A/N

This was a request by hazeleyedroleplayer! Hope you like it, sweetie!

Lots of love,

Winnie

Words: 4.3K

Warning: language

"Hey, have you seen my socks?"

You roll your eyes and pause the TV program you've been invested in for the past hour. "You gotta be a bit more specific, idiot. You have, like, a hundred pairs of socks."

Your brother grunts from the living room doorway. "No, I don't. I have less than ten—and they're all the same. Gold toes, remember?"

"No, I don't remember. Or I wouldn't be asking." You turn to face Sam who stands behind. He's dressed in nice slacks and a button down shirt despite the late hour. "Where the hell are you going looking nice like that?"

Sam scoffs. "None of your business, kiddo."

"Well, since this is my house and you're living under my roof, I'd say it's plenty of my business." You click your tongue and turn back towards the TV. "I'm in charge here."

"Since when?!"

"Since you moved in last month, asshole! You pay rent to me—that makes me in charge."

"I'm still older than you." Sam crosses his arms over his chest as he walks into your frame of sight.

"Only by two years. That's hardly something to boast about." You grunt as his wide frame blocks your view of the TV. "Will you please just get out of here? I'm trying to watch this."

"After you tell me what you did with my socks, Y/N." Sam huffs.

"They're probably in the laundry room." You wave him away impatiently with the back of a hand. Only after you think he's gone do you mutter, "Fuckin' idiot," under your breath.

"I FUCKING HEARD THAT!" Sam shouts from upstairs.

"I don't care." You grin to yourself as you resume the show from before. You only get fifteen minutes further into the program before Sam's pestering you again. He's got shoes and socks on now. He's struggling on tying the bowtie of his jacket ensemble, though.

"Oh come here, idiot." You wave your older brother closer. Even after all these years of wearing suits, Sam can never manage to tie his own ties. "I'll help." That's why you had to teach yourself how to do it. If not for you, he would've worn t-shirts to both of his high school proms.

"Thanks," Sam breathes out a relieved sigh. He comes farther into the room and settles next to you on the comfy couch.

"A girl?" you question. He smells of too much cologne and has recently shaved. That can only mean one thing: a date.

"Yep."

"Ah. What's her name?" Your tongue sticks out of your mouth just slightly as you finish the complicated knot.

"Monique."

"Pretty," you reply. You pat the lad on the shoulder once you're done. "Alright. Now get out of here. I wanna watch the rest of my show in peace."

Sam hops to his feet. "You sure I look okay?" He smothers down his sleeves self-consciously.

You can't help but grin slightly. "You look good, idiot."

"Good, good." Sam sniffles slightly. "I, uh, guess I'll text you when I'm on my way home?"

"Don't bother. I'm not gonna be waitin' up for you or nothing. I'll just go to bed early tonight."

"You're not going out?" Sam starts in. "It's Friday."

"I don't 'go out', Sammy. I'm fine just staying here for the night." You pull your legs up to your chest and gesture him towards the door. "Have fun with Monica though."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Monique."

"Right, right." You smirk a bit while he follows the carpeted path towards the front door. "Bye!"

"See ya, kiddo!"

The door clicks shut and you're almost sure you hear the lock enabled from the outside. Leave it to Sam to be paranoid about leaving you—a functioning, working adult woman—home alone for a few hours. You shake your head and stifle a laugh as you reach for the remote once more. The show resumes and you grab a handful of popcorn to accompany the jazzy TV show tunes that play over the dramatic scenes.

It's not fifteen minutes later that you're once again interrupted. The show, which you've been watching on live cable television, suddenly goes static. You grumble and groan before smacking the remote on the couch a few times (as if that'll help the situation). The screen goes fuzzy and the words being said by your favorite characters are nothing but gibberish.

"Goddammit," you mutter unhappily. You have half a right mind to call the cable company to bitch and complain, but then you remember that the TV did this just last month when a bird built his nest on your satellite.

Well, it's as good of a plan as any to go up and check it out.

So you quickly throw on a jacket and head upstairs. After jamming your feet into a pair of old slippers you ascend the staircase up past the bedrooms. The attic has a window that opens up onto the roof where the satellite has a home. You have to use the flash of your phone camera in order to see out into the dark. Opening the window latch and popping your head outside, you find nothing. Not at first anyway. It's only a moment before you hear a soft noise that makes you sigh tiredly.

