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enchantedbarnes · 1 month ago

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Shelter | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky comes home late from a storm with groceries, a guilt complex, and a kitten in his jacket.

MCU Timeline Placement: Thunderbolts*

Master List: Find my other stuff here!

Warnings: soft!bucky, domestic slice of life, i think this is the first thing i've written with really no warnings...?

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Note: wrote this during a two-night insomnia spiral after the angst of last week’s fic and now i’m emotionally compromised over bucky barnes giving a stray kitten a bath. this is my take on alpine's origin story and now i desperately wish i wasn't allergic to cats. please enjoy responsibly!

It had started, as many things did with Bucky, at the wrong time.

He’d been a congressional candidate when you’d first met him. Not a suit-and-tie politician yet, not exactly, but something adjacent.

Clean-cut. Presentable. Quiet when it counted. He wasn’t running as a party puppet or some legacy hopeful. He was running because he wanted something better, because after years of being used for violence, he was finally trying to serve without it.

The country didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t smile much in public, but he didn’t glower anymore either. He was rebuilding, piece by piece, one press conference at a time.

You had been the one running comms on your agency’s side, doing speechwriting and strategic messaging for a firm that helped the government communicate with actual humans, which often meant explaining terrifying alien technology to people who still got nervous around smart TVs.

You still remembered when Bucky Barnes had landed in your inbox like a bureaucratic migraine. You were told he was your assigned contact for anything Avengers/Hydra/SHIELD-adjacent while his campaign navigated upcoming Senate hearings and public appearances.

He’d been late to your first meeting. Showed up in a worn black jacket, coffee in one hand, and no smile in sight. You’d been annoyed, mostly because he didn’t seem to care that you were annoyed.

But over the next six months, something shifted. He started responding to emails with punctuation. He stopped dodging your questions in hearings. And the first time he made you laugh, it had been so unexpected that you’d spit La Croix across the table.

You never did have a proper first date. You just kept working late in the same office, kept ordering the same takeout on Thursday nights, kept bickering about phrasing until he finally kissed you outside your building, rain streaking down his face and a bag of leftover Thai still tucked under his arm.

That had been nearly three years ago.

Now, you lived together in a third-floor walkup with squeaky floors and a permanently crooked light fixture in the hallway. The apartment was quiet, mostly. Except for when Bucky was home and decided to reorganize the cabinets, or practice with a blade in the living room, or randomly pull you into a dance while your hands were still wet from dishes.

You still worked in communications, mostly from home these days. Bucky had gone back to fieldwork. The new Avengers weren’t really official, not yet and certainly not the way they’d once been, but the world hadn’t stopped needing saving.

He came home when he could. He was different, then. Still quieter than most people, but warmer too.

He made you tea when you didn’t ask. He always remembered what side of the bed was yours, even after being gone for months. His bag never hit the floor before he kissed you hello. He restocked your favorite snacks without saying a word, picked up your prescriptions before you realized they were low. He did laundry without fanfare, folded your sweaters the way you liked, always left the bathroom light on when you were working late.

It wasn’t often he was home for more than five days in a row. But, he was home now. For two weeks. A rare gap in the chaos. He’d been home three days already, half-settled into his old routines, half-restless in a way he didn’t know how to sit still with.

You’d let him be. Gave him space in the mornings, let him sneak off to the corner bodega for his favorite cinnamon rolls, let him pretend he wasn’t tracking every single news alert like it was a countdown clock to his next departure.

He’d gone out earlier that afternoon. Said something vague about errands. A few groceries. Picking up that sharpening oil he liked for his knives. He’d kissed you on the top of the head, muttered something about not needing to be long.

You were still barefoot in the kitchen when the storm started. Rain hit the windows like fists. Thunder cracked hard enough to make your cabinet doors tremble, and somewhere down the hallway, a neighbor’s dog had been barking for fifteen minutes straight.

You weren’t the worrying type. Couldn’t be, really, not when you knew that Bucky was a literal super soldier, and now an Avenger. He was trained for danger. Built for it. He could break a man’s ribs with one hand and still carry groceries in the other. He was good. He was solid. He always came back.

You’d texted him twice, but neither got a reply. You told yourself it was fine. Probably bad reception, maybe he was on the subway. It wasn’t like him to go dark. But it also wasn’t like him to be reckless.

You didn’t check your phone again, even though it buzzed once with useless notifications.

You hadn’t even realized you were staring at the door until it opened.

It wasn’t the slam of it that startled you, it was the cold. A sharp rush of wind and water swept in like a wave, and then came Bucky.

The jacket he wore was soaked straight through, water dripping from the hem like he’d walked through a waterfall. His hair clung to his cheek and temple, strands matted flat. He kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot and didn’t speak for a moment, just stood there, staring at you, a breath snagged somewhere behind his ribs.

“Jesus,” you said, stepping forward instinctively, “you look like you got hit by the storm itself.”

“I did,” he muttered, but there was a tilt to his voice, something softer than sarcasm. “Got caught downtown. You know how it is.”

He moved slowly, peeling the coat off his shoulders. Not like he was in pain, just tired. Or maybe cautious.

You reached for one of the grocery bags slung around his wrist. “You were gone forever. I was about to call Yelena and make sure you didn’t get kidnapped again.”

“I tried to text,” Bucky said, and you looked up just in time to catch the way his mouth twitched, barely restrained. “Signal got bad near Midtown. Couldn’t get out until the rain let up.”

You arched a brow. “That was an hour ago.”

“…I took a detour.”

You froze at the same time he did. That shift in the air, like both of you knew he wasn’t just stalling for time. You had known Bucky long enough to know when he was being suspicious.

Your eyes dropped. The coat he’d just taken off and was holding in his arms… moved.

Just a twitch. Barely visible. But there, nestled inside the inner lining near the shoulder, something squirmed. And then came the unmistakable sound: a small, high-pitched mewl.

Your heart stuttered.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you said slowly, eyebrows lifting as you took a step closer. “What is that?”

Bucky’s hand came up like he was caught red-handed, which, to be fair, he absolutely was. His hair was still dripping, shirt sticking to his chest, and his left arm was tense where he held it slightly away from the jacket bundle at his chest. Not like he was trying to hide it. More like he was trying to soothe whatever small thing it held.

“Okay,” he said carefully, “before you yell at me—”

“I’m not gonna yell,” you cut in, hovering close now, trying to peer past the flap of the jacket as whatever tiny thing inside made another sound. “I just—what the hell is that?”

Bucky sighed and shuffled his jacket carefully, letting the soaked fabric fall open just enough for a flash of white to appear. Small, trembling, with wide, cautious eyes and the kind of dirty fluff that suggested the animal hadn’t known comfort a day in her life.

It was a kitten. Nestled against the lining of Bucky’s jacket, curled in the crook of his metal arm, tiny paws still damp and clinging to the edge of his shirt like she’d decided she wasn’t letting go any time soon.

Bucky exhaled like a man surrendering a classified document. “She was in the alley behind the store,” he said, softer now. “Hiding under a pallet. Nearly got flattened by a truck trying to follow me. I wasn’t just gonna leave her.”

Your lips parted, eyes flicking between him and the kitten curled in his jacket. “And you… put her in your coat?”

“It was raining,” he said, as if that explained everything. “She was cold. Alone. Crying. And soaked. I didn’t have a choice.”

You blinked, slowly, like you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. He’d never exactly been a cat person. Sure, he loved animals. Bucky talked to horses like they were old war buddies, made friends with every stray dog in a five-block radius, but he’d always side-eyed cats like they were planning something.

You weren’t sure what surprised you more: the fact that he’d stopped, or the fact that he’d carried her home like she was already his.

“So you smuggled a stray kitten home?”

“She’s tiny,” he said, more defensive than he probably meant to sound. “And you said last month we should think about adopting something. For company. While I’m gone.”

You frowned instinctively. There it was again, that guilt. That tug behind his words. You’d said it offhandedly one night, curled up on the couch with your legs in his lap and a blanket half-forgotten on the floor, some old documentary flickering across the screen.

You didn’t mean it like a dig. But Bucky had a habit of hearing everything like it was his responsibility to fix. Like if he wasn’t home, he should find a way to leave part of himself behind.

You let out a breath, not quite a laugh, but a chuckle nonetheless. “So you found a kitten and immediately decided she was our problem.”

You looked at him, really looked, and it hit you just how soaked he was. The fabric clung to him in dark, heavy folds. There was rain on his lashes. Mud on his boots. But there was also something else. Something flickering at the edge of his expression, just behind the gruffness and the self-deprecation. A kind of tenderness he never quite knew what to do with, especially when it came this fast and this unscripted.

You stepped closer. “You didn’t even get her a carrier?”

“I—” He scratched the back of his neck. “I panicked. She was shivering and I didn’t want to waste time. I figured—look, I’ll go out tomorrow, get the proper stuff. Litter box. Toys. Whatever else cats need. But for now, I thought maybe…”

The kitten mewed again, pushing her head against the inner lining of his coat. Her ears were too big for her head. She looked ridiculous. Her eyes were clear and alert, blinking up at you like she already knew the hierarchy of this home and was happy to sit right at the top of it.

You felt something soft curl in your chest and gave in with a quiet sigh.

You didn’t realize you’d started smiling until Bucky looked up at you again, half-defensive and wholly hopeful, like he wasn’t sure yet if this was going to land him in trouble or in your good graces.

His damp hair had started to curl more at the ends, stuck in a way that was almost boyish. Rainwater was still dripping off the tip of his nose, and there he stood—James Buchanan Barnes, once the most dangerous man in half the world—cradling a half-starved kitten in his jacket like it was a fragile secret.

You exhaled, relenting, as if you even really needed any more convincing. “She’s disgusting,” you muttered, brushing a knuckle gently beneath the kitten’s chin. “And she’s adorable.”

Bucky’s shoulders dropped the tiniest bit. “You’re not mad?”

“You’re lucky she’s cute.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, then jerked his chin toward the bathroom. “I was gonna get her cleaned up. She’s shivering.”

“Use the lavender soap,” you called as he turned toward the hall, his boots squelching softly with every step. “It’s gentle.”

“Which one’s that?”

“The one without a giant label that says ‘for men.’”

A low huff of laughter trailed behind him.

You stood there for a moment longer, watching the spot where he’d been. Then you glanced at the bags he’d dropped just inside the kitchen, one already sagging slightly and the bottom beginning to tear.

Of course he hadn’t brought an umbrella. Of course the eggs somehow made it back uncracked while your boyfriend was carrying contraband in his coat. Of course this was how a quiet Tuesday night turned into something else entirely.

You moved on instinct, unpacking the groceries like muscle memory. Cinnamon rolls from the bodega, two packs. The kind he liked, not the kind you usually got on sale. A small bottle of that weird sharpening oil he only ever found in specialty stores. A tiny rosemary plant that hadn’t been on any list, wrapped in paper and tied with twine.

The rest was practical: milk, bread, frozen dumplings, a few snacks you hadn’t asked for but would absolutely eat in bed later tonight.

You were halfway through stacking the pantry shelf when the sound of water came from the bathroom, first the faucet, and then continuous muffled yowls.

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered faintly through the wall. “You’ve got lungs, sweetheart.”

You smirked and shook your head, sliding the last box of cereal into place.

When you crossed the apartment again, the bathroom door had been left slightly ajar, steam curling through the crack like mist. You paused just outside, lifting your hand to knock, but didn’t. What you saw through the sliver of space made your breath catch instead.

Bucky was kneeling on the bath mat, shirtless now, a faded towel slung low on his hips, damp fabric clinging to the line of his back. His left arm—sleek, silver, curved with quiet strength—was cradling the kitten against his bare chest while the other hand gently dabbed a washcloth behind her ears.

The water had already been turned off. There was a shallow bowl beside him, half-full and tinted gray with grime. But the kitten looked cleaner now, still scruffy, still damp, but already blinking slower, her body lax in his hold.

A deep, shaky purr vibrated through her small frame, and Bucky was murmuring something low under his breath. Words meant only for her, quiet and steady, like she was the only one in the world who needed convincing that she was safe now.

Your fingers curled around the doorframe.

He didn’t notice you at first. He was too focused on the kitten’s tiny paws, the way her fur clumped together, the sharp angle of her ribs. He moved like he was afraid of hurting her, even though he could probably crush her without trying.

That was the thing about Bucky, he was always gentler than people gave him credit for. Not because he was soft, but because he remembered what it meant to be handled like a weapon. Because he’d spent years trying to teach his hands how not to break everything they touched.

You knocked softly. “Hey.”

He glanced up, eyes going a little wide like he hadn’t expected you so soon. “She’s a drama queen,” he said, shifting to show you the towel-bundled creature in his arms. “Screamed the whole time like I was trying to drown her. But she’s clean now.”

Bucky leaned back on his heels, bare skin still damp, hair curling from the steam, rain forgotten now in the warmth of the bathroom. He looked exhausted. And content. And something softer than either.

“C’mon,” you whispered. “She can nap on the couch. I’ll dry your hair.”

He didn’t argue. Just stood, slow and sure, the kitten swaddled in the towel against his chest like she belonged there.

You settled on the couch twenty minutes later, the storm still murmuring outside like it had nowhere better to be. The kitten had been dried, fed (thank god for emergency sardines), and was now passed out on Bucky’s chest, her whole body rising and falling with each breath he took. She hadn’t budged since he sat down. His hand moved in slow, unconscious patterns across her back, while his other arm stretched behind you on the cushions.

You’d towel-dried his hair, ruffling through it until it stopped sticking up. He hadn’t said a word, but the way his eyes fluttered shut when you massaged the back of his neck said enough.

Now, you were tucked under the same throw blanket, your knees brushing his, one of his thumbs lazily tracing circles over your ankle where it rested across his lap.

He looked tired. But not the bone-deep, haunted kind of tired he sometimes carried back from missions. This was different. This was the good kind. The kind you only earned after long days and full hearts. The kind that didn’t sting.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, half against his shoulder.

“Why?”

“You just... you go out for groceries and come back with a cat.”

He didn’t answer right away. His head tilted slightly, his gaze still fixed on the kitten. The light caught on the curve of his jaw, on the slight twitch of muscle there, like he was chewing something over, trying to decide how much to say.

When he spoke, it was quieter than before. “I kept thinking about what you said. About how it gets quiet when I’m gone.”

You shifted at that. Not because you were uncomfortable, but because you weren’t sure what to do with the way your chest ached.

“I know I can’t always be here,” he continued. “Not with the way things are. I’m not gonna pretend I’ve got control over any of that.” His thumb rubbed a slow circle over the kitten’s back, so gentle it was barely a movement. “But I hate the thought of you being here by yourself. Coming home to silence. Sleeping alone.”

Your hand settled on his ribs, fingers brushing over the edge of his T-shirt, grounding yourself in the rise and fall of him.

“And then I saw her,” he went on. “So small. Scared. Cold. And I thought—if she was here, maybe it wouldn’t feel so… empty.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he kept going, voice soft and steady now, like he needed to finish this before it slipped out of reach.

“I know she’s not me. And I know she won’t fix anything. But maybe she could be something warm that curls up next to you when I can’t. Maybe she could remind you that someone’s still coming back. That I’m still coming back.”

He looked at you then, really looked. And it hit you—not for the first time, but hard nonetheless—how deeply he felt everything. How much it cost him to admit it.

Your voice was quieter now, too. “She’s not a replacement, Buck.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “God, I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” He swallowed hard. “I’ve had so many years where everything I left behind got taken or lost or buried. And I don’t want that for you. I want you to have things that stay. Even when I can’t.”

You blinked, once. Then again. Something pressed up against your ribs, sharp and aching and whole.

“That’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you managed, your voice breaking right where it caught.

He exhaled, the tiniest smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation.”

You leaned up and kissed the edge of his jaw, slow and lingering. “You cried over a cat commercial last week.”

“It was well done,” he argued, muffled against your hair. “And the music was manipulative.”

You felt him laugh beneath you, low and warm, the kind of laugh that only came when he let himself sink fully into the now. His arms folded around you a moment later, carefully avoiding the kitten between you, like he’d found the exact shape of this moment and didn’t want to let go.

You smiled. Pressed your nose to his neck. “I love you.”

“I know.”

You bit his shoulder.

He laughed under his breath, then turned just enough to press a kiss to your hairline. His voice softened to something that almost wasn’t there. “I love you too.”

The kitten sneezed in her sleep. You both paused.

“Bless you,” Bucky whispered, like the smallest things deserved reverence.

Your fingers traced idle shapes across his forearm where it rested behind your back. The kitten shifted in her sleep, let out the softest little sigh, and curled deeper into the towel that had become her makeshift cradle.

“What do you want to name her?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked slowly, eyes still on her, then turned just slightly to glance at you. “She’s yours,” he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question.

You tilted your head, brushing your nose gently along his jaw. “I think she already picked her person.”

He gave a small huff of agreement, his mouth tugging to one side, sheepish and slow. He didn’t argue.

You looked down at the tiny, warm ball of fur curled over the dip of his sternum. She had one ear flicked back, twitching every so often like she was dreaming. Maybe of damp alleys. Maybe of blankets. Maybe of safety.

“Lucky?” he offered quietly. “Because she didn’t get flattened?”

You made a face against his collarbone. “She’s not a lottery ticket.”

He huffed. “Okay. Uh. Snowball?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Marshmallow.”

You snorted. “She’s not a snack cake, Bucky.”

“Fine,” he muttered, but his lips were twitching. He glanced down again, brow furrowed just slightly, like he was squinting at her soul. “She’s white. She’s fast. She’s stubborn. Climbed up my chest like a mountain. What about… Alpine?”

You turned your head, blinking up at him.

The word hung in the air a second longer than the others had. Like it settled there, quietly, before sinking into the space between you.

“…Alpine,” you repeated.

He glanced down. “Too dramatic?”

“No,” you said slowly, like you were trying the shape of it in your mouth. “It’s perfect.”

Bucky smiled. Not a grin, not a smirk. Just that rare, honest smile that came when he wasn’t trying to hold anything back.

“Hi, Alpine,” he said softly, like it was a secret meant just for her. “Welcome home.”

And somehow, in the middle of a Tuesday night, with a kitten snoring on his chest, your legs tangled beneath a hand-stitched quilt, and the storm starting to roll away into the distance, it all made perfect, quiet sense.

Home didn’t ask to be planned.

Sometimes it just walked through the door in a soaked jacket, trembling and wild, and curled up in the space between two people who’d been building it without even knowing.

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enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

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We Keep Running Into Each Other

Summary : Bucky falls in love with a struggling journalist, but neither of them were ready for a relationship… until now.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Journalist!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Friends with benefits to Lovers. Suggestive content. Cursing. Little bit of angst, Hurt/Comfort, domestic!Bucky, TFATWS-Bucky Congressman!Bucky, bit of fluff!!!!

Word count : 16.8k

Note : This story starts around TFATWS and ends right before Thunderbolts. Enjoy!

The bookstore was quiet now. Most of the book club people had filtered out after an hour or so offering their usual waves and lukewarm opinions on the week’s pick. Tonight, it was The Bell Jar. Heavy, emotional, a little too on-the-nose for your current mental state. You stayed behind, your pen hovering over the last page as you pretended to reread a passage you’ve memorised three times already. In reality, you’re avoiding the blinking cursor on the empty Word document waiting on your laptop at home. Another missed pitch. Another editor ‘passing for now.’

“You’re not a fan,” said a voice from across the room.

You looked up to see James Buchanan Barnes, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been watching you for longer than you’re comfortable admitting. The sleeves of his hoodie were pushed up just enough to reveal a hint of metal. You already knew it’s vibranium— you already knew a lot of things about him, but it was different seeing it up close, like it doesn’t belong to a man who once jumped out of planes and shattered skulls with his bare hands. “Not a fan of what?” you asked, raising a brow.

“The book.” He pushed off the doorframe. “You’ve been stuck on the same page for ten minutes. You look like you’re trying to pick a fight with Sylvia Plath.”

You snorted. “Maybe I am.”

He smirked, folding his arms. “She’d probably win.”

“She’d definitely win,” you say with a grin, snapping the book closed and tossing it on the table. “Depressed girls with typewriters are dangerous.”

You’d know, you were one. Still, Bucky watched you like he’s trying to see what parts of you are real, and what you’re faking.

You held his stare, refusing to shrink under it, and told him your name, because you might as well right?

He nodded. “I’m Bucky.”

You smiled faintly. “I know.”

His eyes narrowed for a second—but it wasn’t hostile. You shoved your stuff into your bag. “I don’t mean like that. It’s just—” You shrugged. “I’m a journalist. Or I try to be. Comes with, you know… obsessively knowing things.”

He tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “You do profiles?”

“Sometimes.” You hesitated. “Lately it’s more… copywriting for blogs that publish people’s hot takes on ethical non-monogamy and pistachio milk brands.”

That made him smile. Not much— just a brief lift at the corner of his mouth, but it counted, right?

“So,” he said, “what’s a smartass doing in a book club like this?”

You grinned. “Research.”

“For?”

“Human behavior,” you said casually. “Actually, you’d be a good topic to write about. You’d make a great tragic anti-hero. Real brooding appeal. It’d get clicks.”

He stepped closer now, helping you up from your seat. “You always this charming?”

“Only when I’m avoiding work.”

“How’s that going?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Silence stretched for a second too long. Then, he asked, “Are you free?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “There’s a bar a few blocks over. Good whiskey, if that’s your thing. Got crappy lighting”

You stared at him, at the scars barely hidden beneath his collar. The twitch in his jaw when you looked too long. You felt the heat building behind your chest—not quite attraction, not yet. But the potential to.

“Alright,” you said. “But I’m warning you—I flirt when I drink.”

He opened the door for you without breaking eye contact. “Guess I’ll take my chances.”

—

He did say the lighting was gonna be crappy, but the bar was still darker than you expected. It had its charm, though, with brick walls and the kind of jazz playing in the background that made everything feel like it was happening in sepia. The bartender didn’t blink twice when Bucky walked in, which probably meant this wasn’t a new spot for him. He slid onto a stool, and you followed without thinking.

“Two whiskeys,” he said to the bartender, glancing at you, and you nodded.

“You come here often?” you said with a smirk, knowing full well how cliché it sounded, but you needed something to break the silence.

He snorted. “That’s my line.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever used a line in your life.”

His eyes sparkled, then chuckled. “Not since 1943.”

You leaned your elbow on the bar. “What was it? ‘Say, doll, wanna share a malt and talk about the war effort?’”

“Close.” He gave you a dry but amused look. “Steve was shy when it came to girls, so I had to do the heavy lifting for the both of us.”

The drinks arrived. He slid one toward you.

You took a sip. “You’re better at this than you think, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “At what?”

“Conversation,” you said, tapping the rim of your glass. “Making people feel like they’re not talking into a void.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t.

Instead, he asked, “What about you? You’re not shy, but you haven’t really said much about yourself.”

That made your lips twitch. “You think I’m not shy?”

“I think,” he said carefully, “you talk a lot to keep people from looking too close.”

You blinked. Not because he was wrong—he wasn’t—but because he’d hit the nail so cleanly after only one meeting, you almost spilled your drink.

“Jesus,” you muttered, leaning back, “You sound like my mother.”

He smiled, just a little. “Didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“I know.” You swirled the whiskey in your glass, staring down into the amber. “I just… don’t usually have people say that out loud. Most guys I meet don’t exactly want to know the why behind my sarcasm.”

“I do.”

“Well…” you shrugged. You probably shouldn’t trauma dump to a famous stranger, but you needed an outlet to talk to, so… might as well, right? “I’m a mess. I haven’t written a good piece in weeks. I’m broke, chronically tired, and emotionally constipated.”

“That supposed to scare me off?”

“Most people run from the second I talk or feel too much.”

“Most people,” he said, tilting his head, “aren’t me.”

You laughed under your breath, remembering his full name from an article you read a couple months ago. “Okay, James.”

He stiffened slightly. Not in anger, but the name hit a bruise.

“Sorry.” you corrected, “Bucky.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “Just weird, hearing it like that again from someone that isn’t my therapist or a supervillain. Feels… old.”

“Everything about you feels old,” you teased, nudging his boot with yours beneath the bar.

He laughed, and the conversation was easy from there.

You finished your drinks. You didn’t touch each other again, not yet, but your legs stayed close. You noticed the way his fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the bar and how he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

And when you both stood to leave, he walked you home.

—

Last night wasn’t a date. You told yourself that. Told your friends that. Told your reflection in the mirror that.

But then, you keep meeting between book club.

You ran into him outside your favourite grocery store four days later. You’d think the chances of Bucky Barnes needing kale and almond milk on a Tuesday afternoon were close to zero, but here you were.

Then you bumped into him again at the park. You were nursing a coffee and your latest rejection email on a bench. He was walking alone without a destination and no headphones on— like he didn’t know what to do with himself if he stopped moving too long. He sat down beside you, and that conversation lasted an hour and a half.

And it happened again. At a cafe. And again. At the library. And Again. At the dentist’s office.

The sixth time, you exchanged numbers.

Then, you started texting. It was never anything dramatic. It was just… links to articles, quotes from books. “This reminded me of you” with no context— and it was a photo of the sky when it turned gold at sunset.

He started sitting next to you at book club after that.

He never said anything about it, never made a show of it— but every week, he claimed the chair to your left like it had always been his. Sometimes his thigh brushed yours. Sometimes your knees bumped and neither of you apologised.

Sometimes, you didn’t take notes at all. You just listened to the way he spoke when he actually cared about a character, or how his muscles tightened when someone made a flippant comment about trauma they didn’t understand.

Because of Bucky, book club became the highlight of your week (even if you did get bored sometimes and developed a whole cipher system with Bucky while everyone else was talking about Jane Eyre).

Then… he missed a session.

No text. No warning. He just didn’t show.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he owed you anything.

But your phone stayed within arm’s reach that night. And the night after.

And when the text finally came—after three days and too many imagined worst-case scenarios—you almost dropped your phone reading it.

sorry i missed book club things got messy and didn’t want to drag you into it

You typed a reply quickly.

Are you okay? Where are you?

He got back to you immediately.

safe now can I see you?

You tilted your head, considering your answer.

Yeah Where were you thinking? Bar?

Bucky didn’t respond after that.

—

You didn’t expect the knock.

You’d half expected him to disappear for good. Or to text you some vague “something came up” text that meant he was in mortal danger.

But thirty minutes after you last texted him, at 1:14 a.m., there he was— knocking against your window like he wasn’t standing four stories up on a Brooklyn fire escape.

You blinked and pushed the window open. “You’re insane.”

He gave a crooked shrug. “You said I could see you.”

He climbed in, but only halfway, just to glance around your apartment. His eyes landed on your laptop—open, half a draft blinking on the screen—and then on the half-eaten bag of trail mix on your desk.

“This is sad,” he teased.

“Don’t judge me. It’s freelance life.”

You stepped aside, but instead of going in, he sat down on the ledge of your fire escape again, like he’d done it a hundred times before. You sighed and ducked out the window to sit beside him.

Neither of you spoke right away.

You just sat shoulder to shoulder in the dark. It was cooler than it had been last week, and you noticed the way he rolled his shoulder like something was still sore.

“You okay?” you asked after a minute.

“No.”

You nodded. “Wanna talk about it?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then— “I saw that article you wrote. The one about the Flag Smashers.”

You braced yourself.

“You said they had a point.”

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Well,” he let out a deep breath, “I kind of missed book club because we’re going after them.”

You froze. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” His metal fists curled. “I mean—we’re not hunting them down like animals. Sam and I… we were trying to stop it from getting worse, from doing something they’d regret. It’s just—” he shook his head—“messy.”

You nodded slowly. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I wasn’t defending what they did. But they’re angry. Displaced. It’s hard not to look at what the world’s become and think, God, someone has to break something to make people listen.”

He looked down. “That’s probably what Karli would say.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “That’s what scared me.”

Bucky leaned against you, and you carefully put your head on your shoulders. He exhaled through his nose. “It’s not like I think she’s wrong. Just… I’ve done things I can’t take back. I know where that path ends.”

You scooted just a bit closer. He sounded like the weight of the world was draped over his shoulders like an old coat he couldn’t take off.

“I didn’t mean to dump all that,” he said, voice rough.

“Don’t worry about it.”

There was another bout of silence, and for a while, you basked in him

Then you turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re tense as hell.”

He glanced at you. “What?”

“You’ve been rolling that shoulder for ten minutes.”

“I’m fine.”

You reached over before he could finish protesting, your hand finding the spot near his collarbone. He flinched— but didn’t stop you.

“Relax,” you whispered, fingers pressing gently into the muscle. “Jesus, it’s like a steel cable.”

He made a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a groan—and tilted his head just enough to give you better access.

“You keep this up,” he muttered, “and I’m going to start thinking you’re trying to seduce me.”

You smiled without looking at him. “If I was trying to seduce you, James, you’d already be in my bed.”

He let out a real laugh at that, but then he stopped abruptly.

You could feel the moment shift—like heat rising under a volcano.

His voice was quieter when he said it. “You ever think about it?”

Your fingers paused. “Think about what?”

“This.” He glanced at you. “Us. Kind of… doing something about the tension.”

Your hand slipped away from his shoulder carefully. “You mean sex?”

He met your gaze without flinching. “Yeah.”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t move. “Yeah,” you said, just above a whisper. “Of course I have.”

He looked at you. “And?”

“And I think we’re both a mess.”

He didn’t argue.

“You told me you missed your court-mandated therapy two weeks ago,” you spelled it out for him gently. “I’m averaging three articles a month. Four if I get lucky. I’m emotionally exhausted, financially unstable, and one wrong email away from moving back in with my family.”

He smiled, a little crooked and a little sad. “You think I don’t know I’m a mess?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I think you do. That’s the problem.”

You placed a hand on his metal arm and met his gaze. “Neither of us is in the headspace for a relationship.”

His teeth clenched, but he didn’t look away. “But,” he said, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful, “One way or another… we should do something.”

Your heartbeat ticked up. “You’re serious?”

“I think about you all the damn time,” he said simply. “I think about how you talk. How you laugh. How you look when you get pissed off in book club and start flipping through your notes.”

“We’re not stable,” you reminded before he could spiral, even though you wanted to say you loved staring into his eyes and finding the ocean, even though you wanted to let him know you found him to be the only person you could breathe around. “We’re not dating material. We’re barely friend material.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

And you knew he did.

You knew because he carried every broken piece of himself like it was still dangerous. You knew because you did the same.

“So what then?” you asked. “What are we even talking about?”

He met your eyes. “Just sex.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m serious,” he said. “No pretending it’s anything else. No promises.”

You tilted your head. “And you think that’s gonna be enough?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I know I feel like I’m losing my mind half the week. And when I’m around you, I don’t.”

You swallowed hard. “Bucky—”

“I don’t mean it like some sappy shit,” he corrected himself. “I just mean — you’re easy to be around. You get it. The mess. The anger. The bad sleep. You don’t try to fix me.”

You were quiet.

“And when you touch me,” he added, “I feel like I’m still human.”

That nearly knocked the breath out of you.

You shouldn’t say things like that, you thought, because I’m already halfway in love with you.

You didn’t say it, though.

Instead you said, “Okay.”

His brow lifted. “Okay?”

“Sex,” you said. “Just sex. When we’re both clear-headed and want it.”

His voice shifted—playful now, “Do we want it now?”

You looked at him, at the way the moonlight caught the angles of his face, the tension still hanging on his frame like armour, His eyes were warm, but his mind was probably still spinning.

You gave him a faint smile, “You’re not clear-headed right now.”

He glanced down at where your hand still rested on his, fingers splayed.

“No emotional triage sex,” you said again, quieter this time. “Remember?”

He caught your wrist — not hard, just enough to keep it with his hand for a second longer. His touch was careful, and it made your throat tighten. “Fine,” he murmured. “Then I’ll sit out here until I’m calm.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ll freeze.”

