a matter of life and death, sure.”

He turns back to the front with a smile. “Good. Don’t tell my parents when you meet them ‘cause I’ve got a reputation to keep as their cool child, but it’s good that we’re both in for a ride and die, you know? I always wanted my person to be someone dope enough that I think ‘wow, we could definitely live through a zombie apocalypse’.” Bucky turns his head around to glance over his shoulders again, and you put your hand protectively over his eyes so the shampoo doesn’t blind him. “We’ve got apocalyptic changes, babe.”

My person.

The ‘might’ in your previous assessment loses strength with each passing day by his side.

Ariana sings ‘All I wanna do is spend my time with you’, and you say, “We definitely do.” Leaning up, you kiss his pink cheek, feeling the love inside you metamorphosing into something even bigger. “I got your six, baby.”

“And I got yours.” Bucky smiles at you, and when he tilts his head back to rinse the shampoo, he’s singing under his breath. “Always pull up when I call you, call you. Yeah, you never keep me waitin', waitin'. Got me trippin', I adore you. I adore you, boy, oh baby.”

Your special match — or main thing, you realize with a chuckle — has a beautiful voice.

It matches all the rest. All of Bucky is beautiful.