"I swear to god, if I turn around and find Bucky Barnes sitting on my fucking roof, I'm going to throw a fit," you speak aloud.

There's only silence and crickets for a moment. And then:

"You probably shouldn't turn around then."

Your body swivels 180 degrees in one way to peer to the other side. Sitting there, looking rather pretty in the moonlight, is Bucky Barnes.

"Why the hell are you on my roof?!" Exasperatedly you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Waiting for Sam to leave," Bucky explains as if it's the simplest idea in the world. He blinks repeatedly before smiling in the moonlight.

"Why?"

Bucky lets out a long sigh. He slides closer to the window on his knees until he's nose-length away from your face. "You know why, doll."

You bite your lip—forcing yourself to stay strong and not look down at his puckered, pretty mouth.

"I thought we decided to take a break," you whisper into the night. God, why does he smell so good?

"We did. But... it's been a few days. I'm tired of the break."

You roll your eyes. "I thought," you begin to rephrase, "That we decided to take a break until we figured out how to tell Sam."

"You see," Bucky gently pressures you out of the windowpane and lets himself inside. He drops to his feet beside you before smiling at you cheekily. "I think we should just let him figure it out himself. Show up to the compound one day for work and find us cuddled up on the couch."

You glare at him crossly. "You know that'd be a disaster."

Bucky chuckles a bit. "Sure—but it'd be fun to watch." He gently moves you out of his way as he goes to shut the window. "It's cold. Can't have you catching a chill now, can we?"

He cares about you so much, it's distracting. You shake your head to bring yourself back to the point: not daydreaming about his chivalrous manners. "You shouldn't be here, Buck."

"Why not? I used to come here all the time," Bucky banters lightly. You feel his metal fingers toying with the end of your sweater.

"That was before Sammy moved in," you sigh. Dejectedly, even though you want it there, you push Bucky's hand away. "There's no way we could hide anything from him now."

Bucky shakes his head softly—long chestnut locks swaying side to side over his shoulders. He grabs your hands and moves them to wrap around the back of his neck. "I'm not really so sure we should be hiding anything."

"I... I could lose my job," you remind him quietly as his mouth comes closer. You work in the compound, too, and as PR manager you're strictly forbidden from dating any of the superheroes.

Bucky's tender smile almost convinces you to give in. "I won't let 'em fire you, doll." His voice is so soft and sincere... no one's heard it like this before. Not since what happened with Hydra. The only person who gets to see this side of Bucky is you. And damn, that makes you the luckiest woman alive.

"You could lose your other arm," you say. "Sammy would have no problem chopping it off."

"I'd let him," Bucky chuckles into the curtains of your hair. His lips pucker until they brush against your earlobe—making you shiver. "As long as I get to keep you."

"Jesus Christ," you grumble in annoyance. You pull him back by the shoulders and glare. "You're impossible to resist, you know that?"

Bucky's smirk is anything but innocent. "I've got no idea what you're talking about, baby doll."

Bucky Barnes is notorious for doing this—this "thing". It's this thing where he wants to kiss you and he gets this devilishly handsome, lovable, and absolutely enamoring look on his face. His eyes light up all pretty and bright blue and his dimples pop out on either side of his peachy pink pout. And then he just looks at you—head cocked slightly to the side like a lost puppy—and doesn't say a word. But you can see it in his eyes. Those pearly white teeth dart out to softly gnaw on his bottom lip as if he can hardly stand the anticipation. And before long the combination drives you mad and you're the one kissing him. You've gotta stand on your tippy toes to reach his mouth and usually end up yanking his face closer by the crook of his jaw. It's a lot of effort, but goddamn it's always worth it.

It's what happens right now in your dusty, musty attic.

It's been a few days since you talked, let alone kissed. So this... this feels very nice. The man is addicted to eating peppermint candies. His breath always tastes like Christmas. His hands are so warm and rough when they latch out onto your hips and draw your body closer.

"Wait," Bucky breathes into your mouth. You can already feel his lips pulling back into a teasing smirk. "I thought you wanted a break, sunshine?"

"Fuck you," you giggle lightly. Swatting his arm makes him laugh and he embraces you tighter. "Maybe I changed my mind, too."