He smirked. “Worth it.”

“You’re such a guy.” You stood, brushing your hands off on your pajama pants. “I’ll be on the couch. Try not to catch hypothermia out here, old man.”

He gave you a mock glare as you slipped back through the window, leaving it cracked open behind you.

—

Twenty minutes passed.

You weren’t sure why you kept checking the clock. You’d pulled an old blanket over yourself, curled sideways on the couch having finished an article, one eye half-watching the blinking cursor on your laptop screen across the room. But your thoughts were back on the fire escape. On him.

You were about to get up—maybe to check, maybe to call him an idiot again—when you heard the scrape of boots on your floor. You looked up.

There he was, hoodie unzipped now, hair a little messy from the night air.

He didn’t say anything. He just walked across the room, took off his shoes and sat beside you.

Then slowly — like checking for permission — he slid down, tucked his arm under your head, and pulled you in. His body curled behind yours, as he rested his cheek just barely against the back of your shoulder.

You didn’t move. You just let yourself be held.

And after a while, when your breathing slowed and your thoughts finally stopped chasing themselves — you felt his fingers slip gently over yours, and his thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles.

So… no sex. But just comfort. Just him. You weren’t complaining at all.

—

A week later, he was late to book club. Which was no surprise for Bucky Barnes — but this time, you knew why.

He had just stepped off a plane from Riga hours earlier. Still, he made it — slipping into book club quietly, just past the first half hour, with a henley beneath his jacket and baseball cap shadowing his face.

You caught his eye as he dropped into the seat beside you.

“Just got off the plane,” he whispered, breath warm in your ear, “didn’t want to miss it.”

You blinked, heart skipping a beat. “You flew all the way back for this?”

“No,” he said, a teasing edge under the weariness. “I flew back for you.”

You swallowed, heat blooming behind your cheeks.

The rest of the night blurred into a haze. Words floated like smoke; their meaning lost beneath the thumping of your heartbeat. His knee brushed yours beneath — annoyingly impossible to ignore.

When the last page was turned, the group dispersed, and the chairs scraped across the floor, you stood to face him. “You walking me home?”

His tired smile was all the answer you needed. “Always.”

—

The walk was silent. Not the awkward kind, but the charged kind that hummed under your skin and made every footstep feel like it echoed louder than it should. The streetlights overhead cast golden pools on the sidewalk, and every few steps, his arm would brush yours — too casual to be deliberate, too frequent to be accidental. You’d forgotten to bring a jacket, but you barely felt the chill.

“So,” you finally said, your voice quieter than usual. “Riga, huh?”

“Another mission.” Bucky huffed out a tired laugh. “Got back less than three hours ago.”

“And still came to book club to and I quote,” you teased, “‘See me?’”

His shoulder bumped yours. “Yeah.”

You looked over, and the half-smile on his face wasn’t teasing. It was tired, yes, and a little crooked, but sincere.

“I’m glad you came,” you said before you could stop yourself. You didn’t dress it up or tuck it behind a joke.

He didn’t look away. “Me too.”

You reached your building and stopped at the stoop, one hand gripping the railing absently. The city moved quietly behind you—- the hum of traffic a street over, the flicker of a neon sign across the way. His shadow pooled across yours. You turned toward him. “Do you want to—” You hesitated. You hadn’t planned to say it. It wasn’t a line. “Come in?”

There it was again — that flicker of surprise in his eyes.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took one step closer. You could smell the faint warmth of his skin, the soap still clinging to him. His voice dropped. “Yeah.”

You moved up the stairs ahead of him, heart hammering like it was trying to make itself known through your ribcage. You unlocked the door and stepped inside. He followed without a word.

You didn’t bother turning on the lights. The spill of the city through the windows was enough. Your apartment was small, familiar.

You slipped off your shoes slowly, suddenly hyperaware of every motion, especially of his eyes on you.

When you straightened, he was still by the door. Hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching you.

Neither of you moved.

“Do you want a drink?” you asked, quieter than you meant.

“No.”

You swallowed.

He took a step toward you, and you didn’t back away.

When he was close enough that you could feel his breath, you tilted your head up, eyes locking with his. There was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist — like he’d already imagined this moment a hundred times, and now he was here, he didn’t want to rush it.

“I’ve been thinking about last week,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “But I didn’t want to— I didn’t know if you still want…”

Your hands were already sliding up his chest, curling in the fabric of his shirt. “You’re thinking too much, Barnes.”

And then you kissed him.

Not shy, but slow at first — mouths brushing, — but then he groaned low in his throat, and kissed you back with years of tension behind it. His hands slid into your hair, fingers tightening and tugging gently. You gasped against his mouth, and his tongue slid against yours.

You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, his metal arm anchoring you to reality.

He broke away first, barely — his forehead pressed against yours, breathing heavy.

His mouth was still hovering over yours, breath warm and ragged, the sweat between you thick enough to drown in.

“That what you wanted?” he murmured, voice dark.

You swallowed, fingers still twisted in his henley. “It’s a good start.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and then you kissed him again, harder this time.

There was no slow build now. His hands were everywhere — under your shirt, gripping your waist like he’d die if he let go. He tasted like salt and jet lag and something distinctly him, and you couldn’t get enough.

You turned and walked backward, tugging him with you, fingers sliding under his shirt, greedy and fast. He followed wordlessly, eyes locked on yours, hunger darkening his gaze.

Your knees hit the back of the couch, and you pulled him down with you. The couch creaked beneath the sudden, tangled rush of limbs, but you didn’t stop, didn’t care. You reached for the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head in one fluid motion. His chest was scarred and beautiful, warm skin over muscle you wanted to memorise with your hands, your mouth. His dog tags clinked between you.

He leaned down again, his mouth brushing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone like he was searching for answers in your skin. Your back arched, offering more, needing more.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I do,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly down his back. He shivered. His hips bucked forward against yours, and you loved the way he wasn’t holding back anymore.

Your shirt was gone next. Then the rest — clothes shed like molted skin, until there was nothing left between you but barely-touched want.

He looked at you for one breathless second — long enough for you to see it, just a flicker of awe, maybe even fear. Then his mouth was on yours again, and he was moving — slow at first, then deeper. You gasped into his mouth, body arching into him. “Bucky—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Just let go.”

So you did.

You moved together in a rhythm that was messy and perfect, frantic and slow, too much and not enough. Every sound you made — a gasp or a moan, his name on your lips — made him lose control a little more.

He cursed into your shoulder when you clenched around him, when your nails scraped his back, when your hips lifted to meet every thrust like you’d been waiting your whole life for this.

Your fingers threaded into his hair. And then — the moment hit, like fire swallowing oxygen. You shattered under him, his name a broken cry on your lips, and he followed right after, groaning into your neck as his body locked against yours.

For a long time, he had his hand in your hair, your leg still curled around his hip, both of you coming down with aftershock.

Then, you said it. The thing you’d both been hiding behind. “It’s just sex, right?”

You didn’t know if you meant it. Your voice was casual, but your heart was anything but. You didn’t look at him.

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned up on one elbow, brushed some hair out of your eyes, and looked like he could see straight through the lie.

Then he smiled — that crooked Barnes smile that you never quite understood but adored anyway. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

—

It became a thing, because of course it did.

Every Thursday night — after book club, after someone gave a half-hearted review of whatever novel they'd half-read — Bucky would walk you home, or he’d invite you over to his, no matter how tired he was. No matter if Sam had him chasing leads across borders the day before. No matter if you’d argued in the middle of a group discussion over whether the protagonist was morally gray or just an asshole.

By the time you got to the door, it was already understood. You’d leave it cracked open behind you as you kicked off your shoes.

Some nights, you didn’t even speak. He’d press a kiss to the back of your neck while you stood by the kitchen counter. You’d melt before the water even hit your lips. Then the glasses would be forgotten.

Clothes disappeared between rooms. Sometimes in the hallway, sometimes the couch, occasionally — recklessly — the window. His hands on your thighs, your mouth on his shoulder, your fingers threading through his hair. Again and again.

It wasn’t gentle, not always. Not at first.

Some weeks, after missions, his hands would grip you a little harder. You knew what to do. You’d pull him onto you and let him use you until the tremors stopped. No emotional triage sex be damned.

You never asked what he’d seen. He never asked why you were typing furiously into 3 a.m. drafts you never submitted.

Other times, it was quiet. Like that fourth week — when you had cramps, and he still came by, and you told him “I’m not in the mood” and he said, “I didn’t come for sex,” and then climbed into bed with you fully clothed and let you curl into him like a furnace, letting the pain bleed out of your spine. He didn’t leave that night.

Some Thursdays, you’d talk. Bodies tangled under sheets, your leg thrown across his thigh while you shared wine straight from the bottle. He asked you what you liked to read outside of the club. You asked if he ever watched the Voltron cartoons.

Once, you kissed him before he touched you — and it felt dangerously close to strings. He pretended not to notice. Later, as you straddled him on the couch, riding him with desperation, he gasped your name like it meant more than your body.

You pretended not to hear that, either.

It was just sex. Except it wasn’t.

He started keeping a toothbrush in your bathroom. You started texting him about non-sex things. Groceries. Headlines. Memes.

He never stayed past Friday morning. You never asked him to. But every Thursday night, he came back. Like clockwork.

—

This week, he texted you a few hours before book club.

can’t make it tonight. something came up. raincheck?

You stared at the message longer than you should have.

No explanation. No voice note. No dumb emoji that he didn’t know how to use. You didn’t respond right away.

You had news — big news — the kind you’d imagined telling him face-to-face, maybe over takeout on your couch, legs tangled under the blanket he claimed was too small for him.

You… got a job offer six days ago. You accepted it five days ago. And this time, it wasn't an underpaid freelance gig or an op-ed that paid in exposure.

You’d landed an offer from The District Post, a rising political publication based in D.C., one of the few that still let its journalists write with teeth. You hadn’t told him you’d even applied.

You were supposed to move next week.

And now, he wouldn’t even be here tonight, and you didn’t know if he’d have the time to see you before then.

Still, you typed out your reply.

Okay. Be safe.

That night, you skipped book club. You couldn’t sit in that room tonight, not with his usual empty chair beside you.

Instead, you poured a glass of cheap wine and tried to write — something about your neighborhood, a think piece you were rushing out before the move. But you couldn’t focus. The words didn’t sit right. Everything felt off.

Then you flipped on the TV.

And there they were.

The Live Breaking News banner flashed red across the screen. Chaos outside a GRC meeting in New York, emergency broadcasts, armed guards, panic. And then— Captain America.

His wings outstretched, the shield gleaming under spotlights. He dropped into frame like a meteor.Your breath caught.

And behind him— Bucky. Charging into frame, metal arm glinting, catching falling debris like it was nothing. Bruised, sweating, while people screamed around them. Cameras were everywhere.

You watched, transfixed, all while Sam gave the speech. "You have to do better. You’ve got to step up. Because if you don’t — the next Karli will."

You looked closer at the screen. Bucky stood off to the side, watching his best friend with pride. He wasn’t a soldier anymore, not like he used to be.

You didn’t realise you were crying until you blinked and tasted salt. You sat in silence long after the coverage ended, the glow of the screen flickering across your empty apartment.

Then your phone buzzed with a new email.

Subject: GRC PRESS PASS — URGENT APPROVAL From: [email protected] You are credentialed to cover the post-summit GRC press briefing in Manhattan. Captain Sam Wilson and Sergeant James Barnes will be present. Due to your proximity and recent work, you are our lead. Be there by 9:30 a.m.

You were being sent… because you were closest to the scene. Because somehow your strange, messy, not-a-relationship with Bucky had placed you at the epicenter of something bigger than both of you.

Tomorrow, you’d be there in a professional capacity — with your press badge, a recorder, and a deadline — and you’d have to ask questions like he wasn’t the man who kissed your neck and stole your pillows and never stayed past Friday morning.

You’d have to see him like the rest of the world did. And worse… he’d have to see you that way too.

As a reporter, and not the person who massaged the tension from his shoulders, who whispered against his skin, “just sex, right?”

You set the glass in your hand down and on the edge of your bed, and all you could think about was how his toothbrush was still in your bathroom.

You thought about throwing it out. You didn’t.

—

The press conference wasn’t supposed to be your moment.

You were just another journalist in a sea of microphones and recycled questions, trying to keep your hand steady while the world tilted just a little from everything that had just gone down with the Flag Smashers, with Karli, with Cap—Sam.

People around you were fawning over the new Captain America, swooning at his speech, trying to get quotes that would fit well in a tweet. Soundbites. Clicks. Validation. But not you.

You were tired of the bullshit, of the "how does it feel to have the shield again" questions lobbed toward Sam like a beach ball. Instead, you watched Bucky in his uniform that looked like a rushed fitting— his eyes filled with that haunted, half-there, half-wanting-to-leave-the-building-already look.

And then he saw you in the crowd.

He blinked—once, twice—like the universe had glitched. His lips parted slightly, and his brow twitched like he wasn’t sure if you were real. You caught the moment his eyes dropped over your face, your mouth, the line of your collarbone visible just above your blouse. It was familiar territory.

You were trying your best to act like you hadn’t had his hand wrapped around your thigh eight nights ago while you bit down a moan in the crook of his neck. Still, you raised your hand.

And when they called on you, you didn’t hesitate.

“Mr. Barnes,” you called. “Do you think public perception of you has changed after this incident?”

The room froze around your voice. Even Sam glanced over.

Bucky stared at you like you’d sucker-punched him. Not because the question was aggressive—it wasn’t. It was… professional.

But you knew him. You’d had your fingers on his pulse. You were the last person to run your hands through his hair while he came undone in a bed that still smelled like him.

He blinked again, a double-take this time. Like he didn’t quite trust that you were really there, asking that.

“I… don’t know,” he said finally, with a smile he could never help when he saw you. “I don’t… really care anymore.”

You nodded and scribbled something that wasn’t a word into your notebook, just to give your hands something to do.

The press conference moved on. Sam answered a question about international cooperation. A woman from the GRC said something diplomatic and vague, but you didn’t hear any of it.

Because Bucky Barnes was still watching you like he was peeling back every layer of distance, until only the truth of a week ago was left: your nails in his back, his breath against your skin, and the look on his face when he realised he didn’t want it to end.

When it was over, you didn’t wait around. You’d done your job. You’d asked your question.

You slipped out toward the back hallway, but he followed.

—

You were almost down the steps of the building when you heard your name followed with a "Wait—hey."

You turned.

And there he was, cutting through the crowd with that signature Bucky Barnes boyish smile he reserved for you like no one else existed. Which, for that split second, maybe they didn’t.

His tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck, jacket slung over one shoulder, and his ridiculously blue eyes locked onto you.

He slowed down when he got closer, giving you a once-over that was anything but subtle.

And then, softly, almost to himself. “Wow.”

You smiled, shy all of a sudden. “Hi.”

He blinked, and it took him a second too long to respond. “I—wow. Look at you. Invited to press.”

“Bucky,” you said with a smile, feigning offense. “Are you saying a press pass means I’m finally a real journalist?”

That made him laugh, the sound low and rough. “I just…” he started, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You tapped your badge, the lanyard swinging lightly against your chest. “Got a job.”

He leaned in to read it, his brow lifting. “The District Post? Isn’t that—”

“In D.C.,” you finished. “Yeah.”

His smile almost dropped, like you had pulled the floor out from under his thoughts. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, wow. That’s—shit, that’s huge. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” you said, lips tugging into a small smile.

His eyes fell to the sidewalk. “So… you’re moving?”

“Next week,” you confirmed.

“Oh,” he said again, but softer this time, like it hadn’t really sunk in until now.

You tilted your head, watching him. “What, you gonna miss me, Barnes?”

And he met your eyes again. “Yes,” he said without missing a beat. “Of course.”

Your heart did a stupid flip in your chest, traitor that it was.

You let the moment sit between you— the heat, the knowledge that whatever this was didn’t feel finished. That those nights weren't just some casual thing, no matter how both of you had tried to play it cool.

And maybe you were both cowards, not texting, not calling, not saying what it meant. But you refused to let it swallow you whole just yet. Instead, you grinned and crossed your arms.

“We still have a week,” you said suddenly, quieter.

He blinked. “What?”

You lifted your eyes to his. “Before I go. I still have a week.”

He gave you half-smile again, the one that always made your stomach flip.

“Well,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “Guess I should make it count then, huh?”

You raised a brow. “What, suddenly you’re sentimental?”

He brushed a knuckle against your wrist, tentative, like he was asking permission to feel again. “I…,” he started, “I just want to help you spend your last few days in New York. If that’s alright?"

You looked up at him. Let your voice drop, teasing again—because too much honesty all at once might break you both. “Depends,” you said. “You buying takeout?”

He grinned, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening. “Only if you promise not to mock my taste in diners this time.”

“I make no promises.”

He laughed again, and sure, maybe there was still a thousand miles of uncertainty ahead. But for now, you still had a week.

—

The week was over before you knew it.

The morning sun spilled across the sidewalk as Bucky hauled two of your heavy suitcases up the subway and into the train station, the rest of your belongings already en route. He saw you fumble over your ticket but didn’t move, eyes flicking over to you like he was trying to commit the moment to memory.

“Ready?” he asked casually, like he wasn’t thinking about the fact you’d been in his bed less than twelve hours ago. You glanced at him, that familiar flicker of something between amusement and frustration rising. “Yeah. The train is in thirty minutes.”

He nodded, biting his lip like he was holding back a dozen things he wanted to say—and some he probably shouldn’t. You’re letting her go, he thought bitterly, you’re letting her leave without knowing how you really feel.

You had a real shot now — a steady job, a life starting to bloom beyond the chaos that followed him around like a shadow. He remembered the first time he saw the lanyard last week. The pride in your voice should have made him happy. And part of him was.

But another part—one he refused to admit—was drowning.

She’s gonna meet someone out there, he thought, eyes flicking back to you, someone who can give her the kind of life I can’t right now.

He was jealous just thinking of some random guy touching you the way he did last night. He wanted to beg you to wait, to tell you he’d get there — someday. But he knew, It wouldn’t be fair. Not to you.

So instead, he kept quiet.

You caught his gaze, eyes narrowing. “You gonna say something or just stare at me till I leave?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I was gonna say... thanks.”

“For what?” You arched an eyebrow, crossing your arms.

“For this last week,” he said quietly. “For not making it weird. For just… letting it be.”

You laughed, but there was no real humour in it. “We’re not a thing, Bucky. Just friends.”

Liar, you thought to yourself.

He chuckled, shaking his head like he was amused by your insistence. “Right. Friends.”

You didn’t say anything. You knew exactly what he meant.

As he handed you your suitcase, he stepped back toward you, closing the distance.

“You sure this is it?” His hand caught yours, fingers around your wrist.

You held his eyes, the heat sparking between you like a live wire. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m sure.”

He leaned in, hand sliding from your wrist up to cup your cheek “We’re just friends,” he whispered.

You nodded. “So,” you said, teasing, “this is just how friends say goodbye?”

Without another word, Bucky’s lips found yours—soft at first, then deeper. You kissed back, heart pounding, the world shrinking to the two of you right there on the sidewalk.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “Text me when you get there,” he said, voice rough.

You nodded.

“I’ll miss you,” he admitted, quieter now.

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Me too.”

And just like that, you were walking toward the train.

When Bucky got home, he read your piece on him and Sam, and pretended you were still there.

—

For a while, you and Bucky kept in touch like you said you would. Those first few weeks were filled with late-night texts and lonely phone calls — the kind that made the distance seem smaller, like you could almost reach through the screen and touch him on the other side. But life, as it tends to do, got in the way.

You both got busier — deadlines, news stories, and endless responsibilities pulling you in a thousand directions at once. The daily messages turned into weekly check-ins, and the weekly check-ins into texts that came sporadically. Before you knew it, you only texted every three months.

"Hey. Hope you’re good." "Hey. Still alive." “I think I’m gonna grow out my hair.”

You’d text a quick update. A joke. A picture of some mundane thing that made you think of the other. Nothing demanding — just enough to say, I'm still here.

You both knew it was a far cry from where you started. No more late-night talks about everything and nothing, no more teasing banter that stretched until sunrise.

But that was okay.

Because sometimes, that’s how life works.

—

A year slipped by like sand between your fingers.

Your work had become a grind — not in a bad way, just in that all-consuming way where your days blurred together in drafts and deadlines and a phone that never stopped buzzing. You still got the occasional “How are you?” text from Bucky. You answered most of the time. Sometimes it took a few days. Sometimes longer.

Then, one morning, while half-listening to a pitch meeting, a colleague offhandedly mentioned a sister company’s political beat — “Big story this week. James Barnes is running for congress. Wild, right?”

You nearly dropped your coffee.

“Barnes?” you asked, pretending it was nothing. Pretending your chest hadn’t just constricted.

“Yeah, Bucky Barnes. Brooklyn seat. He’s advocating for GRC reform, community policy — it’s a whole thing.”

Of course he was running for Congress. Of course.

It was so him —that need to make the world just a little bit better, though still unsure how? Of course he was trying everything.

You sat on the news for a couple days. Thought about saying nothing. But one night, after too much caffeine and too little sleep, you caved.

[You, 2:41 AM] Saw the news. Congressman Barnes, huh? Good luck.

You didn’t expect a reply. Not right away. Maybe not ever. But then…

[Bucky, 3:05 AM] Thought I should try something stable.

You started keeping tabs. You watched the campaign videos when they came across your feed. Read a few articles. One photo — him at some community event, sleeves rolled up, squinting in the sun with that smile you remembered too well — made you stare a little too long before scrolling past.

It was weird. You weren’t in love. Right? Just... proud.

And maybe, just maybe, wondering what might happen if you ever crossed paths again.

—

A year after he started campaigning, he got voted in.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes — Brooklyn’s own, sworn in with a navy suit, a firm handshake, and those same blue eyes you remembered from two years ago.

You didn’t text this time— just watched from a distance. Until the day of his first press conference.

You weren’t even assigned to it, not really. But when the opportunity opened to cover local legislative priorities, your badge was already around your neck and your recorder already in your bag. You told yourself it was just another assignment.

You didn’t expect him to notice you. Not right away, at least.

But the second he stepped up to the podium, eyes scanning the crowd of cameras and reporters, he did. He did a full double take when he saw you.

His hair was a little longer, his suit a little more expensive. But he remembered the way your skin felt under his palm.

Then… you raised your hand.

He called on you, because of course he did. He barely even looked at the press sheet. You stood.

"Congressman Barnes," you said, clearly, pretending your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest “You ran on transparency and reform — with the GRC and domestic policy both under scrutiny. Do you believe public perception of you, personally, has changed after your... past affiliations?"

His teeth clenched — but not in anger. It was like a memory trying to claw its way to the surface.

He let out a deep breath. "I think people will always see what they want to see. But I'm here to serve them, not convince them."

You didn’t flinch. “That’s a diplomatic answer.”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across his face. “You shouldn’t expect any less from me.”

God, he’s changed. You raised an eyebrow, letting the tension simmer. You wanted to say, Funny. Last time I saw you, you were definitely not behaving diplomatically.

But no, you just nodded and sat down.

He was dead silent for half a second too long. He chuckled under his breath, eyes cutting into yours like the rest of the room wasn’t even there.

He stumbled a little on the next question and cleared his throat twice. The comms director gave him a look like get it together.

—

The press conference ended with the usual flurry — interns chasing stories, photographers snapping the last few candids, aides ushering the Congressman toward scheduled handshakes and photo ops. But you… you moved slowly.

You weren’t supposed to linger, you had your quote. Your headline was already half-formed in your head. But still, you hovered, half-expecting — hoping — he’d break through the crowd, just for a second. And of course, he did.

“Hey.”

Bucky Barnes, up close in a tailored black suit that made him look was a sight to behold. But his voice was quiet, and his eyes were soft — the way only you knew how to read.

“Didn’t think I’d see you today,” he said, and he sounded winded like he’d just come off the Senate floor, not a press event.

“I cover federal now,” you said, lifting your press badge with a smirk. “So here I am.”

A long pause formed a chasm between you, bloated with everything you hadn’t said for almost two years. The nights. The slowly drifting apart. The texts that faded from “hey” to “hope you’re well.”

“I missed you,” he said quietly.

God. You swallowed. “We got busy.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You were out there doing your thing. And I was…” He looked down at his polished shoes, then back up, almost sheepishly. “Apparently running for Congress.”

You laughed under your breath. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Woke up one day and wanted to matter,” he said. “I guess… I wanted to do something. Like you.”

His voice cracked just a bit. The way it always did when he let the guard down. When he wasn’t the Winter Soldier, wasn’t a Congressman. Just Bucky.

“How do you feel?” you asked. “Off the record, of course.

“Felt like I was gonna throw up,” he admitted, eyes bright with the kind of joy that only came from honesty. “Until you asked that question.”

“Oh?” you asked, one brow lifting. “Didn’t mean to rattle you.”

“You didn’t.” He tilted his head. “Well. Maybe a little. But in a good way.”

You let another beat of silence fester before lowering your voice. “You know, the last time I saw you…”

“That night,” he finished, a little too fast, “I remember.”

You looked up at him. “And the morning after,” you said, “you dropped me at the station.”

“I did,” he said, softer now. “Kissed you like an idiot before you left. ‘Cause we were just friends, right?”

You smiled, biting your bottom lip. “Right.”

He took a step closer, invading your space just enough to let the muscle memory kick in. “Was it ever really just that for you?” he asked, voice husky.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stepped a little closer, too. Close enough to smell the clean linen of his shirt and the warm spice of his cologne.

“Congressman Barnes,” you whispered. “You’re dangerously close to breaking professional boundaries.”

His eyes darkened, locked on your mouth, before his assistant called his name.

“Shit,” he said, reluctantly, “I’ve got a thing in ten minutes.”

“Good,” you said. “That means I can walk away before this gets messier than it already is.”

You turned, but his hand — his human hand — caught your wrist. “I meant what I said,” he told you. “I missed you. I missed this.”

“I missed you too,” you said, just above a whisper. “Even when I tried not to.”

He stepped back, though only barely. “You still trying?”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him like you knew. Like only the two of you knew how it really ended — how it never really ended at all.

He let you go. “Dinner?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He smiled. “I’ll take that.”

As you walked away, your heart a livewire under your ribs, he watched you with a look that wasn’t fit for public office — but damn if it didn’t feel like the beginning of something. Again.

—

Your article dropped at 7:30 a.m. on a Monday.

By 8:15, it had already been passed between Capitol Hill interns like contraband. Screenshots on Slack. Circled paragraphs in group chats. Someone in Policy & Strategy made a spreadsheet of who was flayed the hardest.

The article was titled: “The New Faces of Power: An Overview of the Elected Democratic Representatives.”

Bucky Barnes — newly sworn-in Representative of New York’s 7th Congressional District — landed at #3 on that list.

He read it in full by 9:04 a.m., standing by the windows of his DC office, coffee gone cold in his hand. You hadn’t pulled your punches.

It was why you’d gone from freelancer with an uncertain voice to one of the youngest senior political analysts at your publication in just two years. You’d clawed your way up, built a reputation out of clever insight and fearless prose.

You didn't have time for flattery. You didn’t care if your subject wore medals or held office — if their platform wasn’t solid, you said it.

And now, you’d turned that lens on him.

James Buchanan Barnes steps into Congress with a legacy longer than most Representatives’ résumés. He’s got the kind of résumé that makes people feel things — safety, nostalgia, reverence. But policy isn’t about feeling. It’s about doing. And so far, Barnes might be more invested in image than action. Final Verdict: Symbolic. Possibly even performative. The jury’s still out.

Ouch.

And yet— Bucky let the words sink deep. Because you weren’t wrong. Not entirely.

And that’s what made it sting — and what made him respect the hell out of you. You’d known him in a way no one else had. You’d known his heart. You’d had your fingers on his ribs and your voice in his ear and still, you didn’t let that cloud your judgment.

You didn’t shrink from writing what needed to be written. And God, he missed you for it.

He hadn’t realised how much until now, until he saw your name again in bold, crisp font — right there, above an article that had already shaken the morning meetings of half the House aides.

But then he noticed something.

His heart picked up. No way.

It was ridiculous to think you’d—

But he sat down fast. Grabbed his phone. Opened the Notes app.

Under your name, he noticed a little key smash that looked like it had accidentally made it pass editing.

hes mw fcxxet

But he knew it wasn’t.

You and Bucky had developed a custom Alphabet replacement cipher, started out as a game three years ago. It was a book club dare between lovers, made of childhood tricks and spy movies. You’d laughed about it afterwards and curled up beside him, called it “your nerdy little secret,” and buried one in a crossword puzzle just for him the week after you’d left D.C.

He hadn’t thought you’d ever use it again.

But there it was. Carefully embedded in your very public article.

He decoded quickly, like muscle memory. Years apart hadn’t dulled it.

YES TO DINNER

He blinked.

He did it again, just to be sure.

You’d written a critical analysis that dissected his first month in office and still found room to slip him that?

Because that’s what it was always like with you: you could gut him and leave him breathless, and still leave the door open. Still whisper, come find me.

And oh, he wanted to.

Not just because you were brilliant, or beautiful, or impossible to look away from at press conferences. But because you saw him. Not the image. Not the mythology. Him.

And you never let him off the hook.

He’d text you — eventually. Or maybe he’d make a statement and bury his response somewhere in the transcript. Because he could play the game too.

But for now, he sat back in his chair, phone still in his hand, and smiled to himself.

Because you weren’t gone. You weren’t done.

You were still here — dropping ciphers just for him.

—

You almost missed the email.

It was buried under press releases and budget spreadsheets and one thousand lines of “per my last email.” Just another ping in your inbox at 2:03 p.m., from a congressional domain name.

Subject line: Response to Editorial – Representative Barnes

The name made your heart jump, but you didn’t let it show. Not at your desk, not around your colleagues, not when you’d trained yourself for years to be unreadable in a newsroom.

You clicked it open like.

The message was clinical on the surface.

Thank you for your recent editorial in The District Post. I appreciate the critical lens and the historical context your piece brought to the ongoing conversation about congressional transparency and symbolic governance. While I would, of course, offer a more nuanced response to some of your assessments, I recognize the value of this kind of scrutiny. In fact, I’d welcome a longer conversation. nwye mw ycxe rwt fcxxet Kind Regards, Rep. James B. Barnes 2318 Zpxqsmwx Vzpne XJ, Pvm. 7O slxsem rtcfph

Your fingers trembled just a little as you pulled up the decoder in your notes app. It felt like sharing a secret in a room full of people who would never understand.

You deciphered the string, slowly.

COME TO MINE FOR DINNER

And then, just beneath the signature:

2318 Langston Place NW, Apt. 7B Sunset. Friday.

You stared at the screen.

Your lips parted in something between a laugh and a silent what the fuck. You were sitting in the middle of a very serious, very professional office, and suddenly you were weightless.

Because he didn’t just say yes.

He invited you to his place like no time had passed. Like you hadn’t gone a whole year barely speaking. Like you hadn’t told yourself that those nights with him were heat-of-the-moment, never-again things.

You didn’t reply immediately. That would be too obvious. You minimized the window and tried to pretend you weren’t practically buzzing.

But your fingers drummed on the desk, your cheeks felt warm, and when someone walked past and said your name, you had to blink yourself back into reality.

He knew. That bastard. He knew exactly what kind of signal he’d sent.

—

The apartment was nicer than you expected. Not flashy, but cosy and huge, with wide windows and hardwood floors and a kitchen that smelled like rosemary and garlic and seared butter.

He opened the door in a dark button-down, sleeves rolled halfway, a dish towel tossed over one shoulder. His hair pulled back.

“Wow,” you said before you could help it, your coat still halfway on. “You clean up.”

He grinned, boyish. “So do you.”

You stepped in. He didn’t hug you — not right away. Maybe neither of you were sure what this night was supposed to be.

