Inspired By Taylor Swift Series

Is This The End Of All The Endings? (Marvel)

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part of The Grumpy x Sunshine Series

"I need friends that aren't insomniacs," Sam sleepily groans, his forearm thrown over his eyes to block out the warm glow of string lights hanging on the rooftop. "It's 2AM, guys."

"No one's stopping you from going to bed," you remind him, a little too eager to be left alone with Bucky.

"FOMO. FOMO is stopping me."

"Don't. Don't ask. Don't ask. It's not worth it," Bucky whispers to himself. Then he sighs in defeat, the curiosity beating his need for a quiet night, "Alright, Sam, I'll bite. What's FOMO?"

"The fear of missing out. Duh," Sam states matter of factly.

"That's not a thing."

"It it a thing. Google it," Sam challenges.

"No shit," Bucky mutters, seeing the first page of Google results that corroborate Sam's words. "Why do you guys need an acronym for everything? And better question, what do you think you're missing out on?"

"Fine," Sam huffs. "I'm caving. Congratulations, you two get the gold medal for insomnia."

"And I'll wear that title with pride," you chuckle, sarcastically bowing as Sam stands up off the couch. "Goodnight, Sam."

"Good night," he grumbles, halfheartedly waving as you turn back around to face the streets below you.

"Night," Bucky mumbles, still seated in one of the rooftop patio chairs.

"I'm watching you," Sam mouths, two of his fingers flickering between himself and Bucky.

Bucky rolls his eyes at the insinuation, but he can't help but feel a little too giddy to be left alone with you. It was a distantly familiar feeling, something so simple, so pristine and untainted by the ugliness that awaited the two of you off of this rooftop. Yet, he'd never felt anything quite as complicated, so vivid and kaleidoscopic.

Needless to say, he was confused.

This was confusing.

He felt like he was harboring a little schoolboy crush as he stood off of his seat, slowly inching his way toward the banister you were overlooking.

"Doll, you want another or you done?" he asks, nudging his head to the plastic cup in your hand.

"Doll?" you question with a wry grin and a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry. Old habits-"

"I like it," you interrupt, taking a little too much delight in the way the endearment fell so easily off his lips.

He doesn't say anything else, shrouded in comfortable silence, you both look off the balcony down to the sleeping city.

He can't remember the last time he was this aware of another person's proximity. He's so aware of how close you are. How your hand is resting on the balcony so close to his that he can almost feel the warmth radiating off of it.

He has to remind himself: he's perfectly fine, he's good on his own. He made up his mind, he's better off being alone.

"Aren't you tired?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"This is probably our last night like this," you state, your voice thick with a mix of sad nostalgia and a longing for things to stay the same. That was the purpose of this rooftop night, your trio enjoying pizza and drinking beer out of plastic cups on what was one of your last nights in your shared apartment with Sam before you left to live on the Compound. It should've been an exciting change of pace, but lately this, the nights spent laughing with Sam and Bucky and moments you'd spend forever holding onto as your most prized possession - seemed liked everything you'd ever wanted. "I intend to enjoy every minute of it."

"You don't know that," Bucky offers. "Besides, the Compound is better, right?"

"No," you definitively shake your head. "I like it here. Just the three of us. Just me and you."

"I'm surprised, I would've thought you'd jump at the chance. Bigger space, more people, more missions. All things you love."

"But missions aren't what important, right?"

He chuckles softly. "So you do listen to me."

"I think my priorities are changing," you vaguely offer.

"Good," he hums.

And like you were the most precious of secrets he was somehow tasked with keeping safe, he wants things to stay the same. He wants this night to be infinite, for the outside never to seep in, but he knows it will. So he takes a cue from you and he enjoys the moment for what it is.

He looks down at the rough banister, at your hand resting on it as you watch the quiet night pass you by. He incrementally moves his hand closer to yours, so slow that it's almost imperceptible.

Or at least he hopes he's not being totally obvious.

He keeps looking out at the cars passing by on the street below, still moving his hand until he can feel the heat from your warm hand so close to his.

Sticking to the schoolboy crush feeling, he sticks out his little finger, just barely grazing your hand.

You don't look at Bucky for fear of scaring him off, instead you take your own little finger and interlock it with his.

After a few quiet moments, with slow, languid movements you turn your palm up so Bucky's hand fully rests on yours. He doesn't move a muscle until he feels your fingers intertwine with his. He reciprocates the movement and gently but firmly interlocks his fingers with yours.

He doesn't look back at you, but he's certain you can see his blushing, borderline beaming grin growing on his face.

And all at once, his broken bones are mending.

All at once, this is enough.