Suddenly Bucky becomes very serious. He holds you by the chin, keeping your faces square, and looks you right in the eyes. "Good," he whispers quietly. "Because you're the only thing in my life that matters. Without you, nothing has any meaning. I'm meant to love you—that's the end of it."

One of those effortless, blushing smiles tugs at your lip. "You really mean that?" you whisper in reply. It's been about sixteen months that you've known Bucky—seven of which have been romantic. In all that time though he's never told you that he loved you. Until tonight.

Bucky nods softly. "Yeah, I do."

"Good. Because I'm pretty sure I've been in love with you forever now," you say.

Bucky scoffs, "I said it first—I get the credit."

"You're such a weirdo, Barnes." You laugh as your lips brush together before another meaningful kiss. Pulling apart, you question, "No more secrets?"

"No more secrets," Bucky repeats in a hopeful chant. His eyes twinkle as he pulls you back towards the attic ladder by both hands. "It's you and me, doll, and whoever doesn't like that can go fuck themselves."

"Well, you better put Sammy's name on the top of that list."

Bucky laughs as he slides down the ladder. He holds out both arms and helps you down. You don't even have to put your foot on a single step. Bucky lowers you beside him before locking up the attic door. "Followed by Tony."

"I doubt Steve will be too happy about it," you add.

"Why? Steve loves you," Bucky looks adorably confused as he asks.

You can only laugh. "Because you know he's going to hate the fact that we kept it a secret. He's going to take it so personal..." You walk the familiar path towards your bedroom and listen as Bucky's footsteps follow.

"Ah, yes. That's very Steve-like." Bucky makes himself at home as he walks into your room. He tosses his shoes near yours in a pile and then takes off his coat. It's easy to tell he's been here a few times... or maybe a few dozen.

"So it's decided then? We're going to tell them?" You plop down onto your bed and bounce a bit.

Bucky joins you—sitting up straight and grabbing your hand. "I think I like the showing versus telling plan better..."

"We can't just walk around attached at the hip and not expect any questions, dumbass."

Bucky raises a brow. "Wow—I've forgotten just how sassy you are in these last three days we've been apart." He plinks your nose with the tip of one of his metal fingers.

"Oh, like you could ever forget." You roll your eyes and Bucky chuckles goodheartedly.

"You're right, you're right." There's a mischievous grin growing on his face. "But have you forgotten what happens when you call me mean names?"

Your eyes widen dramatically. "Babe, no..." You slowly start to inch away from him on the bed. "I really don't want you to..."

"What, Y/N? You don't want me to tickle you?" Bucky flips around until you're within his reach—yanking you closer by your hips while you squeal. Then he locks you down under his heavy hips with his metal hand holding both of your wrists up by your head.

"Please! Please don't!" You're already a giggling, wheezing mess. Every squirming motion you make though only lifts your shirt higher on your belly, and the flash of skin makes Bucky ultra-impatient to get his hands on you.

"I dunno, darlin'. You've been pretty feisty the last few days... winkin' at me in the halls, posting sexy little pictures on Instagram..."

"It was a summer throw back!" you try to defend yourself, but it's no use. Bucky's got that playfully dangerous gleam in his eyes that can only be quenched by one thing: messing with you.

"It was a picture of you in that tiny little yellow bikini—teasin' me when I couldn't have you." Bucky's fingers, without any warning, dart along your waist. You squeal and try to kick him off but to no avail. He's the Winter Soldier, for Christ sake, he's too strong to knock off: especially when he's so hell-bent in following through with an attack.

"Okay! Okay! I surrender! I'm sorry! Sorry!" Breathlessly you try to put up the little white flag of defeat. Bucky stops, knowing when to pause the game to let you breathe, and rolls off of you sideways. You make pathetic attempts to catch your breath while he laughs at your wild, frizzy hair that holds the untamed effects of wrestling around the static sheets. Curls hang down in front of your eyes and you have to huff a puff of air to blow them away in order to see. Bucky cackles harder. After he's done laughing he just sits back and stares at you for quite some time. Long enough to make you sit up and say, "What? Do I have something on my face?"

Bucky chuckles quietly. "Nope. Just admiring you." He nudges your leg with his bare foot. "You're pretty perfect, you know that?"

"Of course I do. That's why I'm dating you. Perfection should come in pairs." You smile as you push up to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Now, it's getting late and I've got things to do tomorrow. You staying over?"

"Hell yeah I'm staying over."