But then he brushed your arm when he took your coat, and you both noticed.

You sat on the bar stool by the counter while he plated the steak — cooked perfectly, like he knew what he was doing. There were potatoes, charred asparagus. A bottle of red already breathing on the sideboard.

“This is domestic,” you teased. “Should I be worried?”

Bucky gave a huff of laughter. “Campaign staff made me take a cooking class. Said it would ‘humanize’ me.”

You snorted. “Did it?”

He passed you a plate, eyes flicking up. “You tell me.”

Dinner was slow. Not awkward, not rushed. Like the both of you had been saving this conversation in the backs of your minds, knowing it would happen eventually. The stories started pouring in — how you were promoted after your Ross exposé, how D.C. life was treating you.

He chuckled, chewed, leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “You’re still the same.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean—” He gestured, vague and fond. “Smart. Too good at what you do. Makes people nervous.”

“You?”

“Never,” he said. “You scare the hell outta me in the best way.”

The heat in your cheeks surprised you. He looked down, tongue tucked into his cheek. You nudged the topic somewhere safer, even if it stung a little.You told him how D.C. dating was a disaster — lobbyists who thought they were philosophers, bureaucrats who never turned off the PR charm. “I’ve been ghosted by men with press secretaries,” you said. “It’s bleak.”

He laughed, rubbing his jaw. “That’s rough.”

“And you?”

“New York dating’s a lotta noise,” he said. “Everyone’s either performative or trying to ‘fix’ me.”

“They know you’re now, like, if John Wick and C-Span had a baby, right? You’re not a rehab project.”

“Try telling them that.”

You sipped. “So we’re both un-dateable. Good to know.”

He laughed, a little too loud. “Yeah, no. I went on a couple dates last winter. It’s… weird. I had one woman ask me to sign her shirt.”

You raised your wine glass. “That’s… hot, actually.”

“I declined.”

You both laughed, and it felt… familiar.

Eventually, you leaned back, fork resting on your empty plate. “I saw Sam a couple months ago.”

Bucky tilted his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was right after the Ross thing. I was there when… you know, the president turned red,” you chuckled, though that wasn’t an amusing memory by any means. “The next day, he came by the Post, off the record. Just to… check in.”

His brow furrowed. He knew you and Sam had a professional relationship, to an extent, and he was grateful for it. If not him, at least someone he trusted looked out for you. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you said softly. “Shaken. But fine. I… visited Joaquin, too. Way too cheerful for someone who broke half the bones in his body, if you ask me.”

He chuckled, nodding.

You hesitated. “I… asked Sam how you were.”

His eyes lifted to yours.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “He said you were good. Starting to settle.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Not true?”

He picked up his glass and swirled the wine.

“I’m not unhappy,” he said. “I just… don’t think I ever figured out where I really belong.”

You swallowed.

And then, he asked, “You?”

You smiled. “I’m doing okay.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “That’s reductive.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “It is.”

He tilted his head, watching you like he used to.

Then he stood, took your plate, and moved toward the sink.

You sat there, letting it settle. Taking the scent of his soap and warm spices,

When he turned back, his voice was quieter. “I kept reading you, y’know. Even when we stopped talking.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You kept getting better. Meaner, sometimes. But better.” He smiled, almost proud. “I liked that you never held back.”

You bit your lip.

He stepped closer, one hand still drying on the towel. “Still can’t believe you said yes.”

“To dinner?”

“To me.”

You looked up at him. “We’re just catching up, right?”

He leaned in. “Right.”

“As friends?” You said.

“Whatever you say,” Bucky nodded, though he never looked convinced when he said that.

But the way his eyes dropped to your lips — the way yours drifted to the hollow of his throat — it didn’t feel like just friends catching up.

—

Dinner was long gone. The wine was halfway finished, though neither moved to really touch it.

You were both sitting on the fluffy cotton couch in his living room, the city humming outside the windows like it knew how rare this quiet was.

You had your legs curled under you, holding a cup of warm tea with both hands. Bucky sat on the opposite side, one arm lazily draped over the back of the couch, his eyes on you — not exactly subtle.

You were pretending not to notice.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence with a thoughtful tone. “D.C.’s nice. People have schedules. Rules. They hold doors open and write polite emails even when they’re telling you to go to hell.”

You smiled faintly. “Sounds about right.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He chuckled once. “But… it’s not you.”

“Oh?” You arched an eyebrow as you looked at him over your glass. “What is me, then?”

His eyes lingered on your face. “Less structured. Messier. More… sporadic.”

You laughed, though you didn’t take it to heart. “Okay, rude.”

“No, not like that,” he said quickly, shaking his head, and way too sincere for his own good. “You just… don’t belong in a box. You think too fast. You don’t follow rules unless they’re worth following. You’re more… New York.”

The room felt warmer suddenly. You set your cup down gently on the coffee table. “I had a chance to leave, you know,” you said, tone lighter now, “The New York Times offered me more money.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Bigger platform. Fancy job title. But I said no.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. “Because I have friends here. A community. I… love my job.” Then you added, eyes catching his, “And you. Now you’re here, too.”

Bucky’s ears went slightly pink, but he chose to focus on the former rather than the latter, “Do you love that your job includes tearing into your friend’s political motivations?”

You stilled slightly. “You read my latest?”

“Course I did,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. “You called me ‘possibly performative.’ That was a fun day at the office.”

You shrugged. “Touché.”

“Still stings, though,” he added, quieter.

“I know,” you admitted. “But I said it because I’ve seen you doing your superhero stuff on the field. I know what you look like when you don’t have to ask permission to do the right thing. So forgive me if I think you’re better with your sleeves rolled up, and not behind a podium. Not editing policy drafts.”

Bucky’s teeth clenched slightly, though didn’t look away.

“I just…” you shrugged. “I wonder if this version of you—politician Bucky—is the one who actually is. Or if he’s just… pretending.”

He was silent for a long moment, deciphering your criticism. “I don’t know if I fit anywhere,” he said eventually. “But this?” He gestured vaguely to the apartment, the city, the suit. “This is the first time I’ve chosen something that didn’t involve a gun.”

You watched him carefully. “Why are you really here, Bucky?”

He hesitated. His voice, when it came, was firmer than you expected.

“Because I want to change things. Because I’ve seen what happens when the wrong people are in charge, and I’ve lost too many damn nights thinking about what I could’ve done if I’d mattered.”

Your throat tightened.

“And yeah,” he added. “There are a lot of people here for the wrong reasons. Power, money, legacy. Whatever. But every time I walk through those doors, I get to try. That counts for something, right?”

You smiled, soft and sad. “It does.”

“Besides, Sam and Joaquin are both here.” He leaned in slightly. “And yeah, you being here… doesn’t hurt.”

He held your eyes for a second too long. You looked down, unsure of what to say.

“You still think I’m better off in the field?” he asked, flexing vibranium fingers.

You nodded once. “I think that’s when you’re most you. Not when you’re buried in committees and handshakes and kissing babies.”

He didn’t argue.

“But,” you added, “if this is what you want—if this is who you’re becoming—then I won’t be the one to doubt it. I just want you to be sure.”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “I want to matter,” he said again. “And if I can’t fix all of it, at least I can stand in the way.”

Fuck, he was infuriatingly sincere, and all you could do was nod.

He watched you for a second, then said, casually, “There’s a state gala tomorrow.”

You looked up from the mug in your hands. “Is that code for ‘I’m vanishing into some secret operation and won’t return for 72 hours’?”

He gave a small smile. “It’s real. Suits and champagne and officials pretending they know what they’re doing.”

You made a face. “Sounds excruciating.”

“Oh, it is,” He tilted his head. “But if you really want to see me perform.” — he gave the word a faintly mocking twist — “you should come.”

You raised a brow. “What, you’re gonna give me a press invite?”

He shook his head once. “No,” he said, “I’m asking you to be my date.”

That statement hung there for longer than it should have.

You blinked. “That’s... bold.”

“Is it?” he asked, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re about as subtle as a grenade.”

He smiled.

You leaned over, scooting closer. “Is this the kind of event where they serve caviar and pretend the world isn’t on fire?”

“Probably.”

“And you want me there? With my ‘less structured, more sporadic’ energy?”

“I’m counting on it,” he said slyly. “Otherwise I’ll just stand around pretending I support stupid tax policies and end up punching someone.”

You glanced at him. “So this is strategic.”

He looked at you and said, “It’s not just that.”

You didn’t answer right away— considering it for almost a full minute.

“Fine.” You finally said, “But I’m not wearing heels over three inches.”

He gave a huff of laughter. “Deal.”

“And if you make me have small talk with anyone who says ‘let’s circle back,’ I’m walking out.”

“I’ll chase you,” he said playfully.

You turned to look at him. “Will you?”

He just nodded.

After all, he wasn’t letting you go ever again.

—

The next night, you weren’t nervous. Not exactly. Just… hyper-aware.

You’d changed your outfit twice — okay, three times — before landing on something sleek and black. It had a clean neckline and strong silhouette. Subtle enough for D.C., but you in the bones of it.

Your phone buzzed.

[Bucky, 6:53 PM] Outside.

You smoothed your dress once, checked your lipstick without really seeing your reflection, then grabbed your clutch and headed down.

The car waiting wasn’t flashy, but it was classy. When the door opened and you stepped out under the street light, he stepped out too — and froze.

His suit was black, his shirt was black. It looked tailored within an inch of its life with silver cufflinks and not a tie in sight. He had his collar open, and hair swept back in that lazy way that looked expensive and just a little reckless. It was like he’d gotten dressed while thinking about you.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “Wow,” Bucky said, voice quieter than usual. “Just—off the record?”

You tilted your head curiously.

He let out a deep breath. “You look beautiful.”

You tried not to smile, though it failed.

“Flattery this early in the night might get into my head,” you warned, stepping toward him.

His lips quirked. “Good.”

You both stood there for half a second too long.

Finally, he opened the car door and held out his hand. You took it.

—

The doors clicked shut, the city noise fading. The air inside smelled like his cologne — subtle and clean, a little smoky underneath. There’s a driver, sure, but the glass is up. You’re alone, technically.

Bucky shifted, resting his left arm casually on the center console, metal fingers tapping a rhythm against the leather. His other hand sat loose on his thigh.

You glanced over. “So this is you ‘fitting in’?”

He grimaced slightly. “This is me trying not to pull a fire alarm to get out of going.”

You laughed. “And I’m the distraction from your self-sabotage?”

“No,” he said, and you could tell he meant it. “You’re the reason I showed up at all.”

Your breath caught just slightly, but you played it off with a wry smile, turning your head toward the window.

“So,” you said. “Is this where you do your best politician impression?”

He groaned. “God, please don’t make me do the voice.”

“Oh no, you have a voice?”

“You know I do.”

You mimicked him, overly formal: “‘The Congressman appreciates your concern and will take the matter under advisement—’”

He slumped dramatically. “Okay, now you’re just bullying me.”

You smiled. “You like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

—

The ballroom glittered with wealth and power — not chaotic like press rooms, where you’re most comfortable in. Everyone here wore their masks well with practiced smiles, firm handshakes, and champagne flutes held like accessories to an agenda.

You’d seen a hundred rooms like it, but never quite like this

Bucky walked beside you like a man who’d rather be anywhere else, yet he’d learned how to make discomfort look intentional. His eyes were always moving — reading people, scanning for more information.

And people noticed.

Some recognised you immediately. You could see it in the way their eyes narrowed just slightly, or the pause between sip and smile. You weren’t supposed to be here. Not in this capacity — not as a plus-one in a dress instead of with a press badge and recorder in hand.

Which made your presence all the more interesting.

Bucky knew it, too.

He introduced you a few times. Politely, not as “a friend” — not as “press.” Just your name. Just enough to let people wonder, is she here for him or for the story?

You smiled graciously every time and sipped your champagne like you weren’t watching everything.

And then it happened.

You were standing near one of the tall tables, Bucky in conversation with two Congressmen and a Defense contractor whose face you recognised — old money and a reputation wrapped in plausible deniability. The topic had started light — committee reshuffling, midterm optics — but Bucky didn’t do small talk well, especially when he smelled bullshit.

“I’ve been looking into the appropriations numbers from the last round of GRC aid,” he said smoothly. “Funny how the oversight committee flagged three anomalies—two of them connected to firms your office vouched for.”

One of the men laughed nervously. “Now’s not the time, Barnes.”

“Why not?” Bucky asked, calmly. “Transparency’s a big part of your platform, right?”

One of them looked at you— and he definitely knew who you were.

“This isn’t the place,” the man said again.

Your eyebrows lifted.

Bucky turned his head slightly. “What, because she’s here?”

You took that as your cue.

You smiled wickedly and stepped forward just enough to make them uneasy.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, voice like silk. “I’m off the clock. Everything’s off the record.” You sipped your drink. “I’m just a plus-one tonight,” you added, eyes dancing. Which is complete bullshit, of course, but it was very fun to pretend you weren’t clocking everything.

They didn’t laugh. Bucky did.

He stood there beside you, watching them shift in their shoes, and take pleasure in it. Not because you were being antagonistic — you weren’t. You were smiling, polite, even charming. But the presence of a journalist with integrity alone made them sweat.

That’s what he loved about bringing you here.

You didn’t have to say anything.

They still squirmed.

Not all of them, though.

Later in the evening, a young Senator from Illinois approached you both.

“I just wanted to say,” she said, “I appreciated your breakdown of the foreign security budget last quarter. Brutal, but honest.”

You smiled warmer, more genuine. “Thank you. I try not to hold back.”

“You shouldn’t.” The Senator looked at Bucky. “People like you make us better.”

That one stuck with you.

Because for all the ones who looked rattled — who saw your presence as a threat to their comfort — there were others who understood. Who didn’t fear the questions, who welcomed the pressure.

That when you realised Bucky brought you here not to show you off — but to set a tone.

He could’ve brought anyone.

But he brought the one person who made people nervous— as part of his… performance.

And as the night wore on — as the speeches droned and the clinking glasses dulled into background noise — he’d glance at you now and then with a small smile.

—

The ride back was quiet. Your shoes were off the second you got in the car. Bucky had loosened his collar even more, one hand draped lazily on the back of the seat, fingers just barely brushing your shoulder.

When the car stopped outside your place, you didn’t move right away.

He turned to you. “So.”

You looked at him. “So.”

“That wasn’t a complete disaster.”

“Mm,” you said, mock-considering. “You didn’t punch anyone. I didn’t blackmail anyone. That’s a win.”

Bucky snorted. “Low bar.”

You grinned. “Yup.”

He walked you to your door, jacket slung over one shoulder now, tie stuffed in his pocket.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, “Really.”

You looked up at him, keys in hand.

“You mean for distracting your enemies and inciting mild panic among the morally bankrupt?”

He shrugged. “Exactly.”

You turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open halfway, then paused. You hesitated for one heartbeat

“Hey,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “You wanna come in?”

Bucky looked… surprise. “You sure?”

You shrugged casually. “Just don’t make it weird, Barnes.”

“I’m a hundred years old,” he laughed before gesturing to his driver that he was done for the night. “I make everything weird.”

—

You kicked your shoes off the second you walked in, already sighing with relief. Bucky followed behind you, glancing around with a quiet smile.

“Wow,” he said, soft and sincere. “You’ve really made a life here.”

You turned, one foot curled under you as you leaned on the arm of the couch. “What, you thought I lived in a reporter-shaped room with a desk and no plumbing?”

“I dunno,” he teased. “I pictured you in a shoebox full of press clippings and takeout.”

You walked past him and opened a cabinet, tossing him a glass. “Close.”

He caught it easily and raised it in a little toast. “Seriously, though. It’s nice. It’s… you.”

That mattered, coming from him.

“I tried,” you said. “Stability’s weird, but I don’t hate it.”

You both sat on the couch, facing each other at first, wine in hand, posture still alert. But over the next twenty minutes, the tension melted slowly — minute by minute, like butter on warm toast.

You talked about the gala. About the senator who spilled champagne on her own shoes and tried to blame the caterer. About how politics made everything louder but not always clearer. About Sam. About your job.

At some point, you pulled your hair up into a messy knot and tossed your legs across his lap like nothing has changed. Bucky, to his credit, just adjusted. His hand stayed on your calf, and he didn’t move it.

You were laughing about something — a lobbyist who couldn’t even point out Russia in a map — when Bucky looked at you a little too long.

And suddenly he leaned forward.

It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t a sweep-you-off-your-feet kind of trying-to-kiss-you.

It was slow, like he was giving you the chance to stop it.

And you did.

Gently, you put a hand on his chest and pulled back.

He froze.

“Shit,” he said immediately, backing off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— I just—”

“No,” you cut in quickly. “No, Bucky. I want to.” You looked at him, heart thudding. “I really want to.”

That was true. God, it was true. You were dizzy from the way his breath had felt on your lips, the heat still buzzing where your hand had rested on his chest.

You watched his metal arm plates tighten, his teeth clenching, trying to understand.

“But if we do this again,” you continued, “it can’t be like it was before.”

“Friends with… occasional poor boundary control?” he offered, one corner of his mouth twitching in a sad smile. That charm has always softened the blow, even now.

You gave him a fond look. “Exactly.”

A beat of silence came back, but it wasn’t hard this time.

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

You shifted, taking your legs off his lap and tucking them under you as you leaned back on the arm of the couch. Bucky turned too, mirroring you, knees bumping yours.

“We should sleep on it,” you said softly.

He raised an eyebrow, then repeated, “sleep on it?”

“Yeah.” You nudged his knee. “Not everything has to explode. We take a second. Let it breathe, y’know?”

“And if I’m already sure?” he asked.

Your heart gave you a small, reckless kick.

You looked at him still. “Then sleep on it anyway. Because I need to be sure, too. And if we want to try again—” You hesitated. “Let’s start properly,” you said, more certain now. “Not with wine and after-gala adrenaline.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment, studying you. Then he nodded. “Start again.”

“Yeah.”

He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes drifting to the ceiling like he was thinking something through. Then he smiled a tired, lopsided smile. “That sounds terrifying.”

You laughed. “Not as terrifying as pretending we’re still just friends.”

“Of course.”

The city hummed low through the window, the buzz of the TV flickering like white noise behind you both.

He stretched out a little, glancing over. “So… if we’re sleeping on it…”

You arched a brow. “You want to crash here?”

His eyes feigned innocence. “Purely in a start-over, emotionally-mature capacity.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “You gonna hold up your end of the truce?”

He gave you a look. “You trust me?”

“I trust me,” you joked, “You, on the other hand...”

“Hey,” he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Kidding.” Still, you got up and walked to the closet to grab a blanket, tossed him a throw pillow (which he barely caught). You didn’t say much, but there was something strangely gentle about the way you both moved around each other — no longer afraid of being too close, but careful all the same.

You showered while he showered in the guest room en-suite. You put on an oversized shirt and returned to the couch to find Bucky already lying down in a shirt some guys left at your place like, a year ago (it was a bit too small on him) — legs curled, arms crossed behind his head like he was trying not to take up space.

You didn’t hesitate, climbing in next to him.

“You always did take up the whole couch,” you muttered.

“Guess you’ll just have to climb over me,” he said innocently.

You narrowed your eyes. “I will smother you with this pillow.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

You rolled your eyes and settled in beside him, both of you a little awkward for a second — arms adjusting, legs figuring themselves out — until it just… worked.

His arm ended up around your shoulder. Your head ended up on his chest. Your knee bumped his thigh and stayed there.

Eventually, you turned on something dumb on TV — a rerun of Friends or Seinfeld, neither of you really watching. You curled into him, one of his hands toyed absently with the ends of your hair.

And somewhere around 1:42 a.m., though you mentioned something about sleeping in your own bed and Bucky taking the guest bedroom — you both drifted off on the couch, your head against his shoulder.

—

The next morning, you blinked awake, cocooned beneath your comforter, your cheek pressed into your pillow.

Your mind, at first, didn’t quite catch up. You were home, clearly. In your bed.

But—

Wait.

You sat up.

The comforter slid off your shoulder, revealing your sleep shirt twisted sideways from the night before. You rubbed your eyes, squinting at the faint ache in your neck and…

No Bucky.

Your brows furrowed as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. You walked down the hallway, and saw that the guest bedroom was empty.

Continuing into the living room, the couch was also empty.

The blanket was folded, pillow fluffed. Everything was neat like he’d never been there at all — except you knew he had. You remembered the warmth of his breath. You remembered falling asleep with his fingers lazily brushing the inside of your elbow.

So what the hell?

And then you noticed it.

A small, folded slip of paper on your coffee table.

Right where the wine glasses had been.

You picked it up, heart thudding with the sudden, irrational hope that it wasn’t goodbye. That he hadn’t walked out and decided this was all a mistake. That you hadn’t imagined the tenderness under all that restraint.

You unfolded the paper.

At first, it was just nonsense.

A familiar, ridiculous mix of letters.

Fcxxet mwywttwj xcqdm?

Your lips curved before you even touched your phone.

You pulled up the old cipher from your Notes app — You typed it in, letter by letter.

DINNER TOMORROW NIGHT?

You stared at it for a long moment, biting back a grin.

So... he’d carried you to bed.

You knew it. You could see it now — him gently scooping you up when you’d both dozed off on the couch, trying not to wake you, probably muttering something like you’re a lot heavier when you’re pretending to be asleep as he navigated the hallway in the dark.

And then he left without a sound.

You stared down at the note again, fingers brushing over the paper.

You folded the note neatly, slipped it into the drawer beside your bed, and let yourself sink back into the mattress with a small, secret smile still playing at your lips as you got ready for work.

—

Later that day, Bucky returned from his lunch break late — not intentionally, just Capitol Hill late, which meant five different people had stopped him to ask about pending subcommittees and another wanted to get a “quick quote” on infrastructure allocations (it was never quick).

His shoulders were tense. His tie was already undone by a half-inch, the top button of his collar loosening like it couldn’t breathe.

He stepped into his office and greeted his aide with a distracted nod.

“Anything urgent?”

“Just a note was dropped off for you,” he said, not looking up from his monitor. “Someone from the press.”

Bucky raised a brow.

The note sat innocently on his desk — folded in half, no letterhead, no envelope. Just a slip of paper.

He opened it.

Zem's qw rwt slsdc ptwlxf mde nwtxet mw hwlts. 8VY.

It took less than a second for the corner of his mouth to lift.

He didn’t need the cipher chart anymore. It was muscle memory. Every twist of the alphabet was familiar — like a shared language no one else could hear.

He decoded it line by line, letting the message unfold:

LET'S GO FOR SUSHI AROUND THE CORNER TO YOURS. 8PM.

He closed his eyes and let the smile spread fully now, crumpling the note gently in one hand as he leaned back in his chair.

His aide peered around the door. “Good news?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “Yeah. It’s really good news.”

—

The sushi place wasn’t fancy.

It was tucked in the corner, with lantern lighting and wooden booths that smelled like soy sauce and rice vinegar. The kind of place only locals knew — no website, no reservation system, just a handwritten menu by the door and a hostess who warmed up after you ordered the special.

Bucky hadn’t protested. In fact, when he saw the low ceilings, the tiny fish tank by the register, and the man behind the bar rolling perfect maki like a magician, he looked at you and said, “This is charming.”

You grinned. “I know.”

He held the door for you, a hand resting lightly on the small of your back, like it had always belonged there. You tried not to overthink it.

You both ordered too much. The waitress just nodded, unimpressed by your enthusiasm. You ended up with two miso soups, three types of rolls, a shared tempura plate, and a carafe of warm sake.

And for the first twenty minutes, you just talked.

Not flirted.

Talked.

About terrible campaign ads. About how Bucky’s suit got stuck in the Capitol Hill coatroom for two days. About how your editor now thinks you're “the only one ruthless enough to handle political profiles and deal with it without crying.”

You made him laugh.

He draped an arm along the back of your chair and leaned in while you recounted a story about accidentally calling a senator ‘dude.’

“I mean,” Bucky said, hiding a grin, “still better than the guy calling ‘mom’ during a floor vote.”

You nearly spit your sake.

And something about this felt so normal.

Like this had always been the plan.

You left the restaurant full, Bucky’s hand brushing yours as you walked to the curb.

“This was good.”

You nodded. “It was.”

And then it became a habit.

Tuesdays became a day for sushi. Or Thai. Or that place with the weird tacos in Foggy Bottom you swore would give you food poisoning but kept going back to anyway.

Every Tuesday night — without fail — you had dinner.

Sometimes you argued about who’d pay. Sometimes you or Bucky would cook, and you teased him until he burned the garlic. Sometimes you ordered takeout and sat on the floor with wine and policy memos you pretended to ignore.

You saw him other days, too — but Tuesdays were yours.

Then came the coffees.

First, it was once a week. You brought him a cup to a hearing. He dropped one off at your office on a quiet Thursday. Then it became routine.

Twice a week.

Always black coffee with way too much sugar for him. A latte for you, but maybe iced, depending on your mood. He started keeping one of those silly reusable cups with your initials on it in his briefcase, just in case. You’d pretend not to notice, but you always did.

He sent you articles at 1am with comments like: this senator’s grammar is actually criminal.You texted him mid-press conference while you were in the crowd just to make him break — fix your tie, you look like you’re being held hostage.

And one night, while sitting across from him in a pizza booth with garlic dip on your wrist you realised this wasn’t your old book-club-then-sex habit. This was new. This was… stable.

—

A month or two passed before you even realised.

You’d just come back from dinner — Thai this time, spicy enough to make both of you sniffle over the last plate of drunken noodles. You still had the faintest smear of chili oil on your lips, and your stomach hurt from laughing when Bucky tried to order in Thai and accidentally asked the waiter if the rice was single.

Now, you were in his living room, kicking your shoes off while Bucky headed down the hall to the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Gimme two minutes—pick a movie or something. Remote’s on the coffee table.”

You called back, “Copy that, Barnes.”

Except… there was no remote on the coffee table.

You checked under a magazine, lifted a coaster. You beneath a throw pillow with a dramatic sigh.

Still nothing.

So, naturally, you glanced toward the media console. There were two drawers.

You opened the top one.

No remote. Just a bunch of coasters and a spare charger.

Then the second.

At first, it looked like scraps of paper. Neat ones. Square, all the same size. All stacked and carefully folded. You reached for one without thinking.

Then you saw it.

C zwke hwl

Your cipher.

The letters stared up at you, jumbled and unreadable at a glance. But your brain, so familiar with this dance now that you’ve regularly been using this to communicate, began decoding line by line.

I LOVE YOU

You blinked. What?

You took a second note.

C'y cx zwke jcmd hwl — I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU

You opened another.

C'y rpzzcxq cx zwke jcmd hwl — I'M FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU

And another — the handwriting slanted, like he’d written it fast, maybe late at night.

C dpke oeex cx zwke jcmd hwl rwt p jdcze — I HAVE BEEN IN LOVE WITH YOU FOR A WHILE

There were dozens, tucked neatly, like they mattered. Like he wrote them down when he couldn’t say them aloud. Some looked older. Some more recent. Some were on scrap paper, one was on the back of a coffee receipt. They were all different. Some were hesitant. Some were certain. One had been rewritten three times with a slightly different phrasing each time.

But they all said the same thing, all had the same two words:

zwke — LOVE hwl — YOU

Again. And again.

And suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

The remote was long forgotten. Your fingers shook just a little.

“Hey, sorry, took forever—” Bucky said from behind.

You snapped your head back. Bucky stood in the doorway, towel drying his hands, his hair slightly damp from where he must’ve splashed water on his face.

His eyes dropped to the drawer, to the paper in your hand.

And everything in him went still.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

You just looked at him, standing frozen in the doorway like he wasn’t sure whether to run or brace for impact.

Your voice came in disbelief. “Bucky…” You held up one of the notes. “How long have you been scribbling these?”

He didn’t move. His eyes flicked from the paper to you, and back again.

Then, quietly, almost like it hurt to admit, he said, “Since I moved back here.” He took a deep breath. “But I… I didn’t want to mess it up. Not when we’d just started figuring out what this is.”

You took a step toward him. The room felt smaller now — but not claustrophobic.

He swallowed. “I kept writing it down because saying it felt too… final, I guess. And you’d said to take our time. So I tried, but it’s always been right there. Right on the edge of—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You kissed him for the first time in years, and it was… different.

The kind of kiss that didn’t ask a question or wait for permission — because it was the answer. The kind of kiss that felt like relief and release all the same, like finally.

Bucky froze for half a second, before you back like he’d been holding it in for years.

His hand cupped your cheeks, thumb brushing your jawline like he couldn’t believe you were real. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in the way he made when he finally let go.

When you pulled back — just barely — your noses brushed.

You kept your eyes closed for a moment before whispering, “Next time you feel like writing ‘I love you’ thirty-six times in a drawer, maybe just… try saying it once out loud.”

Bucky gave a huffed breath of a laugh. “Noted.”

His forehead was still pressed to yours, breath shallow between you.

You opened your eyes slowly, and his were already there — dark, focused, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the flutter of your lashes, the way your fingers still curled into the front of his shirt like you needed him to stay real.

“I’m serious,” you whispered. “Just say it.”

He tilted his head slightly, lips brushing yours again, so close it was barely a kiss. “Okay,” almost restrained. “I love you.”

Your breath caught — not because you didn’t know it, but because hearing it was something else entirely.

This time, he kissed you first.

And this time, it was different — hungrier.

His arms were around you in a heartbeat, hands sliding along your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt. You pushed him back toward the couch, urgency curling in your belly as his mouth opened under yours — heat pouring in, your teeth catching his bottom lip just enough to draw a soft, involuntary moan. You barely made it to the couch. Your bodies hit the cushions in a tangle, knees and hands and breathless gasps, his hands framing your face before skimming down your sides. He tugged at the hem of your shirt, and you nodded, lifting your arms.

The shirt hit the floor behind you.

Bucky leaned back slightly, eyes raking over your skin like it physically hurt him not to touch you. “God, I missed this,” he said.

You pulled him back in.

The way he kissed you now was different — unhurried, like he was relearning every inch of you. His mouth trailed along your jaw, your throat, teeth raking the curve of your shoulder as your fingers found the hem of his shirt and pushed it up, palms flattening against his chest.

He hissed when your nails dragged lightly down his ribs.

“Still ticklish?” you teased, breathless.

“Only when you do that,” he growled into your skin.

You felt his metal hand curl behind your knee, pulling your leg up around his waist as his hips pressed into yours — a sigh slipping from you before you could stop it.

You gasped as his mouth found your chest, lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses over your skin. He made a sound when you arched beneath him. You felt the drag of his stubble, the roll of his hips, the way he was holding back for your sake.

“Bucky,” you whispered against his ear, teeth grazing the shell. “Don’t.”

He slowed down, only for a second.

“Don’t hold back.”

And then he didn’t.

—

The room was quiet except for your breathing.

You were lying in the dip of the couch, half-covered by a throw blanket you barely remembered tugging over yourselves. Bucky’s body was curled around you, metal arm slung protective over your waist.

You could still feel him everywhere.

Not just physically — though that, too: the ache between your thighs, the kiss-bruised curve of your mouth, the sweet sting of stubble burns on your inner thighs. But it felt as if he’d pressed himself into your bloodstream, rewired the rhythm of your pulse.

You’d thought you remembered what it felt like to be with him.

You had not.

This time hadn’t been frantic or impulsive like it used to be — not fueled by adrenaline or blurred by loneliness. This time had been devastatingly focused, like he wanted to undo every careless moment you’d ever shared before. And he had. Every touch had felt deliberate — like he’d waited years just to relearn how to love you with his hands and his mouth and his whole damn body.

And you had let him.

Your head rested on his chest now, rising and falling with each breath he took. His human hand gently combed through your hair.

Eventually, his voice came. “Does this mess things up?” he asked, voice careful now. “For us? Our jobs?”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see him.

His brow was furrowed — not in guilt, but in genuine concern, mostly because he knew how hard you’ve had to work to get to this point in your career.

