“I’m a fashion major and I’m working on my illustrations and maybe I’ve had too much coffee but I swear I just saw one of the mannequins move so here I am calling you in the middle of the night please help I’m scared” AU. 2nd person with bucky barnes (MCU) please and thank u x
“Bucky, I’m not fucking around.” Your voice is hushed, drawing out the ‘y’. You’re trying not to jostle your leg too hard, make too much noise, but it’s hard. The caffeine hit you hard and, at four in the morning, you’re about two seconds away from either dropping dead of fear or of exhaustion. “I’m terrified out of my goddamn mind- I swear one of em just moved.”
“I...” Exhaustion is clearly evident in his voice too, and, for a fleeting second, you wonder if it’s because you woke him up, or because he just never went to sleep. You’d almost bet on the latter. “Ok, so...” You can hear his palm drag across his face, like he’s trying to push something awake into his features. “What... What would you want me to do, then? Punch each one of them to be safe? Steve... Steve’s closer to your studio, you want me to get him to tag along?”
He sounds vaguely amused, or annoyed, or some combination thereof. He mostly sounds a bit relieved, which is something you can’t fathom why. “I dunno if it’s the caffeine, or hell I don’t know Ultron? I’m always afraid I’ll brush one of these things off and, like, five minutes later it turns out I got the first taste of the Chitauri invasion.” You sigh, pinching your nose and trying to steady out your breathing. “I’d just feel a lot safer if someone was in the apartment with me.” Your voice takes on a pleading note. “Really, Buck, I’m losing it here.”
He lets out a long, sustained breath. “Alright, see you soon.” And the line goes dead on the other end. With somewhat shaky hands, you set your phone down on the table, picking your pencil back up. You try to pen out the decorative flower on the mannequin farthest from where you’re sitting on the couch, but you’re shaky and tense.
Really, your shoulders don’t drop from your ears and your heart rate doesn’t settle until you hear the spare key in the lock. Bucky comes in, tired and uncoordinated, bumping into dangling lights and, just as startled by them as they were jostled by him, darts his right hand out to make sure they don’t swing to far.
He leans over the back of the couch, looking down at you, then across to the room of fashion mannequins. “So, which one do I-” He interrupts with a yawn, then covers it with one hand, as if he were faced with a real enemy to fight. “Which one was it?”
“One to the right.” You peep, your finger pointing accusatorially at it. Dutifully, he swaggers up to it, glaring menacingly, and stays that way for about a minute. After that, he cocks his head in your direction, as if saying, ‘Is that enough?’. You feel bad for asking him to do this, but he is a comfort. “Yeah, that’s... that’s enough, Buck.” You feel like a dumb kid who told their parent their was a monster in the closet, only for them to have the doors thrown wide, revealing hung clothes.
“’You feel any safer?” And he says it like he means it, like it means something that you called him here to check for Boogeymen.
“Yeah... Yeah, really, thank you.” You get up on wobbly legs (somewhat numb from you sitting cross-legged for so long) to throw your arms over his shoulders, your head bent slightly to his chest. “You’re the best.”
“It’s nothing, really.” He turns around, blinking somewhat blearily at you. “Mind if I stay?” Bucky doesn’t give any reasoning, but he looks genuine, so you shrug, pat at the couch. He shuffles over and drops his deadweight beside you, pulling the cushion downwards under his weight and pulling you closer to him by proxy. Casually, “Wake me up if any of the other ones move.”