"Alright," you chuckle. "Your toothbrush is in the drawer and you've got a pair of boxers in my linens somewhere." Bucky hops up from the bed to follow your commands. "You're not getting any tonight, you hear me Sargent?"

"Yeah, yeah. I hear ya," Bucky calls over his shoulder on his way to the bathroom. "Just sleeping."

"Exactly." You smile to yourself as you catch a glimpse of his shadow searching around for his toothbrush. It used to sit on your counter, but since nosy Sammy moved in you decided to hide it away from easily prying eyes.

"Where's that dumb brother of yours anyhow?"

"A date," you reply. You swing your legs onto the floor and start readying for bed yourself. "Probably won't be back tonight, I'm assuming anyway. He always texts me on his way home, and we won't have to worry about seeing him till tomorrow afternoon at the earliest."

"And you wanna talk to him then?"

"Sure."

It seems as though you've forgotten a few very important things. One: you told Sam not to text you. And two... he said he'd be home tonight.

"Alright, doll." Bucky finishes brushing his teeth just as you come in to join him. "Those are cute jammies. Where'd you get those?" He tugs a bit on the string of your pink sleeping shorts with his metal digits.

"Target, I think. Why? You want to get a matching pair?" you joke.

"Sure, I look great in pink."

"I'm sure you do, honey." You shake your head and reach for the floss.

Bucky heads back to your room where he strips down to new boxers and a clean pair of socks (funnily enough, he's stolen them from Sam's room). Bucky adorably runs his fingers through his knotted hair as he flops down onto his preferred side of the bed and waits for you to join him. The lamp stays on as you climb under the sheets.

"What time is it?" you ask aloud.

"Eleven," he replies.

"That early? God, we're such old people." You snuggle up into the fluffy pillows despite yourself.

Bucky chuckles--brushing away a bit of the hair that hangs low in your face. "Well, you are dating a senior citizen."

"At least you're cute, Gramps."

Bucky's head tilts back to the ceiling as he guffaws at that one. After he's settled down he shimmies up next to you under the comforter. He watches you for a moment, silently, before saying, "I really have missed you these last couple days."

A smile spreads across your face. "I missed you too."

He props himself up on an arm. "Tell me everything I've missed."

"Missed? Like, in my life?"

"Yeah! Anything exciting?"

You blink dryly. "It's been three days, Buck. Nothing's happened."

"Okay, fine. Tell me anything at all." He looks desperate to hear you talk. He loves your voice and your stories more than anything in the world. "You go to the store? Get anything fun in the mail? Buy new shoes?"

"Easy cowboy," you chuckle and pat his thigh, "I'll come up with something to tell you." After pondering it for a moment you do: finding a story that's come from the last few days that isn't work related (because he's usually in the same room for those ones, or at least in the same building). You tell him about the dog you saw at the park and the cute old lady who pestered you in the grocery store when she needed help finding cheese. That leads you two to talking about random other things until finally it's nearly a quarter to two in the morning and you've done nothing but blabber.

"Oh jeez, it's getting late," you mutter. "So much for sleeping."

"I didn't feel like sleeping anyway," Bucky reveals with a shrug. He pulls back the covers and before you can question him he says, "I'm going downstairs to get some water. You want some?"

"Yes please," you reply with a smile. Bucky nods, leaning over to give you a kiss, before waltzing out of the bedroom. While he's gone you pick up your phone and start to scroll through apps: Instagram and the likes, before hearing something loud crash downstairs. Curious, you pull back the covers. It's not like Bucky to be a clutz.

"Bucky?" you call as you walk out of the room in your thin PJs. "Everything okay, babe?"

"BABE?"

Oh no.

That is NOT Bucky's voice.

You stop dead in your tracks at the top of the stairs. For there, standing in the kitchen with a wooden back scratcher in his hand as a weapon, is your stupid older brother Sam. He's standing in opposition to your boyfriend Bucky who is drenched in water, head to toe, and rubbing the back of his head as if he's just been whacked.

"BABE? DID YOU JUST CALL HIM BABE?" Sam screams again.

"Uh," you can't think of anything useful to say.

"I walk in here and find you WANDERING AROUND IN YOUR GODDAMN UNDERWEAR, WEARING MY FUCKING SOCKS, AND THEN I HEAR MY BABY SISTER CALL YOU BABE?!" Sam directs his screaming now at Bucky, who seems to shrivel down a size as Sam keeps steaming with rage.