“Honestly?” you said, fingers brushing across his chest, tracing the faint line of an old scar near his ribs. “It complicates things. But that doesn’t mean it ruins them.”

He searched your face for a beat. “You sure?”

“No,” you said plainly. “But I am going to stop writing about you— only because I don’t sleep with my sources… anymore.”

His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile.

“You always were the reckless one,” he said softly.

“Says the guy with a cybernetic arm and a seat in Congress,” you shot back.

He laughed again.

You glanced at the coffee table, you saw your phone light up and you were suddenly very aware of the time— 2:47 a.m.

“We should go to bed,” you said after a minute, not moving.

He made an amused sound. “Now you want to be responsible?”

You tilted your head. “If we don’t go to sleep soon, we’re going to do that again. And then I’m going to be too tired to write in the morning, and you’re going to miss your 10 a.m. subcommittee meeting, and then the Ethics Committee will suddenly care about optics for the first time in history.”

He let out a low groan. “God, that meeting’s going to be brutal.”

“Mmhm. And I’m going to get yelled at for not turning in my op-ed on legislative gridlock, which is ironic considering I just—” you gestured vaguely between your bodies, “—got very thoroughly unstuck.”

He laughed before pushing a trans of loose hair behind your ears, “You really think we can do this? With all the politics, the press, the oversight committees?”

You reached up and cupped his face, thumb brushing along the edge of his cheekbone. “I think we’ve both done harder things than loving each other.”

He looked like you’d knocked the wind out of him.

“Fuck, please say that again,” he said.

You smiled. “I love you, James.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, then nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

You kissed him one more time. “We’ll figure it out,” you said.

And you meant it.

Because it wasn’t just adrenaline anymore. Or loneliness. Or lust.

For now, you just had to get him into bed so both of you could get at least five hours of sleep.

-end.

Request Guidelines

Masterlist

I wonder if I should make a part two where reader is one of the journalists in the press conference that Val arranged in the end of Thunderbolts because she has been covering her impeachment, and her reaction to her boyfriend being in the lineup? and then maybe explore their relationship when their newfound stability is challenged?

Cipher decoder:

Plain text: abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz

Cipher text: ponferqdcbazyxwvutsmlkjihg

1K notes · View notes

enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

If We Talked

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Some angst and miscommunication

a/n: I love this trope!! It was so fun to write a little one and I loveee reading it. I hope you enjoy!! Thank you for reading ily ❤️❤️

Masterlist

You fought off the swell of your throat with tight lips, stirring the contents of the pot with unnecessary care. He was staring at you. He had been staring at you from the moment he came inside, but there was nothing you could do about it—nothing you should do about it.

The spices from the haphazardly thrown-together dinner were beginning to burn your eyes. This felt awful. The past week had felt awful.

After overhearing Bucky call you intense, everything you felt was amplified.

It had been an accident, you being at his apartment at that exact moment. You were dropping by unannounced, but you hadn’t even knocked on the door before his words had vibrated past the locked threshold of the door. And then you had left.

You had taken great care to be less intense over the past week. This was the first time Bucky had been in your apartment since that day, and that hadn’t been without struggle. He asked to come over several times, even showing up and knocking on the door while you pretended to be asleep. It all felt very juvenile—the ignoring and avoiding and missing calls. But you didn’t know how else to respond.

You loved Bucky. You loved him and it felt intense, but, apparently, things had moved too fast for him. A few months of dating were not enough. You were too much.

You had told him you loved him for the first time just days before you overheard his confession, so connecting the dots hadn’t been very hard.

You were too much.

Avoiding him had been made easier by your intense work schedule. You stayed overtime and texted brief excuses. That had worked for a time. But last night, Bucky showed up at your office with a bag of takeout and an uncomfortably furrowed brow, and you knew it was probably time to face this.

You gave him space for a week, and now it was time to practice being less intense in person. You couldn’t avoid him forever. And it hurt—being away from him for too long. Not that you would admit that. Not now.

“I don’t know how good this is going to be,” you huffed out a laugh, ladling noodles into two bowls. “It’s a new recipe, and I’m kinda low on groceries.”

When you glanced up at Bucky sitting on the couch, his smile looked strained. “‘M sure it’ll be great.”

You replied with a short smile, glancing down at the bowls as you joined him in the living room. You sat far enough away for it to make sense—one cushion over, not halfway in his lap like you used to. The television created a soft backdrop of some show you weren’t paying attention to, but the meal was otherwise silent.

You missed kissing him.

When he came in, you gave him one quick press of your lips and then darted back to the kitchen, ignoring the feel of his hands on your waist as they rushed to grab you. He was only doing all of that to appease you—the calls and trips to your office and the affection.

If you let him do what he didn’t want to do, you would lose him.

“Well,” you prompted, your teasing smile almost wobbling over the bowl. “How is it?”

Bucky caught your eye from the other side of the small couch. His expression narrowed on your mouth, and then he winced, almost imperceptibly.

Something dropped in your gut.

“It’s good, sweetheart.”

You kept up your smile, but as you turned back to your meal and pretended to watch TV, everything felt final. Your jaw was stiff as you took your next bite, the food tasting like nothing and curdling in your stomach. You hadn’t done enough. You hadn’t given him enough space. He had been so adamant about coming over because this was the end.

You left your bowl half-filled when you placed it on the coffee table, the smell of it nauseating. The inside of your cheek was bleeding from where you bit into it.

“Done already?” Bucky asked. He had finished a few minutes before you, his dish next to yours, and his arm looped back behind the couch. He wasn’t touching you. Almost, but not.

“Yeah,” you replied. The single word sounded unstable, and you cursed your throat for feeling so thick with anxiety. You looked at Bucky from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes closed and his expression pinched.

Your lips parted. Were you going to beg? That would only make it worse, surely. Too intense, too much.

Maybe this would be for the best. Some time for a break would—

“Please, tell me how to fix this.”

You blinked at the TV, and then you blinked over towards Bucky, lips still parted but no words escaping them.

A pause as breath was caught in the heaviness of your chest, and then, “What?”

Bucky moved his tongue to his cheek, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a hoodie today, and it felt so uncharacteristic that you had almost been distracted at the door.

“I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I did, but you gotta tell me or I’m—” his hands came up to run over his head and fall at the nape of his neck. “—just tell me what I did, sweetheart. Please.”

He turned to look at you then, only a foot of space between you but the distance almost stifling. Your hands clenched atop your knees, and he watched them, eyes flickering to any movement you made. He tracked your unsteady breath, the way your gaze couldn’t stay rooted in one place, and each minute shift in your features.

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” you offered, because it was the truth.

Bucky’s jaw rocked to the side. “You barely said three words to me this week. You didn’t want me over—didn’t want to see me. I fought through your building security to bring you dinner, and you looked… Baby, I walked through the door and looked about ready to cry. I mean, you didn’t even—you barely even kissed me today.”

Your gentle sigh weighed down your chest. You dropped your gaze down to the couch, unaware that Bucky was desperately trying to find himself there, leaning his head down to no avail. This didn’t make any sense. You really couldn’t do anything right, it seemed.

“It’s just—baby, I thought you said—” Bucky started, speaking in such disjointed sentences you looked up to try and parse them out. His shoulders untensed as you did, but then he said, “Thought you loved me, is that still true?” and the confusing swirl of emotions turned to devastation.

“I do,” you fervently replied, shaking your head as if that made sense. “Of course I do, Bucky, but you…”

“I what?” Bucky rushed to get clarification, the vulnerability so clear on his face it made you ache.

“I thought I was too much for you. I was trying to give you space. I thought you were going to end things tonight.”

“Why in the hell would you think that?” he exasperated, the words harsh but his delivery of them so gentle.

You bit into your bottom lip and let out another breath, the pressure on your chest looming down into your ribs. The fists on your knees moved to pick at a loose thread on the couch.

“I came by on Saturday—to your apartment, I mean. You left your jacket in my car, and I knew you were going to be out late with Sam.”

“But I didn’t—”

“I never actually got inside your apartment,” you revealed, knocking your head to the side, still unable to fully meet his gaze.

A tick of silence passed.

“You heard me.”

This was the worst part. It made you seem immature, eavesdropping from the hall of his building. It made you seem immature, and you were also petty because you avoided him for a week. You fought the urge to allow the couch to swallow you whole.

“I didn’t mean to hear you,” you stressed, pulling and tugging at the loose corner of your cushion. “I left pretty quickly. I didn’t—”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. He placed fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The concern in his features masked lingering hurt, and you moved your hands into your lap to squeeze them together instead. “What did you hear, baby?”

You flickered your gaze between his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I understand, you know? I wouldn’t want—”

“Y/n. What did you hear?”

“That you think I’m too intense. That this—us—is too much, maybe.”

Bucky kept you in his hold, but he closed his eyes. The hurt melted from his face only to be replaced with something akin to regret. He shook his head slightly, jutted out his jaw, and then he looked at you once again, his features strained.

“Damn,” he whispered. The fingers under your chin moved to cup your cheek, rubbing soothing shapes there. “Thought you were leaving me, did you know that? Whole time this has been my own fault. God.”

Bucky shifted forward on the couch until your legs were pressed close. You untucked yours to accommodate him, greedy for the contact despite your confusion, and he only got closer. When his forehead touched yours, you gave in to the burn in your waterline, vision blurrier than it had been.

“I love you so goddamn much,” Bucky began, moving back only an inch to find your watery gaze. “When I said you were intense, I meant that this is the most I’ve ever felt for someone. That the intensity was mutual. That maybe, at the rate we’re going, it would be too much for you. I was asking Sam for advice—seeing if he thought I should back off.”

“You?” you asked, the word crackling in your throat.

“Yeah, me, sweetheart. Not you. I was afraid you were gonna bolt one of these days. I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, according to quite a few people, and I know that loving you means that I’m probably the worst around you.”

The muscle at the corner of your mouth twitched, and along with it went the stress that had settled in every nerve ending in your body. The tension in your jaw released, your chest began to ease, and the only remaining negative was the sadness at Bucky’s confession—at his fronted vulnerability.

You reached up to catch his wrist in your grip, and he responded by bringing his other hand up to hold you fully.

“I love you,” you affirmed. Bucky’s own smile was sad. “I’ve never thought about ‘bolting.’ I spent this entire week sad and lonely because I was afraid you were going to leave me. I was trying to show you that I could be… chill, I guess.”

“Chill?” Bucky repeated with a scoff-like laugh, brows shooting up as he brushed his thumbs along the dampness of your cheeks. “I drove past your apartment every night this week. I used that shampoo you left in my shower just to make my bed smell like you again. I wrote…God, I wrote you this letter because I figured maybe if you got something in the mail—”

“You sent me mail?” you interrupted.

Bucky’s face blushed a bashful pink, his mouth open in a defensive smile. “We can forget about the mail, okay? Now that we’re talking it out.”

“Right. I’m going to check my mail when you leave.”

“Hey,” he demanded, his playful, pointed look reorienting you to the reason behind the tears now drying on your face. When you settled back into his gaze, Bucky readjusted you in his hands, bringing your head into his shoulder until you were fully in his arms. “I love you, you got that? I’m sorry you heard what you did and thought—thought that wasn’t true. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want to feel like that again—like I’m losing you.”

You tightened your fingers into the material of Bucky’s hoodie, taking a moment to relish in his arms around you. You nodded against him, hoping that would suffice, and it did. He kissed the side of your head and leaned back against the couch, bringing you with him.

“Can’t even check the mail,” Bucky eventually grumbled out. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any time soon.”

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enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

With All My Heart

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You never thought Bucky was the sentimental type, until you found something hidden under his bed.

WC: 3.3k

Tags/Warnings: super fluffy, established relationship, Post Thunderbolts*,Not Beta Read

A/N: I’ve had this idea for weeks and finally did it. Fun fact, the Polaroids may or may not be inspired by real pictures I took of my best friend and her boyf. Also, yes I have been to the rest stop I mentioned. Sadly I live far away from them and I NEED to go back!

You felt like an idiot looking at your wrist and realizing your watch wasn’t there.

“Shit,” you mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked you with concern.

You shook your head, “It’s nothing, I forgot my watch.”

He paused, pondering while he put on his leather jacket. “I think you left it on my nightstand when you took it off last night,” he answered, pointing down the hall. “Do you want to go get it before we leave?”

You hesitated, “You sure you don’t mind waiting?”

Bucky shook his head and held out his hand to hold your jacket and purse for you. “Not at all.”

You smiled, handed him your things, and left a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, be right back.”

As you walked away the corners of his lips turned up into a soft smile.

You hurried to Bucky’s room and upon entering a frustrated groan left you. There the nightstand was, with no watch. You searched the drawers in the nightstand and the top of his dresser, still no luck.

After staring at the nightstand, you wondered if you really did leave it there but maybe it fell. You kneeled down next to the bed and turned on your phone flashlight. A quick scan finally revealed the missing watch. With a relieved sigh you reached for it, when something caught your eye.

A box.

A box with your name written on the side of it.

Your own name was staring back at you as you grabbed the watch. With a careful hand you reached for the box and dragged it out from the bed.

The box sat in your lap, unopened, unbothered. It was a dark brown cardboard shoe box from one of his pairs of boots. Your name was written in black marker on the side and next to it a tiny messy heart.

Your gut is telling you not to open it. It might have been hidden for a reason. You have no right to be digging and snooping around Bucky’s things. Finding something he didn’t want found.

But another part of you was desperate to know what was inside. That small but loud part of your brain that was screaming at you to open it. The voice kept echoing in your ears. Reminding you that your name was on it.

Why did he have a box with your name on it?

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be hidden. You kept things under your bed not because you wanted to hide them, but because of storage and safekeeping. Maybe this was like that.

Maybe.

God the anticipation was going to kill you.

Maybe it was a present he put in there for your next anniversary, birthday, or some other reason.

Well then you should really not open it. Don’t want to ruin any possible surprise he has for you.

You really shouldn’t open it. You shouldn’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Open it. Open it. Open it…

Your hands moved on their own. Your fingers peeled back the lid of the box and set it down on the floor next to you.

You peered inside at the contents of the box with confused curiosity. At first glance it didn’t look like much. It definitely wasn’t a present. There were a bunch of random items, mostly paper ones.

The first thing that caught your attention was the small plastic wristband. It was at the top of the pile. You picked it up and read the words on the side “Luna Park: Coney Island.” Realization dawned on you that it was Bucky’s wristband from your first date. When he asked you out, there was no specific place in mind yet. But when he told you an old story about him and Steve at Coney Island and you said you had never been there before, he knew where he wanted to take you.

It was a perfect first date. The weather was clear and warm but not too hot to be uncomfortable, no doubt because of the cool ocean breeze. You went on rides, you played games. And of course Bucky spent 40 bucks to win you a blue stuffed penguin you fawned over and called cute. He was a man on a mission. And now that penguin sat on a chair in your bedroom.

With a smile you placed the wristband back in the box and picked at the other things inside.

Your heart swelled at the realization that most of the items were from your old dates with Bucky. There were tickets from your trips to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Museum of Natural History and one from The New York Aquarium. There had to be at least 5 movie stubs and 3 dinner receipts from dates you went on with him. There was the playbill from the broadway show he took you to for your birthday a few months ago. He surprised you with orchestra seats.

You dug around more and found a strip of photos from a photo booth you took with Bucky. His eyes shined as he told you about how common they were back in the 30s and how he used to always stop at them with his friends. When you both sat down he stared with wide eyes at the inflated price.

“Ten dollars? This used to cost a quarter!”

You giggled at his complaint, “You sound so old when you say stuff like that.” You reached for your purse to grab a ten when he stopped you with a hand on your arm and pulled out his wallet from his pocket.

“I’m still not going to let you pay for it,” he returned with a sly grin.

You smiled looking down at the strip of pictures in your hand. The top photo was simple, both you and Bucky smiling at the camera with his arm around you. It was sweet, peaceful. In the second photo you placed a hand under his chin and kissed his cheek. His eyes were closed with wrinkles around them from his smile. His cheeks were more rosy than in the last photo. In the third photo Bucky now had his hand on your neck as he kissed you. The fourth and final photo was of you looking at the camera, mid laugh, while Bucky had a hand on your face and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

The machine gave you two copies of the pictures. Yours was pinned to a cork board in your room next to other photos.

You moved on from the photo strip and continued digging through the memory box, throwing caution to the wind.

As you flipped through the other items a shell fell from behind something, landing in the corner of the box. It was the seashell from when you walked and talked on the beach for what felt like hours because you were so engrossed in conversation with him. The water carried a small shell onto the shore. You picked it out from the water and stared at it in awe. You had asked Bucky to hold onto it because your clutch was full and your outfit didn’t have any pockets. Later that night you forgot about it.

In fact, you forgot about it until now, weeks later. Your jaw dropped as you ran your fingertips over the ridges of the shell's surface, reminiscing your walk on the beach. His hand in yours and the

The next thing you found were the birthday cards you gave Bucky from his last two birthdays. One card was from a birthday before you started dating, and the other one was after.

The two year old card was more basic, like you got it from the generic section of the birthday card aisle (because you did). You opened up the old card and read your own handwriting.

Happy Birthday Bucky

I know you don’t like making a big deal out of your birthday but you still deserve a card :)

You’re so important to this team and your effort doesn’t go unnoticed. We’re lucky to have you around. I hope you have a great day and that 109 treats you well. (Even though you’re technically not 109 haha)

You closed it and set it back down in the box before grabbing the one you gave him on his most recent birthday. This one was less generic. You picked out one that had more design and personality.

Happy Birthday my Love

I am so grateful to have you by my side. You’re one of the best things to have ever happened to me. I hope you know you are so important and appreciated. I can’t imagine my life or this team without you.

Happy 110th you old man ;)

I love you with all my heart

Hidden behind the birthday cards was a stack of post-it notes all stuck together. Some of them were old with barely any stickiness left and crinkled edges. Some were new and almost in pristine condition. But all of them were notes from you. You flipped through the stack of sticky notes and saw more of your own handwriting.

Good morning <3

You make me smile :)

Meet me in the lounge later I have a surprise!

I know you stole my last Pepsi >:( prepare for war

I’m so proud of you

Have a great day!

And at least 7 more that just say I love you

Bucky must have saved every single note you left for him.

Your heart almost gave out but thankfully it lasted to see the last few items in the box.

There were more photos. Two to be exact. Two Polaroids taken from Yelena's camera.

One of the Polaroids was taken a few months ago. You knew it was taken because you posed for it. It was on your birthday. The team celebrated at the tower with you after the show Bucky surprised you with. You wanted to keep out of the public eye for the rest of your birthday. Spend the night with just friends. And your boyfriend of course.

Yelena was a few drinks in, wasting her camera film throughout the night. She had a pile of photos on the coffee table that was getting thicker as time went on. Most of them included you.

This one was of you and Bucky. Everyone was sitting on the couches playing a drinking game. You and Bob returned from the bar with new drinks. A Long Island iced tea for you and a regular iced tea for him. You plopped back down on the couch next to your boyfriend, giggling at whatever outlandish thing Alexei said. After you placed your drink down Bucky wrapped an arm around you and placed a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Awe! Wait, that was adorable, do that again!” Yelena exclaimed as she grabbed her camera.

You rolled your eyes, with no real malice of course. “Yelena,” you laughed.

“Come on, it’s sweet!” She turned the camera on and looked through the viewfinder.

“Kiss!” Alexei shouted.

“Pucker up Barnes!” Ava yelled from the other couch.

The corners of Bucky’s lips turned up into a grin as he shook his head. A gasp left you as Bucky grabbed your hips and pulled you into his lap. He tightened his arm around you and placed a kiss on your cheek. Your face turned bright red as an airy giggle left your lungs.

Yelena snapped the image in front of her. Forever frozen in time.

The memory of that night now sat in your hands as you stared down at it. There was a phantom feeling of his lips on your skin as you set the Polaroid back down in the box.

You picked the other photo up, immediately recognizing when it was taken. Except, you don’t remember it being taken.

This picture was taken a few short weeks before Bucky asked you out. You knew that because your hair was slightly shorter. It was more grown out now.

The photo was of you and Bucky on the couch, taken from behind. Your back was to the camera, resting against the couch. Bucky was sitting next to you. Your attention was pulled away somewhere off camera. But Bucky, he looked right at you.

The thing that really stuck with you was his eyes. His eyes were soft. The kind of soft that people didn't see often from him. His eyes are normally like stone. His stare, usually hard, like rock. It pierces into you. But this look on him was different. He looked at you like you were a work of art. Like he was trying to take in all of you with just his eyes.

You've seen that look before many times. But didn’t notice it before you started dating. You didn’t realize just how head over heels he was in the weeks leading up to your first date.

You cautiously placed the pictures back in the box, like they were delicate and fragile.

Something else you didn’t remember was a napkin with little doodles on it. You recognized it as a napkin from a bar the team occasionally visited. But you can’t remember when you drew flowers and vines on this napkin.

Bucky seemed to remember it. He kept it and cherished it in his memory box like it was a masterpiece you created and not some drunk sketch.

Your heart rate slowly grew in speed as your eyes moved to a keychain at the bottom of the box. It was a small, yellow, metal keychain in the shape of Texas with a cartoon beaver on it.

It was in the middle of the night after a short mission in Texas. You and Ava stopped at the largest rest stop you’d ever seen in your life. The rest stop had a beaver for its mascot and aisles of merch. But what made you buy the keychain for him was the name of the rest stop. Buc-ee’s.

You almost didn’t buy it for him. This was long before you started dating and you weren’t sure how he would appreciate a random gag gift.

“I found something for you in Texas.”

He turned to you and hummed with curiosity. You dug the keychain from your jeans pocket and handed it to him.

“We found this rest stop called Buc-ee’s and they have this little beaver as their mascot,” you explained, fidgeting with the loops in your jeans. “He’s literally your twin, you're both named Bucky,” you ended with a chuckle, trying to make this one sided conversation any less awkward.

He continued to silently examine it, his right, flesh hand running over the painted metal.

“I know it’s stupid, you don’t have to keep it,” you nervously mumbled. You reached forward to grab it back from him,

He pulled his hand back, not willing to give up the present. “No, it’s not stupid. It’s cute,” he reassured.

Your cheeks heated up in real time just like they did when he said that.

He kept it.

He kept the gag gift you got him. This silly little keychain was so important he kept it in a special keepsake box.

You almost couldn’t believe what you found. All the memories, all the stuff you gave him, all the things he cherished because they reminded him of you. It seemed like this box that sat in your lap held his very own heart and all his love for you.

You shuffled the items back to how they were in the box when you found it. You assumed that was all there was to find in there. Until three candy wrappers fell out from between the various papers.

Jolly Ranchers. Your favorite candy.

You always had them on you. Kinda like an old lady that carries around hard candy. John always jokes that you’re an old woman when you grab a jolly rancher from your pocket or purse. He says you and Bucky are perfect for each other because you both have old person tendencies.

Speaking of Bucky, because you often had candy on you, you always offered some to him. He always said yes. Here in his shoe box you saw one cherry and two green apple wrappers.

You froze, staring at the candy wrappers. Even in the silence of his room you couldn’t hear the footsteps approaching. For a moment all you heard was your own heart pounding in your ears.

The door creaked open. “Hey, you’ve been gone for a while. Did you find your watch?” Bucky asked, walking in the room.

He stopped a few feet away from you. Your back was to him, the box hidden in your lap. But he knew you had it because he saw the lid on the floor next to you.

You raised your hand and shook your wrist to show him the watch. “Yeah, I found it,” your voice sounded more hoarse than you expected. You quickly blinked away the tears that collected at your waterline right before he waked in.

Bucky took a few steps closer, and crouched down next to you. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. Now that he was close to you, he noticed how glassy your eyes were.

He held your face in his hand, his thumb stroking your cheek. Your eyes fluttered close.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. My watch was under the bed and I found this,” you started rambling. “I saw my name. I know I shouldn’t have opened it-“

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he soothed in a quiet voice. He turned your face towards his. “I’m not mad.”

You nodded to confirm you understood. You sniffled and glanced between him and the box.

“You kept all this.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

It was a dumb question and you knew it. Yet the word still flew out of your mouth.

He took a pause, breathing in.

“This stuff means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me,” he answered like it was the easiest thing to say in the world.

“After HYDRA, after all the-” he hesitated- “issues with my memory I started keeping stuff like this. To remember.”

With his free hand he grabbed the other side of your face. Bucky leaned closer, his bright blue eyes stared into yours and bore into your soul. You could’ve sworn they looked a little glassy.

“I want to make sure I remember you.”

You lip quivered. Bucky leaned forward and captured your lips in a brief, gentle kiss. He rested his forehead against yours.

“Can I ask about something in the box?”

“Anything.”

“The napkin. I don’t remember it,” you confessed, voice quiet and curious. “Why did you save it?”

“It was the team's first time at that bar. You were drunk and bored because they weren’t playing songs you liked. Someone left a pen on the bar and you sat there drawing on a napkin for twenty minutes.” Bucky paused as his lips curled into a smile. “You were so concentrated. The bar, the team, they were all so loud and distracting. But all your attention was on these little drawings. Like you were painting the Mona Lisa.”

He licked his lips, “that night I realized I have feelings for you.”

A giddy smile snuck its way on your face before you kissed him. Slow and passionate. You poured all your love into that kiss to try and match the amount of devotion and love he had on display for you.

You pulled away, but not too far away. Your lips hovered over his. “I love you with all my heart. You know that right?”

He lightly chuckled, “I know.”

Bucky wiped away a stray tear that you didn’t know escaped and ran down your cheek.

“I love you with all of mine,” he whispered, his voice soft with adoration.

4K notes · View notes

enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

You stepped inside and smiled at Alpine who had run to the hallway to see what was happening.

“Hello my pretty princess!” you cooed, crouching down so that you could pet her. She purred, bumping her head against your hand before she closed her eyes while you ran your fingers through her soft fur.

“I still cannot believe she lets you pet her.”

Sweet baby angel princess 🥰😍

He shook his head. “I don’t if you’re the one asking me.”

😏

“Let’s say you woke up tomorrow,” you said. “And everything is perfect. What’s the first thing you’d want to see?”

You.

“Come on,” you taunted him. “Say it.”

😈

His blue eyes searched your face, his smile fading as he swallowed thickly, then took a deep breath.

“You,” he said. “Next to me.”

Bucky liked you back.

…Oh God, he liked you back.

Yet another interruption 🫠😵🫨☠️

“Bucky, I already like your—no no no, Alpine, I come in peace!” Caleb’s voice reached the kitchen -

😂

You let out a giggle and dropped your hands, your cheeks almost hurting with how wide you were smiling while you bounced on the balls of your feet, your heart still slamming against your chest.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “He…he likes me.”

Kelsey blinked a couple of times. “You guys didn’t even kiss yet?”

With what time, Kelsey??? Help themmmmm!

“No Birdie, once we all leave you guys will hold hands and recite poetry. The fuck do you think?!”

😂

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, clearing his throat like he was trying to gather up courage while Bucky’s eyes found yours, awakening the butterflies in your stomach, a fire sweeping over your face. “Do you want to grab coffee sometime when you’re—”

Oh Tim. Timmy Timmy Timmy. Timbooo. Not happening buddy.

They both nodded and sat down, and as if on cue, Alpine jumped from the couch to curl up next to you.

“Hi,” you said with a smile as you ran your fingers through her fur. “Alpine wants to listen to music too, I guess.”

😍🥰🥹😭

“Uncle Bucky, she looks like a princess,” You heard Cass’s very loud whisper and you bit back a smile.

“She really does, buddy.” Bucky whispered back, making your cheeks burn and AJ rolled his eyes.

😭🥹🥲 my heartttttt

“You think—” you cut him off. “Wait, Bucky…You—you think today is the first time I’ve thought about this?”

Looooooooooooool

Until his lips found yours.

✨F I N A L L Y Y Y Y Y Y Y Y ! ! ! ! 🎆🎇🤸‍♀️🎆🎇

“What if—” you stammered, “what if while we’re not looking the world catches fire?”

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he leaned in again. “Good. Let it burn.”

It had to be because of the fire that you didn’t even realize the words coming out of your mouth until you actually heard them:

“I love you.”

“Sorry, I—sorry, I’m just—I’m gonna—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence as you rushed past him to get to the hallway, leaving him in the kitchen completely frozen.

“Until you came along,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “And brought the warmth with you.”

You didn’t even notice the tears were back until Bucky wiped under your eye with a knuckle, trailing your cheekbone.

“I’m not gonna say it’s too much,” he told you. “I can’t. I love you too.”

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

“I don’t—I don’t know how to do things slow. I think.”

You could see that fond light glimmering in his blue eyes even in the dimly lit room.

“That’s okay,” he murmured, his vibranium fingertips running up and down your leg, waking goosebumps on your skin. “I’ll teach you how.”

🧎‍♀️ 😏 😈

“Birdie,” he murmured and dipped his head to kiss your neck, his hand pushing the hem of your dress up your legs, making your eyes flutter close. “I cannot even begin to tell you how much we won’t work tonight.”

I hope you have an amazing break and vacation! 🩷Not sure how I'm going to survive till August, that feels like 3 lifetimes away from now!

Declassified [13] - Barbecue

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷

Friendly reminder that I will be on vacation in July, so I won't have access to my laptop🩷 We will have the next chapter around August 1-2 but my headcanons and asks and everything else is open as usual! 🩷 So please let me know what you think, and I hope you like this chapter! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Anything can happen at a barbecue.

Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, MDNI.

Word Count: 6.6k

Series Masterlist

A short white sundress wasn’t exactly professional but then again, everyone else in the team was going to show up in casual clothes anyway.

Even you had to admit, this was a good PR move. Having a barbecue party at his place surrounded by his team and his family –Wilsons— not only sounded fun but also would show the rest of the world that he wasn’t affected by his breakup, and business was as usual.

So technically, the sundress was purely because of PR reasons and not because you wanted him to think you were pretty.

Technically being the key word.

You fixed your hair and your dress as much as you could with one hand while holding a stack of files and a box of cookies in the other, then knocked on his door and stepped back. Excitement was rushing through your system already, and you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, then looked up as the door opened.

“So I know I came a little early and brought work but the alternative was for me to work in the middle of the barbecue which is like not ideal in terms of PR, so I also brought cookies.”

Bucky looked frozen as he eyed you up and down, his mouth slightly open and you tilted your head in confusion.

“Bucky?”

His eyes whipped to yours and he shook his head as if trying to snap out of the daze he was in, then immediately got the files and the box of cookies from your hands.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh—come in!”

You stepped inside and smiled at Alpine who had run to the hallway to see what was happening.

“I still cannot believe she lets you pet her.”

“She likes me,” you said. “Don’t you Alpine?”

Her answer was rubbing her face against your hand and you scratched at her head, then stood up again to look around. This was bigger than his earlier place which you figured was normal for a Congressman, but it still had Bucky’s characteristics scattered around. His old pictures with The Howling Commandos as well as with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson were framed on the walls, and as you passed by the living room, you could see his records and phonogram at the corner. You followed him to the kitchen, eyeing his muscular body hungrily, biting at your lip.

How did this man look good both in a suit and casual clothes?

“So.” He pulled you out of your daze as he placed the files and cookies on the kitchen island. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I mean.” You plopped down the stool. “It’s not like I baked them. I don’t want to poison you or the rest of the team.”

He let out a chuckle. “Really?”

“I don’t know how to bake,” you said. “And also I needed bribery so that you’d take a look at the files I brought.”

He eyed them wearily. “That’s a lot of pages.”

“But hey, the cookies are delicious.” You opened the box to turn it in his direction, wiggling your brows. “Try one.”

He heaved a sigh and grabbed one, then bit into it and raised his brows.

“Wow.”

“Right?”

“I’m not sure I know this flavor.”

“Blueberry coffee.”

“Blueberry coffee?” he repeated and you grinned.

“Yeah well, I happen to know you don’t like it too sweet,” you said. “The guy at the register said this one is pretty good—I still refuse to believe you don’t like dessert.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said. “I just don’t like too much sugar.”

“I could eat dessert for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” You clasped your hands under your chin. “Did you always dislike it?”

“Well,” he trailed off and shrugged his shoulders. “I mean sugar was rationed, so I didn’t grow up with too much of it. We had it better than most folk but we still didn’t use much. And then the war and then HYDRA...It took me a while to get used to food when I got back, and desserts weren’t the priority.”

You pursed your lips, your heart clenching with compassion. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Don’t be, I don’t mind.”

“You hate it when people ask you about your past though.”

He shook his head. “I don’t if you’re the one asking me.”

You could feel a smile warming your face, and you bit down on your lip.

“Well then, I’m making it my personal challenge to find desserts that you’ll like,” you said as he took another bite of the cookie. “And I’m warning you, I’m very ambitious.”

“Oh really?” he teased you, smiling back. “I haven’t noticed.”

“So I will succeed,” you said and reached out to grab the file at the top, then opened it. “Speaking of succeeding, I need you to take a look at these.”

He took a look at the multiple files, then turned to you.

“Coffee?”

“Oh my God, yes please.”

The problem with you and Bucky working alone was that you got along way too well. When you were around other people you could work efficiently but when it you were alone, you got way too distracted.

Like you were right now.

“That’s not a valid answer!” he insisted and you gasped.

“It is!”

“It’s not, it goes against the game.”

“There’s only one logical answer to the 3 things you should take to a deserted island. Powerboat, satellite phone, water filter.”

“Nope.”

“The goal is to get the fuck out of the island!” you insisted, moving your hands to emphasize your point and he shook his head.

“That’s cheating.”

“Fine, what am I supposed to take with me, genius?”

“Knife to hunt for food so you don’t starve, water to not die of dehydration, blanket to not freeze to death at night.” He counted with his fingers. “The goal is survival.”

“I wouldn’t survive a day in nature,” you said. “Like, if I’m ever in the nature, I’ll just let it kill me.”

“That’s not…”

“Also,” you added. “What if the animal I need to kill is a cute deer? What am I gonna do, kill Bambi?”

“Again, you have to survive somehow.”

You gasped. “Not at the expense of Bambi!”

“Sorry about Bambi,” he deadpanned and you made a face.

“Like I said,” you muttered. “I’m not hunting, I’m getting the hell out of the island. You have fun playing Survivor there.”

“See you’re saying this now but if we were both on the island, you’d be eating Bambi.”

“Bucky!”

“I’d just lie to you about where it came from.”

Your jaw dropped and you pushed at his arm, making him let out a laugh.

“Bambi is in a farm,” he said, trying to keep a straight face, “where she can run all she wants and be happy—”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll get on my powerboat and leave you behind,” you insisted, pointing a finger at him. “I’m just not built for survival, okay? I can barely survive seasonal change, you think I’ll survive a goddamn island? Nope.”

“I’d keep you alive,” he said nonchalantly, reaching out into the box to get another cookie while you turned your phone in your hand.

“Okay, my turn.” You sat up straighter. “We talked about this the other day with Kels and Caleb.”

“I’m listening.”

“Let’s say you woke up tomorrow,” you said. “And everything is perfect. What’s the first thing you’d want to see?”

He raised his brows, a small smile playing on his lips and you took a sip of your coffee.

“Nothing is off limits,” you said. “And no judging, because Caleb said he’d wake up to a bank account of seven figures and had to deal with Kelsey asking him ‘what about world peace you heartless ass?’ for like days whenever he opened his mouth.”

Bucky let out a chuckle, humming as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to tell you or not. You narrowed your eyes at him, resting your elbows on the kitchen island and leaning in.

“Come on,” you taunted him. “Say it.”

“In a perfect world?”

“Yeah,” you said. “You can be totally selfish. What do you wake up to?”

His blue eyes searched your face, his smile fading as he swallowed thickly, then took a deep breath.

“You,” he said. “Next to me.”

Your gaze snapped up to his, the gears in your mind screeching to a halt, your breath hitching in your throat. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, warmth rushing through your system so fast that it made you lightheaded while you tried your hardest to think through the haze.

Bucky liked you back.

…Oh God, he liked you back.

You could swear your whole body was shaking as you took a trembling breath in a desperate attempt to find your voice but before you could say anything, several voices carried out into the kitchen from the front door; Sam, Cass and AJ, and Sarah.

“Buck?”

“Uncle Bucky!”

“Boys, don’t run!”

Hurried footsteps approached and Bucky had to force himself to tear his gaze from yours, then turned to catch AJ and Cass who flung themselves to him mid-air.

“Whoa, did you guys get bigger since I last saw you?” he asked, making them giggle and you tried to pull yourself together, then waved at them.

“Hi guys.”

“Hi!”

“Oh hey there!” Sarah only hesitated for a moment by the doorframe before she went to kiss Bucky’s cheek, then turned to you. “It’s been so long, how have you been?”

“Good,” you managed to squeak out and then cleared your throat. “Great, and you?”

“I left the door open because there are more people—” Sam paused when he saw you, his eyes going from you to Bucky and to you again. “Uh…more people coming. Hey.”

“Hi Sam, it’s great to see you.”

“Bucky, I already like your—no no no, Alpine, I come in peace!” Caleb’s voice reached the kitchen and Bucky put the boys down, then made his way to the hallway as if nothing was out of the ordinary, as if you weren’t about to pass out in the middle of the kitchen in front of Sam and Sarah.

“And I thought we were here early,” Sam commented, earning a not-so-subtle jab to his ribs from Sarah and you licked your lips, then nodded your head.

“Yeah I…we—we were working.” You vaguely motioned at the files on the kitchen island, your hands still shaky, and you cleared your throat again. “Um—excuse me.”

You made your way out of the kitchen to the hallway and grabbed Kelsey’s arm while Bucky was distracted by the rest of the team asking him where to put the things they brought before you pulled her into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you.

“What’s going on?” she asked and you covered your mouth, jumping up and down with a squeal.

“Kels…”

“What?”

“He likes me.”

Kelsey pulled her brows together. “What?”

You let out a giggle and dropped your hands, your cheeks almost hurting with how wide you were smiling while you bounced on the balls of your feet, your heart still slamming against your chest.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “He…he likes me.”

“Oh my God!” Kelsey pulled you into a tight hug, then pulled back to look at you better. “He said it?”

“Well he—you know, I asked him that question we were talking about the other day, the perfect world one. And he said he’d wake up next to me.”

“Holy shit!” Kelsey whispered and grabbed at your hand. “See? I told you!”

“I can’t believe it,” you said and let out a teary laugh, then fanned at your face with your other hand. “I’m gonna cry I think—”

“Nope you’re not, because the team will start asking questions,” Kelsey said and you took a deep breath, sniffling. “Then?”

“Then Sarah and Sam showed up, and then you guys.”

Kelsey blinked a couple of times. “You guys didn’t even kiss yet?”

“I couldn’t even tell him I like him back yet!” you whispered. “And I—how am I gonna get him alone without the whole team noticing?”

“Yeah, that’s too dangerous right now,” Kelsey said, then shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll have to wait until we all leave.”

Your eyes widened. “That’s hours away!”

“You two waited this long, you can wait a couple of hours,” she said while you let out a whine.

“But I want to kiss him!”

“You will do all that and more, just get through this barbecue nonsense.”

You threw your head back, stomping on your foot like a spoiled kid and Kelsey let out a laugh.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Want me to tell Caleb?”

“When you get home, yes,” you said. “I can’t risk anyone hearing it, and the place is full of people.”

“Yeah, good call.”

“And assuming I won’t explode until everyone leaves…”

Kelsey grinned. “To repeat. You could handle seven years of bad sex, you can handle like seven hours until mindblowing sex.”

Your head shot up.

“Wait wait wait,” you said, your heart doing an excited flip. “Do you think he wants to sleep with me? Like, tonight? Because I’m like so so ready but would he want to?”

“No Birdie, once we all leave you guys will hold hands and recite poetry. The fuck do you think?!”

You started fanning your face again.

“I mean I—obviously I really really really like him but also I—I want to jump on him,” you stammered. “Like, both emotional and physical.”

“Shocking,” Kelsey stated. “The sky is blue. Water is wet. You want to fuck Bucky.”

“I mean if he does want to talk about his feelings I can—”

“I don’t think any man would want to talk about his feelings when you’re in that dress and ready to jump in his bed,” Kelsey motioned at you and you beamed at her.

“Aw thank you! I got it from—”

“You can send me the link later,” she said. “We should go before they realize we’re hiding in the bathroom.”

You nodded your head while she opened the door to check the hallway, then stepped outside with you following her suit.

“Remember,” she said. “You’re not doing anything while we’re here. Too risky.”

You nodded again and fixed your hair, letting out a breath.

“Yeah,” you said as you walked with her to the kitchen. “Yeah, of course. Shouldn’t be that hard.”

Correction.

It was, in fact, that hard.

You couldn’t focus on a goddamn thing.

You were pretty sure that Bucky had told Sam because they were having a discussion in whispers at the corner of the garden while everyone drank and ate, and the only thing that pulled them out of it was Caleb when he wanted to take pictures with the whole team and Wilsons. You had taken a step in Bucky’s direction for the picture but Kelsey had pulled you to the other side of the crowd, muttering something about PR.

And throughout all that, it was as if you were in a haze.

Bucky’s eyes barely left you the whole day, though he hadn’t come closer to you like he wanted to give you your space to think about it. It was laughable to think he was under the impression that you wouldn’t throw yourself at him after months of pining after him, but Bucky could be very oblivious sometimes so you figured it was normal.

And you were still burning under his gaze, no matter how much you tried to act normal.

“So yeah, apparently Bucky winning gave Paul a huge leverage, just like the rest of us,” Tim said while you stole a look at Bucky who was chuckling at something Caleb said and Sarah let out a laugh, then said something while motioning at Bucky, making Caleb’s jaw drop as Bucky shook his head fervently like he was trying to convince him. “He got like a six figure deal for Senator Holloway’s next campaign. Anyways, I can barely talk to you during work nowadays.”

“Yeah, I’m like swamped with work,” you said, barely paying attention to Tim. “It’s fun but also very busy.”

“I’ll talk to you later, I just remembered an email I’m supposed to send Gray,” you said without so much as hearing what he was saying before you made your way back into the house so that you could calm down a little. You let out a breath and went into the kitchen to fill yourself a glass of water in hopes of helping the fire burning at the pit of your stomach. You took a huge gulp, then turned your head when you heard Cass saying your name from the doorframe.

“Hey,” you said with a small smile. “What’s up?”

“Um, can you help us with something?”

“Sure thing,” you said, following him to the living room and AJ gave you a shy smile, then pointed at the phonograph.

“Do you know if it works?”

“I think so.”

“Can we play it? I would ask uncle Bucky but he’s talking to mom and the other guests.”

“I don’t think Bucky would mind,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, then stepped closer to the phonograph. “Sure you can. Want me to help?”

“Yes please,” they both said, making you press a hand over your chest.

“You guys are like the sweetest kids in the world,” you said and sat down in front of the phonograph, tucked your legs under you, then pulled a couple of vinyl records from the shelf underneath it. “Do you have a favorite?”

AJ thought for a moment. “We don’t know any old singers.”

“That’s totally fine,” you said gently. “We can pick together then, and it’ll be a surprise to all of us. Exciting, isn’t it?”

They both nodded and sat down, and as if on cue, Alpine jumped from the couch to curl up next to you.

“Hi,” you said with a smile as you ran your fingers through her fur. “Alpine wants to listen to music too, I guess.”

Cass reached out to pet her while you put some of the records on the floor.

“Which one?” you asked them and they both turned their attention on the covers of the records with such serious expressions that one would think they were trying to decide on something incredibly important.

“Do you have a favorite?” Cass asked and you pretended to zip your mouth shut.

“I trust your judgment.”

They exchanged glances and Cass whispered something into AJ’s ear, making him frown before he nodded.

“Um,” he said and pointed at one of the records. “This one?”

“Whoa!” you said. “How did you guys know it’s my favorite?!”

Well, no.

Sinatra wasn’t your favorite, not by a long shot but they didn’t need to know that.

Their eyes shone with excitement and AJ grinned.

“Really?”

“Oh I’m like a huge fan of him,” you said. “Okay, let’s play him then. Who wants to do it?”

“We don’t know how to play it.”

“I’ll tell you. It’s very easy.”

Cass grabbed the record, then looked at you. “What if I break it or something?”

You shrugged your shoulders and dropped your voice like you were giving them a secret.

“I have the exact same record at home,” you whispered. “If you break it, I’ll replace it with mine, and Bucky won’t even notice.”

Cass giggled and pulled out the record out of the sleeve and you turned the phonograph on.

“Okay, you have to move the needle. AJ, can you do it?”

AJ nodded and moved the needle.

“And Cass, can you place the record over there?”

Cass did as you asked.

“And now, let’s put the needle here,” you muttered, reaching out to put the needle on the record, and the melody filled the room, making them gasp. The look of excitement on their faces was so sweet that you couldn’t help but laugh, then clasped your hands together.

“There you go!” you said. “Told you it was easy.”

“Um, how does it work?” AJ asked and you pointed at the record spinning on the player.

“So there are grooves on it,” you said. “On the vinyl. The needle follows—”

“Uncle Bucky!” Cass ran to the door and your heart skipped a beat, and you looked over your shoulder to see Bucky leaning to the doorframe, watching you with a soft light in his eyes. You tried to pull yourself together and cleared your throat, then motioned at the phonograph.

“I’m teaching them how to use it.”

“We picked her favorite record!”

“They’re way too smart,” you told Bucky as if giving him a secret and Bucky chuckled.

“Oh yeah, they are.”

“And then?” AJ insisted. “How does it turn into music?”

“So yeah, the needle!” You turned to the phonograph. “Okay, the needle follows those grooves. You see those?”

“Mm hm.”

“So the needle follows those to make the sound, and there are magnets in the phonograph,” you said. “Those magnets turn it into soundwaves, and then—”

“Uncle Bucky, she looks like a princess,” You heard Cass’s very loud whisper and you bit back a smile.

“She really does, buddy.” Bucky whispered back, making your cheeks burn and AJ rolled his eyes.

“Don’t mind him,” he told you in exasperation like this was a daily occurrence and you repressed a laugh.

“And then those soundwaves follow here, and tada! Music.”

“Because of magnets?”

“Magnets and soundwaves, yeah.”

“Whoa,” AJ said and turned to Bucky. “But Uncle Bucky, you do know you can listen to music on your phone now?”

“He’s old,” you told AJ, shooting a grin at Bucky. “Give him time, he doesn’t know half of the artists we listen to nowadays.”

“I’ll show you my favorite, come on!” AJ ran to him to pull him by the hand. “You’ll love it!”

“Buddy, can you give me a minute?” he asked without pulling his gaze off you and you shook your head and stood up, making Alpine let out a noise of discontent.

“No, come on!” AJ insisted. “It’s really good music!”

“That sounds important,” you said, while Cass nodded fervently. “Go.”

He looked like he wanted to argue but ended up letting AJ pull him out of the living room to the garden, Cass running after them. You looked down at Alpine who was blinking up at you, then leaned down to scratch at her head.

“It’s fine,” you muttered while she purred. “Patience is a virtue and all that.”

You could swear time had decided to move extra slow today.

But it had done nothing to soothe the excitement pulsing through your system, if anything it heightened it.

Thankfully, people were leaving. Everyone was in a good mood, and it was Saturday evening, so you could hear the plans they were trying to decide on as they walked from the garden to the kitchen. You pushed up the sleeves of zip up hoodie Bucky had given you earlier today when you got cold and sat down on the stool, trying to act like your heart wasn’t beating in your throat.

“Bucky, are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

“Sam, you should join us!”

“I appreciate that Kelsey, but I am too old to go bar hopping with you guys.”

“That’s not even true! We only changed like four clubs the last time.”

“Exactly.”

“Miss Wilson?”

“Thank you Caleb, but what Sam said. And I gotta put the boys to bed.”

“Mom, can we go?”

“Nope.”

“Tim?”

“I’m down.”

“Lisa?”

“Oh for sure. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Birdie?”

You lifted your eyes from the file in front of you.

“Bucky and I will work until late I think,” you said calmly, motioning at the rest of the files. “I’ll take an Uber. See you at home.”

You could see Bucky’s head snapping up like he wasn’t expecting you to stay, Sam and Sarah exchanging glances before they both smirked and Caleb frowned while Tim looked almost sad that you weren’t joining.

“Seriously?” Caleb asked. “It’s Saturday night.”

“And just because you don’t work doesn’t mean no one else can,” Kelsey said, grabbing him by the arm, and Caleb gasped.

“I have been working all day today, if you haven’t noticed—”

“See you guys!” Kelsey said as she dragged him out of the kitchen, Lisa, Tim, Sarah, Sam and the boys following them. Bucky walked them to the door, the chatter in the hallway continuing in full speed until the door opened, and then closed again.

Then, silence.

As silent as it could be with your heart pounding in your ears.

You slipped from the stool to lean your back against the kitchen island, trying to keep your breathing under control, squeezing the phone in your hand as you heard his footsteps coming closer until he appeared at the doorframe.

God, he was way too handsome.

You tried to swallow the nervousness tightening your throat as he took a step closer, putting his hands in his pockets.

“You didn’t leave.”

“Didn’t want to.”

His blue eyes searched your face as if he was trying to read your mind, making your heartbeat even faster.

“How long?” you managed to ask and he huffed out a curt laugh.

“For…” he trailed off. “Since I first saw you. Since you waltzed into the office with that huge folder and put it on my desk and said ‘Hi, you don’t know me yet but I figured out how to win this thing.”

A giggle bloomed in your mouth.

“But why wouldn’t you tell me?” you whispered, taking a step to him and he shook his head.

“You’ve been thinking about this just for a day, I’ve been thinking about this for a very…”

The rest of his sentence got lost somewhere as shock muffled your ears before realization crashed down on you.

…Oh.

Oh, Bucky actually thought—

He had no idea you stayed because you returned his feelings, he was under the impression that you stayed because you wanted him to explain. He actually thought today was the first time you thought about the possibility of you and him.

The idea was so absurd that you couldn’t help the exhale of disbelief leaving you.

“You think—” you cut him off. “Wait, Bucky…You—you think today is the first time I’ve thought about this?”

He looked like he didn’t know how to answer your question and a laugh climbed up your throat.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “And I thought I was very obvious.”

He frowned slightly as you licked your lips, your stomach still fluttering.

“Ask me what my answer was.”

“To what?”

“The perfect world question,” you said with whatever courage you could pull from somewhere within you. “I know your answer but you don’t know mine. Ask.”

Bucky swallowed thickly, his voice low; “What was your answer?”

You could swear you were shaking, but by some miracle, when you spoke, your voice didn’t crack.

“The same as yours.”

The look of hope that dawned on his handsome face was so foreign that it took you by surprise. You hadn’t even seen it the night he won the election; he was happy then but this was something else. He took a step to close the distance between you, his flesh hand lifting a little so that he could cup your cheek, making your breath catch in your throat. His gaze slipped to your lips, then back at your eyes as if he was asking for your permission and you looked up at him, breathless with anticipation before you nodded. You could almost hear the crackling in the air, something electric between you coming to life, getting more and more intense—

Until his lips found yours.

This was different.

From all the times Max kissed you, or all the times you kissed guys before Max, none of it had ever been like this.

This was pure, unadulterated desire.

You could feel yourself melting in his arms as you lost yourself in his kiss, your fingers curling in his shirt just so that you could have an anchor, but a small whine escaping you when he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours, his breath caressing your lips. Your eyes fluttered open as he pulled down the zipper of the hoodie you were wearing over your sundress, his movements agonizingly slow like he was opening up a fragile present before he let it fall on the floor, desire making you dizzy. He dragged his fingertips down your arm, and gently pulled your phone out of your hand to put it aside just out of your reach, your head following the movement.

“Wait, I…” You tried to think through the haze. “I need that.”

“No.” Bucky’s voice was soft as he shook his head. “You don’t.”

You blinked up at him.

“What if—” you stammered, “what if while we’re not looking the world catches fire?”

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he leaned in again. “Good. Let it burn.”

You were beginning to think no matter how close he was, it would never be enough with the way your body ached for him. He took your breath away when he kissed you again, his heart drumming under your hand, and he wrapped his arm around your waist to press your body closer to his, only pulling back to trail his thumb over your burning cheekbone.

“God…” he whispered in awe. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

The room was spinning.

You were on fire.

It had to be because of the fire that you didn’t even realize the words coming out of your mouth until you actually heard them:

“I love you.”

And everything went still.

Including him.

It was as if someone had just poured a bucket of ice water over you, your whole body stiffening the moment you realized what you had actually said. Your eyes snapped open, your breath catching in your throat as tears of frustration rushed to your eyes, and Bucky pulled back to see you better, a look of surprise etched on his handsome face.

Of course you had to ruin it.

“Sorry, I—sorry, I’m just—I’m gonna—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence as you rushed past him to get to the hallway, leaving him in the kitchen completely frozen.

You were an idiot.

You just had to open your stupid mouth and ruin it.

You couldn’t even blame Bucky or anyone else. Hazel had a point, you were the starry-eyed idiot with a schoolgirl crush who couldn’t keep her fucking mouth shut just because he had kissed you.

You all but ran down the hallway to get to the front door but the minute you pulled it to yourself, you felt his presence behind you before he slammed the door close with enough force to shake it in its hinges, making you gasp in surprise.

This must’ve been how he was on missions.

No one heard him coming until it was too late.

If this were someone else—anyone else, you would’ve been petrified but even now, through the frustration and shock, your mind somehow knew that Bucky would rather cut off his own hand than hurt you. No part of him touched you, and for a moment he just stood there behind you, the warmth of his body nearly intoxicating until he broke the silence, his voice a low murmur.

“Did you mean it?”

“What does it matter?” You managed to rasp out. “I ruined it.”

“Birdie…”

“Listen, you’ll say it’s too much, I—I know, it’s fine.” You stumbled over your words. “You’ll have my resignation letter tonight, and Kelsey will pick up my things from the office. We don’t have to talk about any of this, just…” You wiped your eye with the back of your hand. “I ruined it, it’s fine, I’m just gonna go, okay?”

“You didn’t—” Bucky let out an impatient breath. “Sweetheart, can you just look at me please?”

You were pretty sure that if you saw the look of disappointment in his eyes, you were going to collapse on the floor and start sobbing but you sniffled, then turned around to look up at him.

That didn’t look like disappointment.

He lifted his hand to wipe at the tear under your eye with a soft smile.

“I’m not gonna say it’s too much.”

For some reason that remained a mystery to you, you jumped at the opportunity to convince him; “No you should say it’s too much because it is too much, because like I’d totally understand—”

You were cut off when he brushed his lips against yours, but this time it was way too gentle like he feared you would break if he so much as held you wrong. He pulled back to let you breathe since your nose was clogged because of the tears that kept coming, and your eyes fluttered open, confusion settling over your mind like a fog, engulfing all your thoughts in it.

What was happening?

Bucky’s eyes darted over your face, and he took a deep breath like he was nervous.

“I’m not good at this,” he muttered. “But I need you to listen to me, okay?”

You pulled your brows together and sniffled, then nodded.

“I…” he trailed off. “For the last what, 80 years now? Everything with HYDRA, and those missions and cryo, over and over again, it was all ice. That was the only permanent thing. Bone-chilling cold. And when I first came back, when I got my mind back, I kept wondering why I still felt so cold, like a part of me never really left there.”

You blinked back the tears, wiping at your nose.

“And eventually, I figured it would be like that for the rest of my life. No matter what I did, what I tried, it was yet another thing that I would never get back, something that HYDRA carved into me. I got all of it out of my mind but I couldn’t get that…that chill out of my chest.” He paused for a moment and breathed out a curt laugh like he was lost in the memory, his brows furrowing.

“Until you came along,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “And brought the warmth with you.”

You didn’t even notice the tears were back until Bucky wiped under your eye with a knuckle, trailing your cheekbone.

“I’m not gonna say it’s too much,” he told you. “I can’t. I love you too.”

…Oh.

Bucky—

Bucky loved you.

He actually loved you.

You stared up at him in complete silence as Bucky reached behind you, and you heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening before he stepped back, a shadow playing in his eyes like he was preparing for the pain, like he expected you to somehow reach into his chest to rip out his heart and walk out, leaving him with ice in his chest again.

“I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to,” he said. “Including keeping you here. I just needed you to know, that’s it.”

This had to be the third time he gave you a way out today, and each time it felt more and more insane to even think you would walk away.

A small sob climbed your throat, disbelief making you let out a teary laugh before you grabbed the door handle, pushed the door close, then flung yourself into his arms to pull him into a kiss. Your head was spinning, you were breathless, your heart felt like it was trying to climb out of your ribcage but none of that was enough to make you stop kissing him. He leaned down to snake his vibranium arm behind your thighs to lift you up like you weighed nothing, making you let out a squeal that soon turned into a giggle as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to the room at the other end of the hallway which turned out to be his bedroom, not pulling back from your kiss as if it would somehow break the spell until he carefully laid you down on the bed, settling between your legs. You tugged at his shirt with shaky hands and he pulled it off his head to throw it somewhere in the room, and you had only a couple of seconds to drink in the sight of his muscular torso before his lips found yours again. You trailed your fingertips down his chest to his abs and tried to unbuckle his belt but he pulled back, making you chase his lips with an impatient whine.

“Birdie—hey,” he whispered, his warm hand cupping your cheek as your eyes fluttered open, your heart beating in your ears. “Slow, okay darling?”

You tried to catch your breath, confusion pinching your brows together. No one had ever asked you to be slower about anything in your entire life; on the contrary, you were either pushed or convinced to be faster, to rush, to get it over with, whatever it was.

In or outside the bed.

“I, um…” You tried to find your voice through the fog of desire, looking up at him as he stroked your burning cheek while you played with his dog tags. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do things slow. I think.”

You could see that fond light glimmering in his blue eyes even in the dimly lit room.

“That’s okay,” he murmured, his vibranium fingertips running up and down your leg, waking goosebumps on your skin. “I’ll teach you how.”

This was new.

And way too unfamiliar.

And for once, your brain couldn’t think, not when he was looking at you like that, touching you like that.

“And you don’t—” You paused, but somehow Bucky didn’t seem annoyed by you trying to wrap your mind around the idea. Instead he waited patiently like he had all the time in the world, like there was nothing more important than what you were about to say. “You sure you don’t want to be fast to…”

For fuck’s sake, it was so hard to produce a single thought when he was half naked on top of you.

“To do what, beautiful?” he asked softly, nudging your nose with his, coaxing a giggle out of you while you trailed your fingertips over his muscular back.

“To do something else?” you said, what Max would always say when you were in bed flashing through your mind. “To—to work?”

He looked almost at a loss for words at the mere suggestion but he seemed to pull himself together much faster than you, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

686 notes · View notes

enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Note

On TikTok I saw a comment where a woman said that she told her husband to pretend to be unconscious so he was dead weight to see if she could drag him out of the house in case of fire or emergency, she couldn’t even pull him off the bed and she cried so he had comfort her while dying laughing😭😭😂 reminded me of something biker Bucky and Gorgeous would do

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Bucky groans dramatically. "You might as well just leave me here and save yourself Gorgeous."

You keep pulling him with all your strength but he barely budges an inch. You might be able to move him if he'd stop talking.

He doesn't.

"Bury me with my bike." Bucky cracks open an eye, his lips twitching. "And a pair of your panties."

"I'm not doing that." A laugh spills past your lips before you can stop it.

You can't concentrate with him cracking jokes like this. Yeah that's the reason you're struggling to move this six foot something man. It's all his fault.

You keep laughing but the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. "Matter fact, line my casket with your panties and toss in a few of those pics I have on my phone."

"Oh my god."

"I'll know if you disregarded my last wishes," he casually warns, like his massive body isn't splayed on the bedroom floor. Like he's still not budging despite the fact that you're putting your all into this.

"Shut. Up."

"Mourn me for the rest of your life," he sighs sadly, head lolling to the side. Bucky hasn't broken character once, he's fully committed to this bit. "Keep a shrine of me in our bedroom."

"Bucky I'm trying to focus," your breathless giggle lost under a grunt when you try to shove him to the side. Nothing. Damn it.

Eyeing his shirtless, tattooed body, you try new a new approach. Adjusting your grip, you hook your fingers under his upper arms. You can barely get your hands around half of his large, warm biceps. Bracing your feet on the floor, you pull so hard you feel your muscles tremble and ache.

"Don't even think about moving on."

"Be quiet," you start. Releasing his arms, you wince when they hit the floor with a thud. You'd have better luck moving a pile of bricks than your man. "What would you do if I did?"

You're teasing but Bucky takes you very seriously.

He doesn't play when it comes to you. Or his burial requests.

He slowly opens his eyes, his darkening gaze captures yours. "I will haunt you for the rest of your life," he states confidently. "No guy will even breathe in your direction by time I'm done with them. You're going to have a rep because of me."

There's no time to process that because his hands suddenly reach out, grabbing your ankles. You're tugged forward, turned and twisted—somehow he manages to squeeze your ass a couple of times—until you're flat on his chest, his pecs under your palms.

Bucky smiles, his hand cups the back of your head and he brings your face close to his. "If you think I'm a menace now, imagine what my ghost will be like. Just imagine what ghost me would do to you. I'd get rid of your little replacement and then you'd get all my attention. Remember ghost me isn't going to get tired."

Oh.

Oh no.

Well maybe that could be fun. Wait.

Your eyes widen at the images his words are creating. He chuckles under his breath. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Resting your chin on his chest, you have to admit, no man would ever measure up to your bike. And if anyone could find a way to come back and haunt someone, it would be the handsome, incorrigible man under you.

"So you want all my panties or just your favorites?"

"Gorgeous. How many times do we have to go over this? All your panties are my favorite."

"Fine," you concede, failing to hold back a smile. "But you promised me a lifetime together and I'm holding you to that."

Bucky brushes his lips across yours in one sweet, sure motion. His deep voice rolls over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon. I got too many plans for you, Gorgeous."

All of his plans revolve around loving you, protecting you, being with you, caring for you any way you'll let him.

And he's going take his time getting through every last one of them.

2K notes · View notes

enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Birdie's "parents" are the worst.

“Funny, I heard a lot of people say Bucky Barnes is a bad man, but you seem very eager to defend him.”

She blinked a couple of times in confusion. “Who’s Blinky?”

🙄🙄🙄

“Tessa said she’d leave me if I didn’t go to therapy,” he said. “And my therapist made me realize it wasn’t cool, what I did. What with keeping Blinky and stuff.”

Miracle's really do happen, huh? Fascinating.

“Yeah Max, because he can’t say you’re an asshole. You’re paying him.”

😂

“That’s good—” He started but you heard another voice coming from the other line, probably his assistant. “I uh, sorry, I gotta go. Work thing.”

“I gathered,” you replied. “It’s almost five minutes.”

😂😂

“You can’t threaten him.”

“If he didn’t want me to threaten him, he shouldn’t have dragged you into whatever nonsense he’s working on,” he said, making your heart skip a beat. “That’s just not how it works.”

“I’m like two seconds away from assigning a chaperone to you like we’re in Georgian era,” he said. “Bucky, you might be familiar with that.”

“Not regular,” you said. “Sometimes. But let me tell you, I would not last a day back in the 1940s. I saw those documentaries, my husband would send me off to an asylum and they’d try to lobotomize—”

“Because,” he started, his voice soft, “Birdie, I—”

“Hello?” Kelsey’s voice carried out from the doorway, snapping both of you out of your daze. “Guys?”

GET THE FUUUUUUCK OUTTA HEREEEE, KELS!!!!! Not nowwwwwwww!