"Just-- just calm down, Sammy," you try to intervene. Slowly you walk down the stairs to your brother's side.

"Calm... calm down?! You want me to calm down?! No, no, no, no, no, Y/N. No. No, I am not going to CALM DOWN." Sam chucks the wooden rod in Bucky's direction. Of course Bucky has enough skill to get out of it's way and escape unscathed, but he stands and lets it smack him in the bare chest, perhaps hoping to feed some of Sam's anger away or out of pity for his friend.

"We were going to tell you tomorrow..."

"Tell me?! Tell me what?! That one of my best friends has been fucking my sister?!" Sam squeals.

You grab him by the shoulder, trying not to scream back. "Sammy, no. It's so much more than that..."

"More than fucking!? GREAT!" He throws his hands dramatically into the air.

"No! Sam, I love him." You stare into your brother's big brown eyes that look like yours and hope that he calms down enough to hear the words coming out of your mouth. "We're dating, Sammy. We've been together a while now and... well, I'm really happy."

"You're..." Sam stops himself cold. He closes his eyes, takes a collecting breath, and unclenches his fists. "You're happy with this grouchy old punk? With the rusty arm and bad breath?"

"Bad breath?" Bucky repeats with a frown of confusion.

Sam holds out a warning finger. "Do not TEST ME right now, man."

You move your arm up his hand to put the pointed finger away. "It's okay, Sammy. You heard me right. I'm happy, he's happy-- everyone is happy."

"I don't feel too happy right now, Y/N, I don't know if you can tell. I just walked in here seeing this..."

"This is my house, after all Sammy. I know you might not like the idea of this but I'm a grown woman who makes her own grown ass decisions and being in love with Bucky Barnes is one of them. The best of them, actually. So I need you to calm down and stop glaring at him like he killed your favorite puppy and just get over it."

Sam stares down at you as if you've just birthed the next Messiah: with wonder and confusion. Bucky, meanwhile, looks as if he's falling in love with you all over again after that level-headed speech.

Sam holds up both hands. "Alright. Alright. I'm done. I'm over it."

"Good." You smile and pat his rigid shoulder. "I knew you'd be okay with it in the end."

"Well, I don't love the idea. Really making me feel weird inside." He scratches the back of his neck and sighs. "But I'm just trying not to think about it too much. I just..." He glances at the fridge. "I need a beer." He moves past you for the handle.

"And we need to go back upstairs," you try to diffuse the situation once and for all. "We're going to sleep now. You got the waters, Bucky?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Uh, Sam threw them both on me so..."

"I thought you were an intruder, ya damn fool. Walking around here in your tighty whities and my motherfuckin' socks..." Sam mumbles. He grabs two more cups out of the cupboard and passes them to Bucky. "Here. Take the damn water." Bucky reaches for it but Sam quickly adds, "And if I walk by that room tonight and hear anything other than snoring, I'm gonna march right in there and whoop your ass so hard you'll think you're back in 1932."

Bucky bites down on the inside of his cheek, because he has to fight a smile when he hears that playful tone coming back to Sam's voice. Maybe he's not so angry after all...

"And I will kill you if you ever piss me off. You hear?"

Okay, that didn't sound so sweet. But what can be expected from a big brother other than life threats to boyfriends?

"I hear you, man," is Bucky's reply. He takes the waters and turns back towards you. "You ready?"

"I'm so exhausted, let's go." You grab a water and one of his hands and look back over your shoulder to your brother just as he takes a big gulp of amber colored beer. "I love you, Sammy."

He holds the drink up towards the ceiling in a cheer. "Yeah, yeah. You too, you too..." he shakes his head in disbelief as you leave the room, but can't help but let a SLIVER of a small, small smile try to appear on one side of his mouth. Because just then, as you'd turned away, he caught sight of you looking back up into Bucky Barnes' ugly-ass face. You both smiled all lovey-dovey like and even in his shock, disgust, and confusion he has to admit that it was genuine shine he saw in both pairs of eyes.

Then, he hears you giggling. Gathering up he stomps towards the stairs. "HEY! THAT DON'T SOUND LIKE SNORING, YOU DUMB KIDS!"

Maybe he is okay with it, but he sure as hell isn't gonna let either of you know it. What's the fun in that?