Every. Single. Timee.

“I don’t even think he finds me hot, to be honest with you,” you said. “It’s like Hazel said. He entertains my crush, that’s it.”

Bringing this back:

Declassified [12] - Pressure

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Having a high pressure job has its consequences.

Warnings: Explicit language, panic attacks.

Word Count: 4.9k

Series Masterlist

The news of the breakup spread like wildfire.

To be honest, you hadn’t expected anything different. This had to be one of the rare times that Caleb hated being in PR because even you could tell that he was working way too hard.

And of course, your name had been brought up multiple times, but so far there wasn’t anything actually threatening thanks to Bucky and Hazel having attended the gala together right before they broke up.

“Mom, how did you know dad was the one?”

Your mother looked up from the bowl she was mixing the cake mixture in, then let out a laugh.

“What brought this on?”

“Just curious.” You dangled your legs from the high stool and sipped your coffee before putting the mug on the kitchen island. “Also, I would like to ask again, why are we in the kitchen? You don’t cook.”

“I’m baking.”

“You don’t bake either.”

“Well, one of the girls in my spiritual retreat said it would be a good bonding practice between mothers and daughters.”

You pulled your brows together.

“I guess today is good as any to start,” you murmured. “Fine, okay. We’re bonding, see? Tell me how you knew, other than the fact that he dazzled you with money.”

“Oh I didn’t care about the money.”

You tilted your head. “Uh, are you sure? I mean no offense obviously, but I always assumed money played a part. Safety and all that.”

“I did feel safe with him but that had nothing to do with the money.”

“So you were actually in love with him.”

“I was and I am.”

You made a face. “Oh come on, that I don’t buy. You can be honest, there’s no way you’re still in love with him.”

“Why not?”

You let out a laugh. “Because he’s evil?”

She rolled her eyes and started pouring the mixture into the cupcake tray. “He’s not evil, honey.”

“Well…” You cleared your throat. “I mean he has been bribing and extorting politicians for decades so that things work the way he wants them to work. That’s like, textbook bad. Disney movie bad.”

“Funny, I heard a lot of people say Bucky Barnes is a bad man, but you seem very eager to defend him.”

“That has nothing to do with—okay, let’s never ever put Bucky in the same category with dad ever again,” you said with a laugh. “It’s kind of like lumping The Night King and Jon Snow together.”

“I didn’t watch that show.”

“They’re like complete opposites.” You took another sip of your coffee. “Let me put it this way; Bucky would sacrifice his own life to save someone, dad would sacrifice the whole world to save himself.”

“And you, and me.”

You made a noise of disagreement.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you said. “You yes. Me, doubtful.”

“He does love you, you know.”

“No he doesn’t.” You shrugged your shoulders. “And I don’t mind, really.”

“He does,” your mother insisted. “It’s just that, you’re both very stubborn and don’t know how to communicate.”

“That and our political stances and our principles and our goals are very different.”

“So what?” she asked as if it was just trivial, and you scoffed a laugh.

“You seriously don’t mind what he does?” you asked. “All those people he hurt? All the corruption?”

“I’m not interested in what he does at work. I’m interested in what kind of a man he is with us, his family.”

You grimaced. “That’s not how it works, mom.”

“It’s how it works with me.”

You rubbed at your eyes, heaving a sigh. “I guess this just proves it.”

“Proves what?”

“I’ve always thought that…” you trailed off. “I’ve always thought you and him were just meant to be together, but I wasn’t supposed to be in the picture.”

“Never say that!” She gasped. “We love you!”

“That’s not it,” you said with a weak smile. “No, you guys make sense together, in some very weird and unhealthy way. But I don’t, you know what I mean?”

“That’s so not true,” she said, putting pieces of chocolate into the batter in the pan. “And as I’ve said, your father loves you and me. What he does at work doesn’t matter.”

“It actually does,” you said. “You might be able to pick and choose, but I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Is that why you broke up with Max?”

“That dickhead voted for the opposition.”

She turned to you. “Please tell me you didn’t break up with him over that.”

“See? It doesn’t matter to you,” you said. “But it matters to me. And hey, it’s a good thing I dumped him, apparently he was cheating on me anyway.”

Her jaw dropped and she reached out to squeeze your hand. “Aw I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” you said. “I mastered the art of detachment thanks to the revolving door of nannies you guys kept changing when I was little, so it’s okay.”

“Well, we just didn’t know who was the best for you.”

You bit at your lip to hold back your retort.

“How’s everything at work?” she asked. “Are those rumors still going on?”

“Well, to some extent but no picture or anything,” you said. “Just whispers.”

“And you like him?”

“Professionally, yes.”

Bullshit.

It was a good thing that your mother hardly ever spent time with you, she didn’t know how to read you.

The truth was that every day your feelings for Bucky were getting deeper. You knew that Hazel was right, you knew the risks but somehow, when you thought about him kissing you…

Your brain just refused to be logical.

Granted that didn’t mean you were going to throw all the caution to the wind, but you were wondering if something was wrong with you if that didn’t intimidate you as much as it was supposed to.

“A lot of my friends think he’s too handsome to be in politics.” Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “And they have a lot of questions.”

“About him?”

She hummed and walked to the oven to take a look at it. “Which button do I turn?”

You jumped from the stool to turn the button. “This one.”

“Aw thank you,” she said as she put the tray in, then closed it and turned to you. “So what’s he like?”

You took your seat again. “In politics?”

“In his daily life. Why did he and that girl break up?”

You cleared your throat. “Um, difference in opinions.”

“On what?”

“No idea, that’s what I’ve been told.”

She hummed, sitting down as well. “And you guys are close?”

“Professionally.”

“But you consider him a friend as well?” she asked. “I don’t know many people who are friends with their boss.”

“You don’t know many people with a boss.”

“Fair,” she admitted. “But that’s irrelevant. Tell me more about him, we’re all curious. Is he nice?”

“Oh absolutely.”

“To you? Even with all these rumors?”

You couldn’t help but smile, then nodded your head.

“He um…” you trailed off, biting your lip. “He’s amazing, mom. I know a lot of people think there are still traces of the Winter Soldier in him, but it’s not like that at all. He’s the sweetest, I’d trust him with my life. He even—”

You stopped yourself and your mother leaned in, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What?”

“He got Blinky back for me.”

She blinked a couple of times in confusion. “Who’s Blinky?”

Of course.

You hesitated for a second before you forced yourself to smile and shook your head.

“It’s not important,” you mumbled. “Anyways, enough about me, how was your retreat?”

The next day, you didn’t even have the time to go to lunch. You had to work on the draft Bucky had asked you to, and of course you had volunteered to go over the revisions Lucas had sent you just so that you could impress Congresswoman Gray, and your phone kept buzzing with emails every two minutes.

And for some reason, everything was louder today.

You took a deep breath, willing your heartbeat to calm down as you clenched and unclenched your hands, staring at the screen before you deleted the last line, and added a new one.

“Please don’t tell me we’re back to skipping lunch for work.”

Your fingers froze over the keyboard before you looked over your shoulder to see Bucky watching you, leaning against the doorframe.

“I had a protein bar and like two cups of red eye, I’m fine.”

His worried gaze raked over you, making your heartbeat even faster.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“I’ll eat when I’m done with this.” You nodded at the screen and he came to lean against your desk, making you bite back a smile.

“Birdie.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh at his teasing tone and looked up at him. “Hm?”

“Let’s have lunch.”

“You literally came back from lunch.”

“I can eat again.” He started tilting the screen of your laptop down but you batted his hand away, then fixed the screen again. “It’s a metabolism thing.”

“Super soldier metabolism?”

“Mm hm.”

“Good for you, I’m too busy,” you said. “I already spent enough time doing nothing with my mom yesterday when I was supposed to go over this, so…”

“You were with your mom?” he asked. “How did that go?”

“Dad wasn’t home so it was fine. Ish.”

“Fine-ish?”

“My mom doesn’t really know much about me but the parts she knows, she loves to dismiss,” you said. “They make a terrific couple with my dad, terrible parents though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “Without them, my old therapist wouldn’t have been able to buy her second Ferrari, so I guess it wasn’t a total disaster.”

“And you can tell me all about it while we’re having lunch.”

You turned to your laptop. “Take a powder, Barnes.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the clear confusion on his face but it turned into an amused smile, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“How did you…?”

“Hey, I could have an extensive vocabulary.” You grinned at him. “You don’t know my lexicon.”

“Right. Why do I feel like you googled 40s slang?”

“I once saw you google if lavender is edible, so how about we stop pointing fingers?” you asked and he shook his head vigorously.

“In my defense, Kelsey got me a lavender latte and insisted I had to try it.”

“And what did you think? Your assistant was trying to poison you?”

He shot you a look as if you were asking him a question with a very obvious answer. “It’s Kelsey.”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Fair enough,” you said. “But come on, she—”

You stopped talking when your phone started buzzing, making both you and Bucky turn your glances to the screen, and you both frowned at the same time.

“He’s still calling you?” Bucky asked and held out his hand for you to give him the phone, but you shook your head.

“I’ll handle him,” you said and answered the phone. “Max, go fu—”

“Wait wait, don’t hang up,” he cut you off. “I swear, this will be very civil and you’re gonna want to listen to what I have to say.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back on your chair while Bucky kept his eyes on you.

“What?” you asked crossly and he took a deep breath.

“I saw that piece about you and Barnes.”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“A journalist contacted me,” he said in a rush. “He wanted to know whether there was anything going on between you and him while we were still dating.”

Your stomach dropped, your eyes snapping up to Bucky before you gritted your teeth.

“And let me guess,” you said. “You told him you’d think about it and now you’re calling me to ask for something.”

“No actually,” he said. “I told him we broke up because I cheated on you, because you put your career over our relationship, the very same career you wouldn’t risk for anyone much less your boss.”

You pulled back slightly. “…What?”

“I gathered ambitious bitch sounded better than greedy slut. Not that you’re either of those but you know, the guy was an asshole.”

You let out a surprised laugh.

“You’re telling me you had the perfect opportunity to fuck with me and you didn’t take it?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not asking for anything in return?”

“No, I just wanted to let you know,” he said. “If they called me, it means they’re working on a piece.”

You frowned, drumming your fingernails on the desk.

“And why would you do this without asking for anything in return?”

He fell quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Tessa said she’d leave me if I didn’t go to therapy,” he said. “And my therapist made me realize it wasn’t cool, what I did. What with keeping Blinky and stuff.”

“By ‘stuff’ you mean cheating on me, or the ultimatum or going behind my back at voting?” you asked and he took a deep breath.

“Yeah. Sorry about all that.”

As much as you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, you figured this was at least just a little progress.

Very little, but either way.

“Well, what do you know?” you muttered. “I mean you’re still an asshole, that goes without saying but I appreciate the heads up.”

“My therapist says I have um… he says I am scared of emotional intimacy. That’s why I cheated on you, he says.”

“Yeah Max, because he can’t say you’re an asshole. You’re paying him.”

“I guess.” He snorted a laugh. “How’s DC?”

“Full of people who’d love to step on your back for their own gain. I haven’t slept in two days.”

Bucky shot you a disapproving look but you waved a hand in the air.

“So you’re having the time of your life?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s good—” He started but you heard another voice coming from the other line, probably his assistant. “I uh, sorry, I gotta go. Work thing.”

“I gathered,” you replied. “It’s almost five minutes.”

“…Yeah, that wasn’t cool either,” he said. “Also sorry about that.”

“Listen, how about I send you a list of things you should be sorry for and we can get all of them out the way?”

He let out a chuckle. “That’d make therapy so much easier. Can I call or email you to apologize then?”

“Call me and I’ll see if I’m in the forgiving mood,” you said and hung up, then looked up at Bucky.

“So, great news,” you said. “A journalist asked Max if you and I had an affair while I was with him, but he said no.”

“And he didn’t ask for anything in return?”

“He’s doing therapy, as it turns out,” you said. “My belief in psychology has been renewed because honestly, if they can make Max apologize…”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smile and you bounced your leg, biting inside your cheek.

“We need to find who this journalist is.”

“I will.” His voice was completely calm. “And I’ll take care of it.”

“You can’t threaten him.”

“If he didn’t want me to threaten him, he shouldn’t have dragged you into whatever nonsense he’s working on,” he said, making your heart skip a beat. “That’s just not how it works.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I thought I was the one protecting you.”

He winked at you. “It’s a two-way street.”

You rolled your eyes at him playfully as he turned his head to look at the approaching footsteps before Caleb appeared at the door and let out a groan.

“I’m like two seconds away from assigning a chaperone to you like we’re in Georgian era,” he said. “Bucky, you might be familiar with that.”

“Wrong century, Caleb.”

“Well, how about we don’t start another fire when I’ve just extinguished the other one?”

You held up your hands and turned your attention to the screen, your cheeks burning and Bucky heaved a sigh, then pushed himself off the desk.

“Make her eat something.”

“I will but did you have the chance to think about what I said?”

You looked between them. “What did you say?”

“Caleb thinks we all should have a barbeque at my new place,” Bucky said. “Something something PR.”

“It would show you’re still relatable and that you’re doing fine after the breakup.”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” you mused. “I haven’t been to your new place yet, and I missed Alpine.”

“And the team would love it,” Caleb added and Bucky’s gaze stopped on you as if he was torn between ideas, then cleared his throat.

“Yeah, whatever,” he told Caleb who pumped his fist in the air in victory. “Just let me know when.”

“Will do!”

“And I’m not locking Alpine in the room,” he said as he walked into his office. “She gives me an attitude for days when I do that.”

Caleb approached you to plop down on the chair next to your desk.

“Thanks for convincing him.”

“I barely said anything.”

“Well, I’ve been begging him for a week and one word from you…” he trailed off and you shook your head, then turned to him.

“Caleb.”

“Hm?”

“There’s something you need to know as Bucky’s communications director.”

His grin wiped off his face in a second. “What?”

“There’s a journalist,” you said. “And apparently he’s been asking questions about me and Bucky.”

Caleb ran a hand over his face, cussing under his breath.

“Of course,” he said and pulled out his phone. “It was getting a bit too peaceful today, so why not? Be right back.”

You watched him walk out of the office and pressed your hands on your eyes before you dropped them, straightening your back.

“It’s fine,” you murmured to yourself as you turned your attention back to the screen. “It’s totally fine.”

As your anxiety would show you; it was not, in fact, fine.

You had spent the whole day working, and now almost everyone had left but Kelsey and Bucky, both of whom were in a meeting with Congressman Murray.

And you. Working overtime.

It was already dark out, and the only thing illuminating the office was your laptop screen. You could feel the migraine slowly making its way to your temples. For the whole day, your chest hadn’t stopped feeling tight, like you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs especially after Max had told you about the journalist. In addition to all that, the work you had to cover was getting bigger and bigger, you still had one hundred pages to go over, and to make the necessary edits.

In other news, you might have bitten more than you could chew.

You typed away at the keyboard, forcing yourself to hum a melody in hopes of calming yourself down before you got up from your chair to make your way to Bucky’s office. You grabbed the file from his desk and went back to your desk, but before you could sit down, your phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up.

From: Dad

We need to talk about the journalist.

And just like that, your line of sight grew narrow, darkness swallowing everything else other than the phone.

To your terror, you could feel the familiar tingling spreading over your face as your throat tightened, the breath you were taking getting stuck there. A fire burned through your chest, twisting your heart harder and harder while it tried to escape from your ribcage. You could feel your whole body beginning to shake, the floor getting wobbly underneath your feet like quicksand as you took a step back, grasping at your throat with one hand.

You’re not dying.

It’s a panic attack, you’re not dying.

Except that you were sinking.

You held onto the desk with one hand and managed to crouch down to sit on the floor as the room started spinning, your heart pounding in your ears. Nausea crashed down on you while you tried to get enough air in your lungs, your other hand balling up into fist tight enough to cramp.

You’re not dying.

You couldn’t even tell if it was tears or cold sweat running down your face; it was probably both. Your hand on your throat slipped down to your chest to press on it in hopes of soothing the pain there while you forced yourself to take another breath.

You’re not dying.

You see a laptop, you see a chair, you see a—

You hadn’t even heard Bucky stepping into the office before he rushed to you, his hands grasping your upper arms, almost frantically checking you for injuries like he wanted to see if you were bleeding.

“Birdie?”

“Not dying,” you managed to gasp out. “Panic attack.”

That made him stop only for a moment, a look of absolute relief crossing his face and he let out a breath.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re breathing very fast right now, can you breathe with me?”

You nodded your head, taking a shaky breath at the same time as him, then exhaled. For almost a minute, you followed his lead and once you weren’t breathing as fast, he gave you a small smile.

“There you go,” he said. “Five things you can see?”

That made your eyes snap to his as you took another breath. “How do you—?”

“Five things,” he said and you exhaled.

“Laptop,” you rasped out. “Chair. Papers. Desk. My fox figure on my desk.”

“Four things you can hear.”

You tried to focus, pulling your brows together.

“Your voice,” you said. “Footsteps from the hallway. AC. Um…”

“One more.”

“The laptop running,” you said, pressing your palm on the floor. “And three things I can feel are…the marble floor, and sweat dripping down the back of my neck, which is fucking disgusting—”

“Birdie, focus.”

“And um, the wind. From the AC.”

“And two things you can—”

“Smell. Your cologne and paper. I just printed a bunch of stuff.”

“And one thing you can taste?”

“Blood. I bit my tongue too hard.”

His eyes searched your face and you let out another shaky breath, exhaustion creeping up on you as you leaned your head back to the wall. Bucky hesitated for a second before he sat beside you, leaning back against the wall.

“How do you know grounding techniques?” you asked after a pause and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Mandatory therapy.”

“Ah,” you said, fixing your eyes on the ceiling. “Interesting.”

“And I’m guessing this is not your first panic attack?” he asked, making you scoff a laugh.

“Nope,” you said. “Been having them since I was like twelve.”

Bucky’s brows pulled into a frown. “Twelve?”

“Yup,” you said. “As it turns out, if you put too much pressure on a kid and yell at them whenever they didn’t meet the expectations, their brain gets messed up. Who would’ve known?”

“I’m going to kill your father.”

“You can’t,” you said. “If he’s dead, who’s gonna go around crossroads to make deals for people’s souls?”

“Birdie.”

“I’m fine,” you said even if your arms felt way too heavy when you raised your hand to wipe the sweat off your forehead. “This happens, no big deal.”

“How often?”

“I’m giving you time off.”

“Tough shit, I’m not taking it.”

He gave you a look. “I’ll change the locks to the office.”

“I’ll work in the hallway.”

He ran a hand over his face as if he was straining his mind to come up with a solution and you wiggled your brows despite exhaustion.

“Sorry. I guess you shouldn’t have hired me, huh?”

“If I hadn’t hired you, neither of us would be here,” he said and thought for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t be, at least. You would have probably made someone else win so you’d be here.”

“I wouldn’t have worked for someone else,” you murmured and he licked his lips.

“Please take some time off.”

“Nope.”

“You either take some time off, or I’m hiring someone to help you out with the workload.”

Your eyes widened. “Bucky, no.”

“Bucky yes.”

“I don’t trust anyone else with what I do,” you said. “They’re gonna miss something, some detail and then I’ll have to go over what they did anyway.”

“Either vacation, or this,” he said, his voice signaling this was not open to discussion. “You’re not leaving me with many options here.”

“There is an option!” you exclaimed. “The system we have works.”

“It obviously doesn’t if you haven’t slept in two days and the workload is triggering a panic attack.”

“It didn’t though!” you insisted. “It’s a coincidence, not a chain of events.”

“I’m not risking it.”

You huffed out, slipping a little on the floor and crossing your arms while Bucky’s lips twitched into a fond smile.

“You’re pouting.”

“I’m not pouting, I’m contemplating,” you corrected him and gritted your teeth, then rolled your eyes. “Fine. I’ll give the okay though, whoever you hire. I need to make sure they can handle this whole thing.”

“Didn’t think otherwise.”

You let out a noise of displeasure, exhaustion still heavy on your whole body and you leaned your head on his shoulder with a tired sigh. He dipped his head to nuzzle into your hair, making your stomach do a happy flip and you played with the bracelet around your wrist.

“Bucky?”

He hummed into your hair.

“How did it go with Murray?”

He raised his lips from your hair so that you could hear him; “We’re not talking about work right now.”

“But—”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” you said with a pout. “How are you handling the breakup?”

That made him fall quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“I’m fine.”

You lifted your head and sat up straighter to look up at him better.

“Are you?” you insisted. “For real? Because I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. I mean no offense but Hazel is kind of perfect.”

“She is,” Bucky said immediately. “She really is, but I don’t think—uh, I don’t think I was the right person for her.

Your heart sped up again but this time instead of dread, all you could feel was excitement rushing through your veins.

“…Oh,” you managed to say. “Why not?”

That made him fall quiet for a moment, his gaze slipping down to your lips before it snapped up to your eyes again. You couldn’t help but notice his throat bobbed nervously, and he took a deep breath as if he was trying to gather up courage.

Which was insane.

You had seen him throw himself in danger over and over again without so much as a second of hesitation.

“Because,” he started, his voice soft, “Birdie, I—”

“Hello?” Kelsey’s voice carried out from the doorway, snapping both of you out of your daze. “Guys?”

You loved Kelsey but you could swear that the urge to scream at her was way too strong.

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment as if he shared the sentiment, then opened them again, his jaw tightening. You sat up straighter and raised your hand from beside the desk.

“Over here, Kels.”

“What the fuck are you two doing on the floor?” Kelsey asked as she made her way to you and you exchanged glances, then turned to her.

“I…we—uh—”

“I think better when I’m sitting on the floor,” Bucky cut you off and Kelsey tilted her head.

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s a habit from the 1940s.”

Kelsey looked from him to you while Bucky stood up, then offered his hand for you to take it, a warmth spreading from your hand to your arm. You were still exhausted, but you looked up at him and mouthed ‘thank you’. Bucky squeezed your hand in an assuring manner, and you turned to Kelsey.

“Are we going home?”

“Sure, let’s.”

“Call me when you get home?” Bucky murmured and you nodded your head, giving him a small smile, then grabbed your purse off the desk and followed Kelsey out of the office.

“Please don’t tell me you two were having sex on the office floor.”

You let out a laugh, then shook your head.

“We were talking about his ex,” you said and cracked your neck, making a face. “And oh, before I forget, Caleb says we’ll have a barbeque at Bucky’s place this Saturday.”

“At Bucky’s place?” she asked. “All of us?”

“Mm hm, the whole team and I think Sam and Sarah will come too.”

Kelsey grinned at you.

“Just let me know if you happen to find yourself in his bedroom and need me to distract others,” she joked. “During the house tour, that is.”

You pushed at her arm gently.

“There’s gonna be people there,” you reminded her. “Lots of people. Hypothetically, even if Bucky liked me like that—”

“Did they raise you in a convent?”

“That would still be impossible,” you said as if she didn’t interrupt you. “Which by the way, he doesn’t.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t even think he finds me hot, to be honest with you,” you said. “It’s like Hazel said. He entertains my crush, that’s it.”

Kelsey threw her head back.

“You are so oblivious,” she groaned. “This barbecue—”

“Will be just a barbecue,” you said. “Some PR thing, that’s it. I assure you.”

497 notes · View notes

enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Get Around

Summary : After going on a date with Bucky, Sarah realises they're better off as friends. So she does the next best thing: sets him up with you, the Wilsons’ childhood best friend.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Wilsons’ best friend!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Fluff!!!! Canon-compliant-ish. cursing. Sex is mentioned and described but nothing too graphic. Honorary Wilson!reader lol. (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)

Word count : 6.1k

Note : If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Bucky had been hanging around Delacroix more often—helping out with repairs, tagging along with Sam, awkwardly charming every older woman at the community center.

After a while, he asked Sarah out the old-fashioned way. They were mid-conversation on her porch after a neighborhood barbecue when he said, “Would you maybe wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Sarah blinked. “Like… a date?”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. “Yeah. A date.”

She smiled, a little surprised he actually made a move. “Sure, Barnes. Why not?”

—

The coffee date was… fine.

Sarah looked good—she always did—but sitting across from her in a cosy little café, Bucky felt like he was going through the motions. She talked about her boys, the PTA, the plumber who still hadn’t fixed the upstairs sink. He listened politely, sipping his drink.

As the date went on, the silences got longer. Not the comfortable kind— the searching-for-what-to-say-next kind.

Sarah told a hilarious story about AJ trying to microwave a juice box. Bucky laughed but didn’t know how to relate. He talked about old jazz clubs in Brooklyn, and she smiled, but couldn’t picture it.

Now, he thought to himself, what on earth do we have in common?

She liked things like school pickups and meal prep and making sure her boys had clean socks.

He was still figuring out how to use Google Maps.

By the time their drinks were finished, Sarah leaned back in her chair and tilted her head. “You know this isn’t gonna work, right?”

Bucky let out a relieved sigh. “God, thank you. I thought I was crazy.”

“You’re sweet,” she said with a grin. “But you’re… not for me.”

“You’re way too… normal,” he joked, happy to go back to friendly banter.

“Hey! Normal’s not so bad,” she playfully slapped his arm, grinning. “Especially with two kids and a mortgage. I like normal.”

Bucky shrugged. “I think I’m still trying to figure out what normal even is.”

There wasn’t any bitterness between them, just a mutual understanding. They walked out side by side, still friends, no pressure. Bucky held the door open for her, and they walked side-by-side on the sidewalk.

“You’ll find someone,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Just maybe not a single mom who spends half her life arguing with a ten-year-old about screen time.”

“Mm. Modern dating’s rough,” Bucky muttered, almost to himself, kicking a pebble. He gave her a half-hearted laugh. “I never had to do it before. In the forties, you danced with someone, got shipped three weeks later, and that was that.”

Sarah adjusted the strap of her bag. “Yeah, well, times have changed.”

“I don’t even know what my ‘type’ is,” Bucky sighed, plunging his hands into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Come on. Everyone has a type,” She glanced at him. “What do you usually go for?”

He thought for a long moment, mouth half open, brows furrowed like he was trying to solve a math problem.

“I dunno… pretty? Smart? Likes reading and stuff?” He squinted. “You know. Someone who makes me feel like I’m not completely out of place all the time.”

Sarah blinked at him, then let out a laugh that was more affectionate than mocking. “You’re hopeless.”

“I said I don’t know!”

“So,” she started, gears already shifting in her head, “You want someone smart, probably a little intense, maybe a little weird— someone who could keep up with your nerdy ass and not try to fix you.”

Bucky looked at her sideways. “...Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all. Just not me.” She shrugged, before smiling to herself. “Lucky for you, I think I know the woman for you,” she said with a little sing-song voice.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “You’re setting me up with someone else?”

She grinned, wide and smug. “Damn right I am.”

“After I just tried to date you?”

“Please,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “This is the South. Everyone’s dated everyone once. It’s how we weed out the bad matches and find the good ones.”

—

The air was warm and fragrant with the smell of jasmine, the kind of Southern evening that made time stretch out and slow down. Cicadas hummed in the trees like a constant chorus, and the porch creaked beneath. You sat curled up on the steps, legs tucked beneath you, an old quilt draped across your lap even though the heat hardly called for it. Sarah lounged across from you, sipping sweet tea from a mason jar, her curls tied back, the porch light casting a halo around her.

“So,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence as she swirled the ice in her glass, “I went on a date with Bucky Barnes.”

You blinked. “Wait—the Bucky? Metal arm, might’ve killed a guy with a butter knife?” Sam has told you a lot about him, of course. But that wasn’t the same as knowing him.

Sarah nodded.

You sat up straighter, curious now. “Okay, and? Spill.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “He’s... complicated. But nice. Weirdly funny. He loves old movies and books and he’s got this thing where he looks constantly exhausted by the existence of social media.”

“That’s… something.”

Sarah shrugged. “He’s trying. But it didn’t really click, you know? Not romantically, anyway. We kind of gave each other this look like, ‘Yeah, this isn’t it.’”

You took a slow sip of your tea, watching her closely. “So why are you telling me this?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, unhurried. And if you knew her— and you did— she was scheming. “Because you… you might be exactly his type.”

Your brow shot up. “You’re trying to set me up with the Winter Soldier?”

“No,” Sarah rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “I’m trying to set you up with Bucky. Who happens to have a metal arm and a very unfortunate history of government-sanctioned murder. Besides, I think he’s your type, too.”

You made a show of pretending to consider it, lips pursed. “Pretty but did government-sanctioned murder is my type?”

She nodded without missing a beat. “A hundred percent. You like them brooding and bookish with just a dash of ‘might stab someone for you.’”

You laughed. “Okay, but what about Sam?” You leaned back to the wooden railing, running your fingers around the rim of your glass. “You really think he’s gonna be chill with Bucky taking two of the closest women in his life out?”

“He’ll freak,” Sarah finished, deadpan. “But if it doesn’t work out, he doesn’t have to know. If it does we’ll handle it. I’ll hit him with the ‘don’t get in the way of love’ speech. Maybe throw in some guilt about daddy watching from heaven.”

“That’s cold.”

“It’s effective.”

You chuckled, setting your glass down and leaning back, looking out at the yard. Crickets chirped somewhere near the bushes, and the stars were just starting to peek through the indigo sky.

You bit your lip, shaking your head but not saying no. You were picturing him now— this man you’d only ever seen in brief glimpses, standing quiet at the edges of cookouts, nodding along to conversations, sometimes slipping into laughter like he forgot he was allowed to enjoy things.

“Does he read?” you asked finally, glancing sideways at her.

“All the time. Sam said he annotates in the margins.”

You tried not to smile, but it slipped out anyway. “That’s annoyingly charming.”

“Right?” Sarah grinned, delighted.

You took another sip, thinking. “I mean... I’m not saying yes,” you murmured.

Sarah just chuckled. “But you’re already thinking about what you’re gonna wear.”

You shot her a look. “Shut up.”

But to be fair, she was right. You were intrigued.

Completely, undeniably intrigued.

—

Sarah picked the brunch spot—a sunny corner café with mismatched mugs and a chalkboard menu that changed every week. It had string lights even in daylight and smelled like syrup, coffee, and cinnamon.

Bucky walked in five minutes early, as he always did when he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. He scanned the room— and then stopped short.

“Oh,” he said aloud, more to himself than anything.

Because there you were, sitting by the window in a breezy sundress and sneakers, sipping coffee from a mug the size of your face. You looked up, spotted him, and smiled like you were in on a secret he hadn’t been told yet.

He found himself smiling. “It’s you.”

You hadn't really talked before, not properly. He knew you were close with Sam and Sarah, always laughing or deep in conversation with someone else at the Wilson gatherings. He’d noticed you, though— thought you were beautiful, but always just too out of reach.

“That’s one way to greet a date.” Your brow lifted, amused. “I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm.”

“No—I mean—hi,” he managed to recover, walking over. “I just didn’t know it was you you.”

“Sarah didn’t tell you?”

“No,” he admitted, a little sheepish. “I thought I was showing up for a complete stranger. Not the Wilson’s pretty friend who always hangs out with the book club moms at barbecues.”

“Hey!” You defended yourself. “Mrs. Landry always has good gossip.”

Oh, this was going to be interesting.

—

You both sat a little awkward at first, but then he made a dry joke about how brunch menus had too many eggs, and you responded with a sass-laced quip about men being afraid of hollandaise. The banter just clicked.

Conversation flowed easy after that.

You teased him for calling the server “ma’am” like he was born in a different century (because he was), and he shot back that you flirt like it’s a contact sport— which you didn’t deny. He found out you liked old books and that you could, in fact, take him in an argument about which Indiana Jones movie was the best.

To your surprise, Bucky was funny. Not just in a dry, sarcastic way, but he was genuinely quick-witted. He told a story about a disastrous attempt to use a self-checkout machine (“It yelled at me, loudly, in front of children”), and you nearly choked on your coffee.

When you talked about the petty drama at your job, he listened with real interest, laughing in the right places, asking the right questions. It wasn’t like dragging someone through small talk; it felt… mutual.

“So…” you started as you took the last bite of your croissant. “how’s this date measuring up to Sarah’s?”

“Well,” he raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t checked the time once.”

Your smile widened.

“She’s cool,” he added, “but… this is different. In a good way.”

“I’ll take that.”

–

By the time the check landed on the table, you both reached for it.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

You tilted your head, amused. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to insist on splitting. Don’t. Let me feel like a gentleman,” he said playfully, “Don’t steal my moment.”

“Oh, this is your moment?”

He leaned in slightly. “I’m trying to be charming, sweetheart. Let me have this.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes, pretending to be pissed, “But only because you said ‘sweetheart’ like a noir movie star.”

He winked. “I’ve got more where that came from.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were grinning now as he handed the check off, and thought, Sarah was right.

–

He walked you to your car, hands in his pockets, close enough that your shoulders brushed every few steps. The sun was warm, the air smelled like honeysuckle and syrup, and you… didn’t want it to end.

“I had a good time,” you said, pausing at your door.

He stopped, looking at you like you’d caught him off guard. “Yeah… me too. More than I expected.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “More than you expected?”

“I just didn’t think it’d be… this easy,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

“Careful,” you teased. “I might start thinking you like me.”

He looked at you, eyes on your mouth, on the way you leaned back against the car door like you had nowhere else to be. “I do.”

You smiled, knowing this wouldn’t be the last time you saw each other. “So… what now?”

“That depends,” he said. “Would you wanna do this again?”

You stepped in just a little, your face tilted up toward his, close enough to feel the heat off his skin. “Definitely.”

“We should go to the new bar down the corner soon,” he suggested.

“Great,” you said, eyes twinkling. “Text me, and I’ll be there.”

He leaned in like he might say something else, or might kiss you, might do something bold— but instead, he just smiled.

You slipped into your car, started it up, and rolled the window down.

“Hey, Bucky?” you called.

He stepped back, looking unfairly attractive in the sunlight. “Yeah?”

You met his eyes. “You’re even prettier up close.”

And you drove off, leaving him standing there— watching you go like you were the best thing that had happened to him all week.

—

Three days later, you went on your second date.

“Are we sure about this?” Bucky asked, pulling open the bar’s door for you. For better or for worse, tonight was trivia night.

You stepped in, instantly hit with the scent of beer, wings, questionable cologne. “Nope,” you said cheerfully. “I’m mostly here for the nachos.”

“That’s fair.” He chuckled, following behind. “I’m just gonna pretend I know things about pop culture.”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if I trust your grasp on modern trivia.”

“I’ve been catching up,” he said, almost seriously if not for the slight curve on his lips. “Did you know there are nine Fast & Furious movies?”

“Ten, actually,” you said with mock pity. “Proud of you, though.”

He held a hand to his chest like you’d wounded him. “I let you insult my trivia knowledge and I still pulled your chair out for you.”

You beamed. “Chivalry’s not dead.”

“Just slightly bruised,” he said, sitting beside you as the host passed around answer sheets and sharpies.

–

You came in fifth out of nine teams.

“Honestly,” Bucky said as you both stepped into the night air, “I think we did well.”

“You thought Pluto was a planet.”

“It was,” he defended, “back in 1940!”

You laughed, waving him off. “Excuses.”

He walked a little closer, catching up. “Still,” he started again, “I had fun.”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “We make a good team. Incompetent, but y’know.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said lightly.

“So…,” you drawled. “Should we do something again next week?”

He leaned in close, pretending to think. “Only if you promise to educate me on planetary bodies.”

“Deal.”

—

The week after, you decided to go to a roller rink together.

“This is either going to be really cute,” you said as you laced up your skates, “or humiliating.”

Bucky was already upright, perfectly balanced in his skates, the annoyingly coordinated war-time ballerina that he is. He looked down at you with that stupidly charming half-smile. “So far, I’m voting cute.”

You squinted at him. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen me fall yet.”

He offered you his hand. “Let’s see, then.”

You took it—gratefully—and let him help you up. Instantly, your legs turned into spaghetti and you clung to his arm with both hands.

“Oh fuck,” you cursed under your breath.. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

He laughed, gently snaking an arm down your waist. “When was the last time you did this?”

“Thirteen?” you guessed, “I had a much lower center of gravity. Also, zero fear of public scrutiny.”

“Well,” he said, guiding you slowly onto the rink like you were made of glass, “you can hold on to me.”

“I’m practically koala-ing your arm.”

“I don’t mind,” he murmured under his breath, glancing down at you with a look that was far too fond for someone who’d just watched you nearly faceplant.

You clutched his arm tighter, still trying to get your legs to cooperate. “God, this is embarrassing."

“It’s cute,” he insisted. “You’re like a baby deer on ice.”

“I will push you into a wall.”

“You’d fall too,” he warned, “So it’d be mutually assured destruction.”

Eventually, you got the hang of not immediately dying, though Bucky still skated close, one hand lightly on your back or guiding your wrist like he didn’t want to be too far away. Every time you stumbled, he caught you like he’d been training for this moment his whole life.

“You’re doing great,” he encouraged, breathless from laughing. “You haven’t even faceplanted yet.”

“That’s because I’ve been using you like a human walker.”

“And I’m honored,” he said solemnly. “Touch me all you want.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go. His hand was steady, and every time you squeezed in fear, it made his heart stutter a little.

As the cheesy pop music echoed through the rink and colored lights flashed over your faces, you tugged him down slightly and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

He tilted his head like he hadn’t expected it. “What was that for?”

You gave him a casual shrug. “You didn’t let me fall.”

His grin looked a little dazed. “I’m never letting go now.”

You bumped his shoulder playfully. “You sound like you’re catching feelings.”

He looked down at you, cheeks still pink from your kiss. “And if I was? You gonna push me into a wall?”

You leaned into him, still holding on. “No,” you pretended to consider, “You’re growing on me.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, then tugged you into another lap around the rink— this time, not as your balance support, but just because he wanted to keep you close.

—

The next time he took you out was two weeks later— Bucky needed to go on a mission, and thankfully, he came back in one piece.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to say yes to a swing dance night— probably Bucky’s hopeful smile and the promise of watching him do footwork that didn’t involve combat boots and a rifle. But now, standing in the bar with a live brass band warming up and people in suspenders and retro curls twirling across the floor, you were very aware of two things: One, you were wearing a swing dress that flared when you spun. Two, Bucky Barnes was staring at you like he forgot how to breathe.

“Wow,” he said as he stepped up to you. “You look…”

You raised a brow, playfully daring him to finish that sentence.

He blinked, still locked in on your dress. It was deep red with a fitted waist and a full skirt. Your hair was pinned just enough to look like effort without screaming it, and your lipstick was the exact shade of I-wanna-kiss-you red. “Like a dream.”

You laughed, smoothing your skirt like it might somehow make his gaze less intense. “You’re just saying that because the dress twirls.”

He offered you his arm, loving the way you fit beside him— like an old-Hollywood couple.

The dance floor was alive, buzzing with movement and people spinning and dipping under strings of lights. You clutched Bucky’s hand tightly as he led you out, equal parts excited and terrified.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” you whispered.

He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear. “That’s okay. I do.”

And he did. Oh, he really did.

Bucky danced well, probably because he learned to when it meant something—when music was a lifeline, when joy had to be stolen in smoky clubs when the world was falling apart. He was confident, never showy, and always aware of you.

You found yourself laughing, light and giddy, as he spun you out and back again. Your dress fanned like a flame, your heels sliding along the floor, and every time you landed in his arms, his stare lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

“Where’d you learn to dance like this?” you asked, catching your breath.

He gave a small, wistful smile. “Brooklyn. You had to ask someone or you didn’t dance at all.”

“And you always asked?”

He shrugged, but the glance he gave you was shy. “Sometimes.”

You couldn’t help yourself. “What a player.”

“Well, I never found the right partner,” he chuckled, but didn’t deny it. “Until now.”

Oh?

“Only took you ninety years,” you teased and squeezed his hand. When you leaned back slightly, the lights caught the silver of his dog tags beneath the open collar of his shirt. It was a reminder of everything he’d carried on his shoulders— everything he rarely said out loud. And you wanted, suddenly, for him to feel something new.

So you kissed him.

Right there on the floor, standing on your toes to press your mouth to his. His lips parted with surprise at first, then his hand tightening at your waist, his other sliding up your back like he couldn’t stop himself.

You weren’t trying to steal something from him—you were offering something instead. He kissed you back because he understood that.

When you finally pulled away, he didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you like he was falling in love— and trying, desperately, not to admit it.

—

A couple days later, you had your monthly catch up with Sarah.

Your porch smelled like beer, chicken wings, and dandelions. The boys were pretending to swordfight in your backyard.

Sarah stirred the ketchup pot with a wing. “So,” she said, already smiling like she knew, “how’s it going with our favorite ex-assassin?”

You tried to play it cool. You really did.

“It’s…” You took a sip from your glass to buy time. “Going.”

Sarah tilted her head. “That’s all I get?”

“Fine.” You let out a soft laugh, resting your elbow on the lap, chin in your hand. “It’s going… really well.”

“Mmhmm.” She took a sip like she was examining a case. “Are we talking awkward small talk and polite side hugs? Or—”

“He took me dancing,” you interrupted, like that alone said everything.

Sarah sat up straighter, eyes wide. “Bucky Barnes took you dancing?”

“To a swing bar with a live band and couples in suspenders and victory rolls. He knew all the steps.”

Sarah pretended to look disappointed. “The best he could do for me was coffee.”

You laughed, nudging her shoulders. “And he looked at me like— fuck, Sarah, like I was made of stardust or somethin’.”

“Oof.” She leaned back, hand over her heart. “You’re in it.”

“I’m not—” You paused, considering it. “Okay. Maybe. A little.”

“A little?”

“I kissed him,” you confessed. “On the dance floor.”

Sarah was quiet for a beat, her eyes turning warm. “Sounds like he’s falling for you.”

You toyed with the rim of the bowl. “I think it scares him.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “Good.”

You looked up at her, almost worried. “What if I fall first?”

“Then you fall,” she reassured, proud of her matchmaking skills. “He’ll catch you. Even if it takes him a minute.”

—

Across the world, Sam and Bucky were just finishing up a mission— low-level intel retrieval, some mild breaking and entering, nothing they hadn’t done a dozen times before. Still, Bucky was in a suspiciously good mood for someone who’d just spent three hours crawling through ventilation ducts and dodging motion sensors.

They were walking back to the jet when Sam finally said it.

“You’ve been smiley lately.”

Bucky scoffed, keeping his eyes forward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve got this weird, smug little grin thing going on,” Sam insisted. “Thought maybe you got hit too hard in the head back there.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m not.”

Sam nudged him with an elbow. “So what’s her name?”

Bucky stiffened for a split second, just enough for Sam to catch it.

“See, I know you,” Sam said, leaning forward now, laughing. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Bucky tried to play it off, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I’m... Yeah.”

Sam’s jaw dropped in mock offense. “And you weren’t gonna tell me?”

Bucky groaned, already regretting it. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird! I’m just—who?”

“Drop it.”

Sam blinked. “You’re not gonna tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Is it someone I know?” Sam insisted.

“I’m not talking about it,” Bucky gritted.

“Is it—? Wait.” Sam’s eyes went round. “It better not be someone from my neighborhood .”

Bucky shot him a look. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh my God it is someone from the neighbourhood!”

“Sam.”

“You’re dating one of the aunties??”

“No! Jesus.”

“Who then? Just give me a hint—”

“Fuck, it’s… early,” Bucky said, voice a little tight. “So just—drop it, okay?”

Truth was, he didn’t want to deal with the fallout. Yet. Because once Sam found out—once he did the math and realised Bucky had dated his sister, however briefly, and then ended up dating you, his childhood best friend, the one who used to sneak popsicles to Sarah after bedtime and once helped him bury a broken Game Boy like it was a funeral…?

Yeah. No thanks. Not until he had to.

Sam, to Bucky’s immense surprise, let it go.

Kind of.

“Well,” Sam said after a long moment, trying to play it cool but still delighted, “Just a foolproof-Sam-Wilson-dating-tip: bring her over to yours. Cook for her. Ladies love that.”

Bucky side-eyed him. “What, like, from scratch?”

“Yeah, man. Light a candle, put on some Coltrane, pretend you know how to make pasta that isn’t out of a box.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but Sam could tell he was actually considering it. “I didn’t ask for your advice.”

“You never do, and yet, I keep improving your life,” Sam said in that annoying matter-of-factly way he always did. “You’re welcome.”

Bucky shook his head, fighting the urge to smile again as he started planning your dinner.

—

So he invited you to your apartment when he got back.

When he opened the door that night, you kissed him chastely on the corner of his mouth as a greeting. “Hey you.”

He tried to look casual, but blushed a little. You were in jeans and a tucked-in tank top, nothing dramatic, but seeing you again after three weeks of non-stop texting felt like a breath of fresh air.

You had since gotten comfortable in his place, exploring every nook and cranny, figuring what made this place so…. him.

It was tidy and lived-in, filled with small signs that he was figuring out what a home meant— books stacked on end tables, a couch with a cozy throw, a record player in the corner playing jazz like it belonged in another century.

You were now barefoot in his kitchen, sipping wine and leaning against the counter, watching him move around like he wasn’t nervously making sure he was making the pesto right. Bucky wore a plain black tee and trousers, sleeves pushed up, forearm metal plates rippling as he stirred something on the stove— pasta, homemade sauce, garlic bread in the oven. It smelled good.

“I can’t believe James Buchanan Barnes is cooking for me,” you teased, swirling the wine in your glass.

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

“What?” you defended, “I’m flattered.”

“You should be. I’m just trying to impress you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Trying pretty hard, huh?”

He squinted playfully at you. “Shut up.”

You were chuckled as he stepped closer, reaching past you for the olive oil—but his hand hovered on the counter instead, palm pressed near your hip. His eyes flickered to your mouth and lingered, there, like it was physically impossible to look away.

“You look good here,” he mentioned, hands creeping closer to you.

“Here?”

“In my space.” He clarified, nodding. “You fit.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Before he could overthink it, he kissed you.

It started slow—his hand resting just below your ribs,—but it escalated quickly, the kind of kiss that made you forget the world was round.

Your hands slipped up under the edge of his shirt, palms flattening against the warm skin of his stomach. He gasped against your mouth, just a little, but didn’t pull back. His hands found your waist and pulled you closer until there was no space between you.

Bucky kissed like he was starving. Like he’d been trying so hard to be careful and you’d finally told him he didn’t have to be.

You dragged your fingers up his sides, felt the way his body shivered slightly under your touch. He kissed you harder, tongue slipping against yours, his metal hand gripping your waist. Your back hit the edge of the counter and you arched into him, lips parting on a moan you didn’t mean to make—but it set a bomb off in him.

His mouth dropped to your neck, open-mouthed and hot, and your hands found the hem of his shirt again, tugging gently.

“Wait—” you said, breathless, your head falling back a little, “Bucky—”

“What? Did I—?”

You laughed, one hand resting on his chest. “The stove.”

He blinked. “The—?”

You tilted your head toward the pot behind him, steam now visible, the faint bubbling sound definitely not part of the white noise.

“Oh, shit.”

He turned fast, fumbling with the knob, grabbing the towel and yanking the pot off the heat and turning off the oven while muttering curses under his breath. You leaned back against the counter, laughing.

He turned back around, hair slightly tousled, but not looking the least bit sorry. “We can heat it up later.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He stepped in close again, gently crowding you against the cabinets, one hand braced beside your head. “Dinner can wait.”

You didn’t argue. You just hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt, pulled him in again. His hand hiked up your thigh as he sunk down, kneeling on the floor, pasta be damned.

You tasted better than anything on the stove anyway.

—

After a good hour or so in bed, Bucky took you to shower. It was all steam and lazy kisses pressed to damp skin. You’d lingered under the spray longer than you needed to, neither of you in any rush to move, to pull away, to stop being tangled up in each other.

Now, you were perched on the edge of Bucky’s island kitchen counter, freshly showered, legs swinging gently, damp hair tucked behind your ears, wearing nothing but a pair of his briefs and his t-shirt, hanging off one shoulder in a way that made Bucky keep glancing over like he was already planning to peel it back off.

He stood shirtless across from you at the stove, boiling a new batch of pasta after he’d abandoned the old ones earlier. His hair was still a little wet, clinging to the back of his neck, and his gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips. His metal arm glinted in the light as he stirred the sauce one-handed, the other casually wiping at a stray droplet of water on his chest.

You tilted your head. “You know what?” you started.

Bucky looked over, eyebrows raised.

“I think I like sex better before dinner,” you finished your thoughts.

He let out the sweetest laugh, remembering how beautiful you looked underneath him on the couch earlier, right before he scooped you up, took you to bed, and placed you on his lap. “Do you, now?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, “Because the food’s not in there yet. It’s not, like… sloshing around.”

Bucky paused mid-stir, blinked at you, then chuckled. “Sloshing?”

You laughed too, unapologetic. “I’m just saying! Strategic timing is key.”

He turned back to the stove and shrugged. “My metabolism’s so quick it doesn’t really matter.”

You scoffed. “Of course it doesn’t.”

He turned to face you fully, spoon in hand, as he fed you a taste of the sauce. “But I’m glad we didn’t wait.”

You hummed in approval at the taste and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants to tug him closer, gently. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “You, in my shirt…” He reached up, tugging the loose collar gently back into place over your shoulder. “Kind of ruins me a little.”

Your smile turned fond. “Good.”

He kissed you again, sighing as he pictured you thirty minutes earlier, mewling and begging on top of him, falling apart at the same time as him. He remembered pulling you close afterward, whispering praises and sweet nothings in your ears as you mumbled his name, content and so fucking pretty—

Knock knock knock.

The sound interrupted the kiss as you pulled away. The knocks were so confident, it sounded like the person on the other side knew Bucky was home.

You tilted your head, your fingers idly twisting the waistband of his sweats. “Who’s that?”

Bucky glanced toward the door, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands. “Probably one of my neighbors. You were loud earlier.”

You swatted him. “Shut up.”

He just winked and went to open the door.

But his smirk vanished the second he saw who was standing there.

“Hey, tin man,” Sam greeted casually, breezing in like he owned the place, holding up a paper bag from that diner down the street. “I got fries, I’m bored, and Joaquin’s still in Miami, so I figured we could—” He trailed off, freezing.

Because he’d looked past Bucky.

And saw you.

You, still perched on the counter in Bucky’s shirt, hair damp, face flushed. Very clearly post-shower, post-sex, post-everything.

Sam looks at Bucky. “Hold up.”

Your eyes grew as wide as dinner plates. Bucky winced.

Sam pointed between the two of you, voice rising. “You’re dating my childhood best friend?!”

You tried to recover, sliding off the counter like that would somehow make things better. “Okay, wait—”

“It’s not—” Bucky started, rubbing the back of his neck like he wanted to disappear into the wall. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Sam gestured wildly. “It looks like she’s wearing your shirt.”

You looked down. Yep. Sure was.

You cleared your throat. “Surprise?”

Bucky groaned. “Look, Sarah set us up.”

“SARAH???” Sam yelped. “What does Sarah have to do with this?!”

You raised a hand like a student in class. “Okay, okay—context,” you started, “Sarah went on a date with Bucky. But it didn’t work out.”

Sam turned so fast. “YOU DATED MY SISTER TOO?!”

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “It didn’t work out, man!”

“I can’t—” Sam paced in a tight circle. “You dated my sister, and now you’re—what—hooking up with our childhood best friend? An honorary Wilson? Are you working through my entire support system? Gonna date my mom next?!”

You muttered under your breath, “Don’t think they have tinder in the afterlife.”

Bucky gave you a look. “Not the time.”

You winced. “Sorry.”

Sam squinted at you both, still flabbergasted, still holding his fries like they’d betrayed him. “And how long has this been going on?”

You and Bucky exchanged a guilty glance. You opened his mouth to answer, but he beat you to it.

“… when did we get back from that Madripoor mission?”

Sam stared. “That was, like, two months ago.”

Then, quietly, Bucky muttered, “I was gonna tell you.”

“When?” Sam crossed his arms. “At the wedding?”

Bucky sighed. “You gonna be mad forever?”

Sam shook his head, grumbling, “I’m not mad. I’m just—processing.” Then he pointed a finger at you, suspicious. “And you. You were just gonna act like this is normal?”

You bit your lip, smiled sheepishly. “In my defense, I was planning to tell you… eventually. So stop pointing hot food at me and quit being dramatic. Sarah and I can take care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

Sam looked at his fries.

“…These are for both of you now,” he muttered.

And Bucky, hopeful, asked, “So we’re good?”

Sam narrowed his eyes.

“I swear to God, Barnes, if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Bucky said, before you even could. And the way he said it made something in your chest flutter.

Sam sighed again, shaking his head. “Fine. But next time, maybe tell me before I walk in on my best friend looking like she just climbed outta your bed.”

You shrugged, plucking a fry from the bag. “Honestly, we never made it to bed the first time.”

“NOPE,” Sam said, backing toward the door. “I’m leaving. And you!” He pointed at Bucky “Next week. You’re explaining everything.” Then he pointed at you. “You. Bring wine.”

You saluted. “Yes, sir.”

And as Sam walked out grumbling, Bucky just shook his head, slid an arm around your waist, and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Well,” you said, leaning into him, “that could’ve gone worse.”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughed. “He didn’t even threaten to punch me.”

“Yet.”

“Fair.”

—end.

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enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

“Sorry, I zoned out,” he managed to say. “Can you repeat that?”

Bucky:

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you said, your smiling growing bigger. “Hey, how come you know my nickname and I don’t know yours?”

“Because I came to the Capitol before you.”

Please tell me his nickname is something super embarrassing 😂 this looks like an avoidance technique to meeeee, shmoopsiepoo.

He made a face. “No you weren’t, you were the top of your class.”

“I’m not interested in excuses,” he cut you off, his voice low but stern. “I’m interested in solutions. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

These two idiots dancing in the hallway.

BREAKUP. STATEMENT?! Oh nooo, how sad...

Birdie going to Hazel's hotel before even talking to Bucky first 😅 giiiirl

“So you know what will happen,” she said. “This is one of the rare things that hasn’t changed since the 40s, no matter what anyone says. He will be their hero, and you will be the whore.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“I need you to understand that,” she told you. “Doesn’t matter if I like you or not, I wouldn’t wish it upon any woman. They will fucking tear you apart, and trust me, not even the big bad Winter Soldier can protect you from that.”

This isn't sitting right with me.

Say those things again in front of Bucky. I dare you.

Declassified [11] - Warning Shot

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Some dances look more than just friendly.

Warnings: Explicit language, yearning, throwing up, mentions of sexual acts.

Word Count: 5.5k

Series Masterlist

If it were any other time, this gala would be exciting.

It was the perfect opportunity to meet more politicians, get some inside information, and overall a good place to make an impression. However, your love life was a mess, you dreamt about Bucky every night while keeping your distance from him all day, so you had no idea how to even begin forming a game plan for the gala, or care about it.

Also, Bucky looked like he had one thousand questions about why you started avoiding him all of a sudden out of nowhere yet again but you had to admit, he was being very understanding and did not push you.

Then again, maybe his girlfriend played a part in it.

“Can I just skip this one?”

You and Kelsey exchanged glances and she rolled her eyes while you heaved a sigh, then checked your lipstick on the mirror.

“Caleb, get in here.”

“No seriously, DC has a bunch of charity galas I can join some other time—”

“Get in here!” You both called out at the same time and he huffed, then stepped into the living room, still fiddling with his bowtie. One simple observer would have thought he was being forced to go to war instead of a gala from the miserable look on his face, and you stifled your laugh while Kelsey walked to him to bat his hand away so that she could fix his bowtie.

“I look like a waiter.”

“You look like a handsome guy in a suit.”

“Handsome waiter in a suit.”

“Caleb,” Kelsey said patiently. “I will be Bucky’s shadow in that ballroom and running around the place on stilettos. I think you and your bowtie will be fine.”

“I can give you my shoes at the end of the night if you want,” Caleb said and Kelsey smiled at him.

“Not gonna turn down that offer, thank you.”

“Birdie?” Caleb turned to you and you winked at him.

“You look like a handsome PR manager in a suit.”

Caleb let out a breath and ran his hands through his hair.

“Anyone else feel like this is prom night?”

“I lost my virginity on prom night,” Kelsey mused, checking her phone and you raised your brows.

“Really?”

“Yeah, at the back of the limo my date rented.”

You grinned. “Classy. I’ve never had sex in a car.”

“You’re telling me Five Minutes Comma Max wasn’t adventurous?” Caleb teased you. “Shocker.”

“I should make a list or something.”

“A sex list?”

“Yeah for like places and stuff.”

“Uber is here,” Kelsey said and you grabbed your purse off the coffee table while Caleb rolled his shoulders back. “Ready?”

“Yep,” you said. “Let’s go to prom.”

This was not prom.

This was prom West Wing edition.

There were so many important people everywhere that you didn’t even know where to start. You could see your father talking to a senator at the corner of the ballroom, and the sight was enough to make your stomach do a nervous flip, but you cracked your knuckles, searching the room for—

Oh there he was.

It wasn’t like you expected him not to look good in a suit but this was another level. For a couple of seconds, you let yourself stare at him; your heartbeat getting faster while he gave a curt smile to something Hazel said, then made a face and shook his head, making her laugh.

Jesus, they really did make a hot couple.

Jealous burned at the pit of your stomach but you frowned to yourself, trying to focus. Kelsey made her way to him while Caleb walked to one of the journalists he knew, and you took a deep breath, then approached him.

Professional.

You were going to be just professional and get through tonight, and then go home where you could whine all you wanted.

“Good evening Mr. Barnes. Miss Brooks.” You offered a smile to her which she acknowledged with a nod, but you made sure not to look at Bucky, instead lowering your glances to your phone in your hand. “Mr. Barnes, I think it could be a good idea to talk Congressman Murray tonight about the veteran bill proposal once you get the chance. He has military background, he supports getting more financial support to veteran families especially after the Blip, and he has already contacted us for next week, so it could be the first step to breaking the ice. I sent you the main points of the latest bill he proposed a couple of months ago, so if you’d like to take a look, it could help.”

Silence.

You pulled your brows together and looked up from your phone to find him staring at you in awe, making your heart skip a beat. You could feel your cheeks burning but you shot him a quizzical look, which made him clear his throat, trying to pull himself together.

“Sorry, I zoned out,” he managed to say. “Can you repeat that?”

Oh this was not going to help this situation with Hazel.

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking between you while Kelsey bit back a smile, and you took a deep breath.

“Congressman Murray could help with the veteran bill, I sent you the details.”

“Ah,” he said. “Right, yeah. Which one is he?”

“That one.” Kelsey pointed at the man subtly and Bucky nodded like he was trying to focus.

“Okay.”

“I’d better go and see who else is here,” you said and walked away from them in a rush just so that you wouldn’t be alone with Hazel. You looked around and made your way to one of the waiters to grab a champagne flute from the tray he carried, then thanked him and took a huge sip of the champagne, closing your eyes for a moment.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

“Wow.”

You looked over your shoulder, then smiled at Lucas and turned to see him better.

“Hi.”

He let out a breath, eyeing you up and down. “You look amazing, Hurricane.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you said, your smiling growing bigger. “Hey, how come you know my nickname and I don’t know yours?”

“Because I came to the Capitol before you.”

“Oh that’s how it works?”

“Mm hm,” he said solemnly. “Not to look like I’m pulling rank but…”

“But you are pulling rank?”

“But I am pulling rank,” he repeated with a nod of his head. “Sorry about that, but technically you’re a freshman and I’m a senior.”

“You’re a sophomore at best,” you deadpanned. “And in case you forgot, this freshman is helping you with that mess you call a draft.”

He let out a laugh. “Oh that’s how we’re gonna play this?”

You shrugged your shoulders, inspecting your nails nonchalantly. “Just saying.”

“I mean I wouldn’t call it helping,” he teased you back. “More like I’m showing you the ropes.”

You let out a hum, swirling your champagne in the glass.

“I’ve seen first graders with better text cohesion.”

“Ouch.” He grinned. “That hurt.”

“It shouldn’t,” you said calmly. “You know Lucas, there’s nothing wrong with being bad at things. We all have to start somewhere.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm hm,” you said. “For example, I was just like you when I was in college.”

“Oh, in college?”

“Lost…” You waved a hand in the air. “Clueless. Amateur. Poor in vocabulary.”

He made a face. “No you weren’t, you were the top of your class.”

You tilted your head. “And how would you know that?”

“I have my ways.” He motioned at you to keep going. “But back to dragging me.”

“Oh yeah,” you said. “And then I worked very hard and then…here we are. It might take you longer but you’ll get there.”

“We should’ve called you Viper instead of Hurricane.”

“That does sound more badass than Hurricane—” you started but Lucas’s eyes found someone over your shoulder, his smile wiping off his face immediately, and you frowned before you heard your father’s voice.

“Do you mind, Lucas?”

Lucas looked from your father to you, then shifted his weight and heaved a sigh.

“See you later, Hurricane.”

Your father gave you a small smile as Lucas walked away and you turned to glare at him.

“Dad,” you said through your teeth. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Let’s be serious here, you can do better than a glorified assistant.” He scoffed. “Would you like to dance?”

“I’m working.”

“Oh come on,” he said with a chuckle. “You used to throw fits whenever your mother and I took you to events if we didn’t have our father-daughter dance.”

“Well in my defense, I was like eight,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the people who were dancing in the ballroom. “And half of the government wasn’t in the room. And I wasn’t working.”

“And how is it going at work?” he asked. “I saw Barnes talking to Murray just now. Let me guess, they’ll work together on the veteran bill?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah. And after Bucky is done talking to him, I’ll talk to Congressman Riley about our project for the education of children in low income families.”

“What’s next?” he asked. “We start handing out stacks of money on the street?”

“You have more than enough. Why not?”

“That’s not how it works.”

“At the risk of sounding like a hopeless idealist, I happen to think some of the government money should be used for people in need instead of your buddies buying yachts,” you snarked. “I know it’s a little difficult to understand it for you, the idea of helping people.”

“We do help people, you know.”

“Oh yeah, the world is a much better place with your help.” You snorted and raised your glass in a mock of toast. “They don’t thank you enough.”

“Pumpkin, you know how it goes,” he said. “Some win and some lose. Don’t blame me, I didn’t come up with the rules for this game.”

“No but you keep rigging it,” you growled through your teeth, looking him in the eye. “And for most people, dad, it’s not a game. A lot of people are in need of help. Real help.”

“And you want to be Robin Hood.”

“I want to make a difference in the world,” you insisted. “I’m going to—I’m going to help people—”

“Before or after going on a date with your boss?”

That made you shut up immediately and you pulled back a little, searching your mind for the right words.

“I already talked to mom about this,” you managed to say. “That’s just lies.”

He hummed and took a sip of his drink.

“I don’t appreciate getting my name dragged into tabloid gossip,” he said, his voice void of any emotion. “Any more than I appreciate seeing my daughter put herself in that situation.”

This—

Alright.

You could feel the familiar knots in your stomach, your throat tightening. This was exactly how it would go when you were little, your father’s voice turning into this, and the moment you opened your mouth to explain yourself, yelling would start. Panic was already giving you nausea but you managed to keep your expression flat before you downed your drink and put it on a tray a waiter was carrying just so that you could cross your arms to hide the trembling of your hands.

“I don’t control what the PR comes up with,” you pointed out. “And I didn’t put myself in any situation—”

“I’m not interested in excuses,” he cut you off, his voice low but stern. “I’m interested in solutions. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

With that, he walked away from you, leaving you there dumbfounded as you felt your breath hitching in your throat.

No.

This was not happening, not right now and especially not here.

You darted through the ballroom as subtly as you could without getting any attention on you, then stepped out into the hallway to rush to the bathroom. You slammed the door open, then ran to the nearest stool to throw up, pushing the button to flush it before you put the lid down, and sat on top of it.

Your hands were still shaking and you closed your eyes shut, trying to keep your breathing under control.

This was just nonsense. You weren’t a child anymore, your father couldn’t yell at you without you yelling back, and there was no way he would’ve tried to yell at you surrounded by all those people in the ballroom but—

But the fear of disappointing him was still enough to make you throw up.

It took you almost half an hour to pull yourself together. You massaged your temples, willing the headache to disappear before you stepped out of the stool, then walked to the sink to wash your hands, then kept them under the cold water.

The girl next to you gave you a sympathetic smile. “I hate these things too.”

“You have no idea,” you muttered. “Any chance you have mints?”

“Oh yeah, here.” She reached into her purse to pull out a pack of mints and you took one to pop it in your mouth.

“Thanks.”

“I’m Mel,” she said. “I work for Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.”

“CIA.” You whistled. “Badass. I work for Congressman Barnes.”

Her jaw dropped. “Oh, I knew I’ve seen you somewhere, in that—”

She stopped herself mid-sentence and you heaved a sigh.

“That gossip piece, yeah.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude, sorry.”

“You weren’t rude,” you said. “No worries.”

Her phone buzzed in her hand and she checked it, then turned to you.

“Gotta go but it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you said and turned to check your makeup in the mirror, then grabbed a tissue to dab at your eyes.

“Get your shit together,” you muttered to yourself and threw the tissue into the garbage can, then walked out of the bathroom. You slowly made your way toward the ballroom but when you felt your throat tightening, you huffed out and turned the nearest corner to another empty hallway, then sat on the stairs.

Fine, you apparently needed more time.

You didn’t even have the energy to check your phone that kept buzzing because that meant you needed to go into the ballroom, so you kept it in your lap while you wrung your hands, then cracked your knuckles one by one. Counting in your head, you took a deep breath, and leaned your forehead on your knees to focus before you exhaled.

“Here you are.”

It was almost funny how with just his voice he managed to pull you out of the spiral of your thoughts. You could feel your lips pulling into a small smile and you took another breath, then lifted your head to look up at him.

He was way too handsome.

“You okay?” he asked, his blue eyes searching your face and you scoffed, waving a hand in the air.

“Drinking champagne on an empty stomach isn’t the best idea.”

“You think so?”

“Oh yeah,” you said. “Just gonna take five and then go back. How about you, why are you here?”

“I don’t really like the whole…” He motioned in the direction of the ballroom and you raised your brows.

“Socializing in order to manipulate people?”

“That and just—people,” he admitted, then nodded at the stair you were sitting on. “Got room for one more person in there?”

You scooted over and he sat down next to you, making you let out a giggle.

“You do know that we’re supposed to be in there working people?”

“It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”

“Still,” you said. “I doubt many politicians or employees are hiding from the crowd sitting on a staircase.”

“Well, you’re the only person I actually want to sit with tonight,” he said with a shrug, as if that didn’t make your stomach flutter. “What’s your excuse?”

Focus.

“How did it go with Murray?”

“He wanted me to share stories.”

“From the front?”

He nodded and you scrunched up your nose. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

You fell silent for a couple of seconds, then turned sideways to see him better, resting your chin on your fist.

“I wonder about that too sometimes, you know?”

He frowned. “The front?”

You shook your head. “Who you were back then. I mean I saw the footage with the Howling Commandos and Steve Rogers, and you were…” You paused for a second and sat up straighter, grinning at him. “Tell me who you were.”

“You know who I was,” he said as if the answer was obvious and you shook your head again.

“I’m not asking about Sergeant Barnes, or the Winter Soldier,” you told him. “I’m asking about James Bucky Barnes before the war.”

He raised his brows like he hadn’t thought about that in a long time. You had seen that look on his face before, a mixture of curiosity and longing as he fell into silence, trying to dig up a memory that wasn’t full of trauma or bloodshed, a memory that was warm and pleasant and carefree.

“Well, things were difficult even before the war,” he started. “But I think I was happy. Me and Steve, we basically grew up together. My mother would always put a plate on the table for him on Sunday breakfast.”

A soft smile warmed your face. “That’s sweet of her.”

“We would get in trouble sometimes, which she hated,” he said. “Me and Steve, we once went to Rockaway Beach, and had to come back to Brooklyn on the back of a freezer truck.”

“Wait, why?”

He let out a chuckle. “Well, Steve spent our money on hot dogs, and I was trying to impress this girl, Dot.”

Your grin widened. “Ah?”

“So I spent 3 dollars trying to win a stuffed bear for her, which meant we had no money to go back, so we hitchhiked.”

You pulled out your phone.

“I need to check something, give me a second,” you said and quickly typed it into google, then gasped.

“3 dollars back then is— Bucky, you spent 70 dollars on a stuffed bear to impress a girl?” you exclaimed. “During Great Depression?”

“Mm hm.”

“Please tell me you did win the goddamn stuffed bear.”

“I did actually,” he said with a smirk. “And she was impressed, so money well spent.”

“So in your order of priorities,” you said, motioning with your hands, “impressing the girl was higher than going back to Brooklyn safe and sound? And comfortable?”

“Yeah, she was pretty.”

“And that’s enough reason?” You gawked at him. “She was pretty?”

He nodded his head. “Yeah. And she wanted the stuffed bear.”

You bit your lip to contain your smile and heaved a sigh, then leaned back to narrow your eyes at him playfully.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That it wasn’t just a rumor. You really were a charming ladies’ man back then.”

He let out a noise of disagreement. “That’s not exactly…”

“Bucky, you looked like this.” You gestured at his face. “And I saw you in that footage, with Steve Rogers and The Howling Commandos. Come on, you were popular with women, it’s very obvious.”

That boyish smile pulled at his lips again. “Someone had to make sure Steve got a date, and double dates were all the rage back then.”

“Oh I’m sure you did all that for him.” You played along with a pout. “Of course. Did you use to dance as well?”

“I did, actually. Steve hated it, I didn’t mind.”

You hummed, fixing the silky skirts of your dress as you crossed your legs and he eyed you up and down, then leaned in so that you could hear his teasing tone.

“Do you wanna dance?”

That made your head whip around and you gawked at him before you snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, let’s go dance in the ballroom full of people we work with, and the media,” you said. “After that PR disaster? Terrible idea.”

“I didn’t say it had to be in the ballroom,” he said and stood up to offer you his hand, awakening butterflies in your stomach.

“Bucky…”

“It’s a waste of music if a pretty dame like you isn’t dancing to it darlin’,” he said with that old Brooklyn accent, a laugh spilling from your mouth before you scrunched up your face in embarrassment, then took his hand, a fire spreading from your fingers to your whole body.

“God, no wonder why Dot was impressed,” you said as he pulled you closer and wrapped his vibranium arm around your waist, smiling down at you.

“Is that right?”

It felt like your heart was trying to climb out of your chest and a giggle bloomed in your throat as he twirled you, then pulled you closer again.

“So this is James Bucky Barnes,” you mused. “I like him. I’d probably work for him back in the 1940s if he decided to get in politics.”

“He didn’t have any plans for politics, trust me.”

“Yeah well, it wouldn’t stop me. I’d talk him into it.”

That managed to coax a laugh out of him, the rare sound making you smile wide.

“I’d make him hire me,” you said. “Through Dot, by the way. Convince the wife and get the husband situation.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yeah I don’t think he would up with Dot.”

“Because he’s a ladies’ man?”

“Because he is an idiot,” he said softly as you both swayed with music. “He messed things up with her.”

Your eyes snapped up to his and you gulped, realizing that you weren't talking about Dot anymore.

“Beyond saving?”

“Feels that way.”

You scrunched up your nose. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Well, he backed himself into a corner,” he said, sadness etched on his handsome face. “Right person, wrong time.”

You could hardly hear him from the rush of blood in your ears, but you managed to shrug your shoulders, taking a deep breath.

“Maybe,” you said. “Or maybe it’s just another excuse for him to torture himself. I mean, time has to give him a break at some point, so they just need to find the corner their lines cross.”

A slow smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, but before he could say anything, you both heard the sound of heels on the marble floor and you pulled your hand from his, stepping out of his embrace even if your body urged you not to. You fixed your hair just so that you could keep your hands busy and Kelsey appeared at the corner, then pulled her brows together.

“Hi,” she said after a beat. “Bucky, Caleb was looking for you.”

Bucky nodded and turned to look at you. “Are you…?”

“I actually need to borrow her for a moment,” Kelsey said and you motioned at the ballroom.

“You go, I’ll be right there.”

Bucky walked past Kelsey to make his way into the ballroom and Kelsey approached you.

“Anything you’d like to tell me?”

“Long story,” you said. “I’ll tell you when we get home. Is everything okay in there?”

“I just saw Hazel leave,” she said. “Caleb thinks it’s an urgent business thing, she’s been here all week.”

“Does Bucky know?”

“That’s what Caleb wanted to ask him I think,” she said, linking her arm with yours. “Now come on. You can’t leave me alone with those assholes, and I think I’ve been flirting with a journalist so you need to tell me whether he’s hot or just tall.”

Apparently, Hazel had left without letting Bucky know, so he had left as well to make sure she was alright, which meant you and Kelsey and Caleb could go home.

“We should’ve stolen a champagne bottle or something,” Caleb said while he laid on the floor on his back and you played with the corner of the pillow you were sitting on.

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time we go to a gala. So the journalist, Kels?”

“He is kinda cute,” Kelsey said. “Like a puppy.”

“But he’s a journalist,” Caleb said. “I mean, can he be trusted?”

“Caleb, this is yet another instance we have to remind you that we work in politics,” you said, motioning between you. “Journalists think the same about us.”

“You work in politics, I work in communications.”

“Communications in politics.”

“That’s a detail though—” he started but was cut off when his phone started buzzing.

“At this hour?” Kelsey asked as Caleb sat up and answered the phone while you leaned in to hear what it was about.

“Hello? Yes, this is he.” Caleb said and listened to the other line, his eyes widening.

“What?” you whispered and he motioned at you to be silent, standing up to pace in the room. He ran his hand through his hair, letting out a breath.

“Uh, Mr. Barnes didn’t bring me up to speed I’m afraid,” he said, his gaze snapping to you before he mouthed ‘What the fuck’ and nodded as if the other person could see him. “Yeah that sounds like a great idea. Do you have my email address? Okay, great, I’ll check it out right now and get back to you, and we can put it out. Thank you, have a nice evening.”

He hung up and whirled on his heels to look at you and Kelsey.

“What the fuck?”

“What’s going on?”

“That was Hazel’s PR team.” He held up his phone. “They want to check in with me to see if their statement is in line with ours.”

“What statement?”

“Their break up statement.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you gawked at him, disbelief crashing down on you while you reached to hold Kelsey’s arm.

“What?”

“I—what happened while you two were in that hallway?” Caleb asked you and you shook your head.

“We just danced,” you insisted while his eyes darted on the lines on his screen. “I swear. We were dancing and joking about his past—”

“Right before Kelsey found you?”

“Yeah!”

Caleb gritted his teeth and turned to Kelsey.

“And you found them right after Hazel left?”

A look of realization dawned on Kelsey’s face. “…Yeah.”

“No that’s not related,” you insisted, jumping on your feet. “I would’ve noticed if she saw us, or Bucky would—”

“A bunch of people were coming and going to the hallway next to it, he easily could’ve chalked it up to anyone else passing there.”

Your heart was pounding in your head as you covered your mouth.

“Good news is, there’s literally nothing about you on this statement,” Caleb murmured, his attention on his phone. “And her team said nothing about it either—shit, did we have her sign an NDA?”

“Knowing Bucky? I doubt it,” Kelsey said while Caleb touched his screen, then put the phone to his ear.

“Bucky,” he said, making your head whip up. “Hey. Yeah she’s fine. Yeah, I’m fine too. Uh…so friendly reminder, you’re supposed to tell me if you broke up with your girlfriend so that I can put out a statement before her team calls me. Because—” Caleb threw his hand in the air in exasperation. “Because that’s how it works. No, forget what I said about the Bachelor. Did you have her sign anything?” Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course you didn’t. Okay, I need you to tell me what happened in detail.”

You rushed to your room to change into a t-shirt and jeans as fast as you could, then stepped into the living room again.

“Are you going to Bucky’s place?” Kelsey whispered while Caleb kept pacing in the room, trying to convince Bucky that privacy didn’t exist in a situation like this, and you shook your head, making her frown.

“Then what—Birdie, no.” Her voice was stern as she realized what you were about to do. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“What hotel is she staying at, Kels?”

“You’re the last person she wants to see, you do realize that?”

“And I owe her an explanation, you know that,” you said. “There’s no way she is at Bucky’s place, so what hotel?”

Kelsey pulled out her phone with a sigh, then touched the screen for a minute before your phone vibrated.

“There, the location, and the room number,” she said. “Bucky went there the other day.”

“Thank you,” you said, grabbing your coat on your way to the door. “I’ll text you.”

With that, you slammed the door behind you and rushed outside, raising your hand for a taxi.

You knew Hazel didn’t want to see you.

You couldn’t even blame her. You had a pretty clear idea how that dance would look to an outsider, much less to her.

But you knew you had to explain yourself, and apologize.

You cracked your knuckles nervously as the elevator door opened, the door at the end of the hallway greeting you. Letting out a breath, you rolled your shoulders back and forced yourself to approach the door, then raised your fist to knock on it and stepped back, clasping your hands to stop the shaking.

Hazel scoffed a laugh when she opened the door.

“Oh this is gonna be fun,” she said, her voice calm despite her red-rimmed eyes. “Finished your dance?”

You closed your eyes for a second before you opened them.

“Miss Brooks, I’m really sorry,” you started, making her raise her brows as if she was amused. “I know how it looks like, but I swear to you nothing happened. I was feeling bad, that’s why I left the ballroom, but there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Yes there is.”

“No, I assure you—”

“Oh, you guys aren’t sleeping together.” Hazel waved a hand in the air. “But there is something between you. You know it, I know it, and Bucky also knows it even if he likes to pretend otherwise. He knew it throughout the time he was trying to make himself fall in love with me.”

You pulled back slightly, straining your mind to find the right thing to say.

“Miss Brooks—”

“I’m not going to say anything to the press,” she said. “So if that’s why you’re here, you can go away.”

You shook your head. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To apologize.”

Hazel held your gaze in hers as if she was trying to find any sign of dishonesty, then let out a breath.

“Listen, I’m going to show you this courtesy only because I’m not proud of how I treated you back in that bathroom,” she said. “I was still pretty angry, but blaming you makes no sense. That’s not the type of person I am, or the type of person I want to be.”

You wrung your hands, staring at her.

“I mean I asked him to fire you,” she said after a beat. “Not my proudest moment.”

“I get it,” you rasped out and she took a deep breath.

“And I hope you understand what I’m about to say doesn’t come from a place of hostility,” she said. “But from woman to woman? Don’t do it.”

Your eyes snapped up to hers, your throat tightening.

“You know how it goes,” she said, her voice almost sad. “You’ve seen how quick the public was to forgive him for everything. His PR was good but no PR is that good, they want to love him. The guy is a superhero, he could walk away from politics today and it wouldn’t make any difference. They will still love him.”

You sniffled and wiped your nose, nodding your head.

“So you know what will happen,” she said. “This is one of the rare things that hasn’t changed since the 40s, no matter what anyone says. He will be their hero, and you will be the whore.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

Don’t cry.

Do not cry.

“And he doesn’t even see it.” She scoffed a laugh. “But you do. You’re smart, something inside you has to be warning you against this. You know the moment he steps out with you, he will be throwing you to the wolves.”

Your hand shot up to wipe at your eyes and you nodded again, heaving a shaky sigh while she gave you an apologetic smile.

“Good luck,” she said. “You’re going to need it.”

She closed the door and you balled your hands into fists, digging your fingernails into your palms to focus on anything other than the tears falling from your eyes. You slowly made your way to the elevator to step in, watching the doors close.

And then you started sobbing.

598 notes · View notes

enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Leave You Breathless

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Thunderbolts!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to ask you out and you give him the courage to do so in an unexpected way.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Longing, pining, mild humor, fake dating mention (of sorts), kissing, referenced masturbation, confessions, getting together, slight possessive and jealous behaviour, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: Waiting at the airport and whipped this up. What is it with me and game nights? 😂 Not part of Tower Shenanigans, but it has that feel of sorts. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky nursed a beer as he sat on the roof and looked at the stars. He was taking a small breather from the impromptu game night after Alexei spilled his drink all over the table. He should've asked you to join him, but you had stepped away to take a call with an annoyed look on your face. Whoever it was that was bothering you he hoped everything was okay.

And if it wasn't okay, he’d take care of it or do his best to cheer you up.

His lips curled in a gentle smile when he heard your footsteps behind him. “One of these days you might be able to sneak up on me,” he said, twisting his head so he could look at you.

The smile on your face nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. He had it bad and he swore he fell for you more with each day that passed. He tried not to follow you around the tower like a lovesick puppy, but he often found himself in the same area as you so he could talk to you or ask you to spar as a desperate excuse to touch you. Whenever he pinned you beneath him, he had to rush back to his room and jerk off as images of your face and echoes of your sighs and gasps raced through his mind.

While he tried not to stare at you either, he always had his eyes on you whenever you were around. That morning he had been so busy staring at you that he poured too much coffee into his mug and burned his hand, which you thankfully hadn't seen. And there was that time he walked right into a wall when you wore a form fitting dress for an event Valentina demanded you attend.

“Bucky! Are you okay?” you had asked, rushing over to check on him. When you cupped his face to look over his face with worried eyes, he nearly melted on the spot.

“I’m fine. Just… distracted,” he answered, almost wishing he was a little injured so you'd dote on him some more.

“Well, let me kiss it better anyway,” you said, surprising him by kissing his nose and spreading warmth up to his cheeks.

“Thanks.” He swallowed hard. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you whispered back and walked away, leaving him to stare after you as you glided away with confidence and grace.

“Smooth,” Ava said once you were out of sight. “You know, I’m the one who can phase through walls, not you.”

“Don’t blame Barnes. She looked good in her dress,” Yelena said with a knowing smirk when Bucky snarled. “Perhaps she will wear it again if you ask nicely.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but he had a goofy smile on his face since the feel of your lips lingered on his skin.

The girls would never let him live it down, and he wondered if his crush on you was obvious to you or if he hid it well enough.

Whatever level was beyond whipped was where he was.

Back in the present, you playfully groaned when you took a seat beside him. “You have enhanced senses. I’ll never be able to sneak up on you.”

Bucky turned toward you, watching as you tilted your head and gazed up at the sky. The night seemed more beautiful because of your presence. “You never know,” he said. You had stealth and agility, and you gave him a run for his money in training.

Your eyes sparkled when you turned your gaze on him, the mixture of your subtle perfume and natural scent making him breathe a bit deeper. “Your faith in me is astounding,” you teased, nudging his arm. He’d always believe in you. “But why did you ditch me down there?”

He chuckled when you pouted. It was fucking adorable. “Wasn't ditching you,” he promised. He’d never do that. “Just needed some fresh air.”

“So, it’s okay if I'm here, too?”

“Of course.” He wanted to be where you were.

You smiled, your knee touching his. “I asked where you went and John put his hand on my thigh when he said you were up here.”

It was as if someone shined a red light in front of Bucky’s eyes from the sudden rage he felt. “He what?” he asked, gripping the bottle tighter and feeling it crack under the pressure.

“He put his hand on my thigh,” you repeated, making him clench his teeth. He set the bottle down, too, so he wouldn't shatter it. “Like… Wait, can I demonstrate?”

Bucky nodded and hoped he wasn't dreaming. Asking to touch him showed how thoughtful you were. “Yeah, sure,” he said evenly.

You placed a hand on his upper thigh and gently squeezed. Heat curled at the base of his spine from your touch and he tried not to get excited. He couldn't get hard, not here, not now. He focused on the white hot anger that flowed through him instead since John touched you just as intimately.

Would breaking his fingers be too much?

You moved your hand away and he was two seconds away from taking your hand to put it back there. “I bent one of his fingers back before I came up here,” you told him, making him proud. “I think Bob may have filmed it.”

“That’s my girl,” he said before he could stop himself. His eyes widened when you turned your head and held his stare. “I mean…”

There was no excuse that came to mind for why he said that. All he had to do was confess how he felt. It should've been simple. He was reformed, a super soldier, a hero, and surely he could open his heart to you. So why wouldn't the words come out?

Why couldn't he say that he wanted you to be his girl?

“About that…” You took a breath and scooted away a few inches which had him internally panicking. Did his comment bother you? “What if I sort of told someone that I am your girl?”

His cheek twitched. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked. Did you really tell someone that?

And why did he respond that way instead of playing it cool?

“You know that call I took a bit ago? Well, it was Valentina,” you said, taking another deep breath. He didn't like where this was going. “She wants me to go to a benefit this weekend, and she was hoping I would schmooze a recently divorced potential investor,” you explained, wrinkling your nose and shuddering.

Bucky stomach dropped. You were beautiful and charming, so it wasn’t a shock that Valentina wanted to use you for her advantage. It made his blood boil. First John touching you, and now this. “What does that have to do with being my girl?” he questioned, not connecting the dots.

“I told her I already had a date,” you replied and pointed at his chest. “You.”

Bucky had enhanced hearing, but he couldn't have heard that statement correctly. “You what?”

You bit your lip and risked moving closer again. “I told her you were going as my date.”

The words slowly registered. “So, Valentina not only expects me to be there, but she thinks we're going to be there together?” he asked, gesturing between the two of you. “The two of us.”

You shifted in your seat. He hardly ever saw you uncomfortable. “Yes, the two of us, and I'm sorry,” you said.

Bucky wasn't sorry. Not at all. “Wow,” he breathed. He had pictured himself asking you out so many times and should've done it long ago, but he hadn't imagined a fake dating scenario with you asking him. Is that what it was?

“Bucky, I really am so sorry. I should've asked before I said anything to her,” you said, putting a hand over his before pulling it away just as quickly. “I understand if you don't want to.”

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal..“It’s okay. I want to go.” He didn’t stay at benefits for long since kissing up to people wasn't his thing and he couldn't stand Valentina, but he’d put up with all of it to be by your side.

“It is? You do?” you asked, your teeth digging into your lip again and drawing his attention to your perfect mouth. “You’ll go?”

“It is, I do, and I will.” He hesitated, but mustered up the courage to put his hand over yours this time. He’d do anything for you. “Really. It’s okay.”

If Valentina had put him in a spot like that, he may have done something similar.

You looked where your hands were joined together and smiled softly. “And you aren't mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad at you. Not at all,” he promised, exhaling before he moved his hand to your cheek. He felt the temperature rise in your body, heard your heart beat faster. “But why me? Why not Bob or…” He almost choked when he asked, “John?”

“Because I want you, Bucky,” you said without hesitation. “No one else.”

Bucky’s next breath came out harsher than he intended. You didn't say you wanted to date him- you said you wanted him, and he wanted you to want him in every way. “You really want me to be your fake date out of everyone else?” he asked, the word “fake” like acid on his tongue.

You lifted a hand to brush his hair back. “Would I be pushing it if I said I don't want it to be fake?”

He briefly closed his eyes, as if it could hide his longing. The simple question rocked him. “Don't ask me that if you don't mean it,” he whispered.

You leaned in and rested your hand against his. “I mean it. I want you,” you whispered, your lips a breath away from his. You wouldn't play with his feelings or heart. “I want the man who talks with me, spars with me.” You kissed the tip of his nose. “Walks into walls because of me.”

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, the term of affection easily slipping out.

“I don't want it to be fake, Bucky,” you said, wrapping yourself tighter around his heart than he thought possible. “And I don't think you do either.”

He curled a hand around your hip to draw you closer on the bench. “No, I don't. I don't want to pretend,” he confirmed, kissing the tip of your nose the way you had kissed his. “So, why don't I take you out tomorrow?” he asked, finally asking the question that had been burning in the back of his throat for ages.

He felt your next breath when you tilted your head. “Tomorrow? The benefit isn't until this weekend.”

“I know, but I want a real date with my girl before the benefit,” he smiled, his lips skimming yours. “Been wanting to ask you out for ages.”

“Yeah?” you smiled back. “And it took me arranging a fake date to give you that push?”

“Give me a break. I’m an old man,” he joked.

You smirked, a seductive and dangerous glint in your eyes. “Should I wear that dress tomorrow, or will it give you a heart attack since you're an old man?”

He let out a groan. “I think that dress should come with a warning.” He had already jerked off to the thought of you wearing nothing beneath that gorgeous dress and he would think about that again when he finally went to sleep tonight.

“You're the one who should come with a warning,” you teased, still not kissing him quite yet. “Those tactical pants make your thighs and ass look incredible. And your t-shirts? I swear you wear them on purpose to see if I fall over.”

“I walked into a wall because of you,” he pointed out.

“I touch myself because of you,” you blurted out.

He wasn't sure if he closed the gap or if you did, but his lips were suddenly on yours and everything finally felt right. He wanted to devour you, but he slowly let the heat build before deepening the kiss. When your lips parted, he took the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth and worship it the way he wanted to worship every inch of you. He wasn't going to rush or ruin this perfect moment. Not when he finally had you in his embrace, where he wanted you to belong.

He savored the moan that vibrated on his tongue and swallowed it down to keep it buried deep inside him. When you pulled away to breathe, he didn't let you get far before he went back in for another kiss. The world around you didn't slow down or rush by. It was simply a perfect moment that reverberated through his entire being.

Bucky framed your face when you pulled away again, your gentle panting making him smirk. “I touch myself because of you, too,” he said, chuckling and covering your mouth again when you let out a wanton moan. If he wasn't careful he’d have in his lap and he didn't want to rush that either, unless you wanted to. “And I might break Walker’s fingers for touching you,” he growled.

He worried for a second that it was a bit too much, too possessive. But he heard the whimper in your throat and knew you liked it. “Maybe break one to start with since we weren't officially together.”

“Fine,” he huffed. You were right. You weren't technically together earlier tonight, so he couldn't hold it completely against him. “But he isn't touching your thigh again, sweetheart. You're my girl now.”

“About time,” you sighed, bringing your lips back to his.

“Um,” Bob said from behind you two. Bucky hadn't paid attention to his footsteps since he was so consumed with you. Instead of pulling away from each other, you continued kissing as if you hadn't heard him. “Okay. Guess you two aren't coming back to game night. I’ll tell Yelena and Ava not to bother you,” he added before leaving you two alone.

Bucky would have to plan the perfect date for tomorrow and deal with the team teasing and asking questions. Tonight, he’d leave you breathless with kisses and then kiss you again. And he’ll kiss you every day after that because you were finally his girl.

I guess we can consider this the end of my vacation and my welcome back of sorts agree the week? I missed you lovelies. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

2K notes · View notes

enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

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thanks for sharing 🥰❤️

Uncle Buck • Part 7

Goodnightmorning

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Single Aunt!Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

A/N: Surprise! I hope you enjoy 🤗 I love hearing from all of you, so don't be shy - please spam me with your thoughts. I love gifs and seeing your reactions. 🥰 If you have any ideas for future parts let me know! xo

"I GOT IT!" You call out while rushing downstairs to answer the door, grabbing your wallet from your purse by the door for the pizza delivery.

Opening the door while still fiddling with getting the money from your wallet, you look up and freeze.

"Fuuucking hell," you clutch your wallet at your chest.

"Heyyy, Aunt Y/n," Sam greets while leaning against the doorway holding a stack of pizzas.

"Cute outfit," Bucky smirks while looking you over. He has two pillows tucked under his arm and a backpack hanging from one shoulder.

It's movie night and you're currently wearing a fluffy hooded cookie monster robe (when you pull the hood up it has his goofy looking googly eyes on top), a blue ribbed tank top, black and blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms, fuzzy slipper socks, and your hair tossed up in two messy buns on top of your head.

"Did you guys decide to get a pizza delivery side hustle going?"

"Walked up at the same time as the delivery kid," Sam answers, nodding his head behind them.

"And what exactly are you doing here, besides stealing our pizzas?" You tilt your head to the side, a questioning glare looking over the both of them.

Bucky holds up a greeting card in his right hand. More specifically Benji's Christmas card. He flips the card open and holds it up to you. You reach out and take the card from him looking it over.

The front of the card says "MERRY CHRISTMAS YA FILTHY ANIMALS" with an edited Home Alone poster showing Benji in the middle with Bucky and Sam in the background. This you already knew, but what you didn't realize was the little shit apparently customized the inside of their cards without you knowing.

The inside of the card reads:

AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You've been cordially invited to:

New Year's Eve Movie Marathon Night

📍 Location: Attic movie space

⏱️ Time: 3pm set up, 4pm movie selection process

Comfy Attire / Pajamas

Bring your own: overnight essentials - pillows and blankets encouraged but probably not necessary

Snacks and Pizza will be provided

[*Mom knows of this, Aunt Y/n does not...please direct any further inquiries to Mom 718-555-0110*]

"I saw you yesterday, you didn't want to bring this up to me??" You glare over at Bucky, holding the card up.

"Oh you did, did you?" Sam looks back and forth between the two of you.

"Must have slipped my mind," Bucky shrugs.

"I'm sure you were both very busy at this mystery meetup," Sam smirks.

"Yes, it was very eventful," you keep a straight face, "My legs are still sore."

"Oh??" His eyebrow raises as his head whips over to you.

"Mmhm, and there was also a lot more oils involved than I expected."

"Go on..."

"Lots of flowers. Candles. Honey. Fruits... Anything I'm missing?" You look over at Bucky.

"The leather. Can't forget that."

"Of course, how could I forget that. Very sturdy leather, indeed."

"Wow, I just knew you two were a couple of freaks." You can see the wheels turning in Sam's head as he processes this information and tries to decide which question to go with next.

"And then there was that sweet old lady that joined us," you're starting to struggle to keep a straight face, but manage to keep it together.

"Mildred was very energetic for 86 years old," Bucky nods. You finally break and start laughing.

"She probably could have gone another 3 or 4 rounds."

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa," Sam interrupts, holding his hands up in an X motion. "You lost me. Explain yourselves," he looks back and forth between you, an eyebrow raised.

"We went to the farmer's and craft market, obviously. What were you thinking we were talking about?" You sass.

"Yeah, Samuel. What were you thinking of?" Bucky asks, a smirk appearing on his face now.

Sam scoffs. Nora makes her way downstairs and spots their new guests still standing in the doorway.

"Hey, guys! Welcome! Why are you still in the doorway? Come on in," Nora waves them inside. She greets Sam with a squeeze on his arm as she walks by, "Thanks for grabbing the pizzas! Bring 'em on up with you. Everyone's in the attic - you're just in time. Hey, Bucky!" She grins while greeting him with a quick wave.

Nora quickly disappears into the kitchen. Sam sets the pizza boxes down on the entry table temporarily and wraps you in a bear hug, giving you a lift before he sets you back down to snag the pizzas again while making his way upstairs.

Bucky steps inside and hesitates as he closes the door behind him, "Is this ok with you that we're here? I would have told you but I wasn't sure what repercussions would happen if I was the one to spill the beans. Plus seeing the look on your face when you opened the door..."

You grab one of the pillows from him and playfully whack him with it.

"How dare you," you laugh, "And of course it's ok. You're welcome here any time. The fact you keep willingly coming back to this circus amazes me every time."

Bucky just shakes his head and holds his pinky up to you. Those piercing blue eyes staring right at you with his stupidly handsome face.

You smile as you hook your own pinky around his, reminding you of his promise back in the attic during your last movie night together. "Promise you'll tell us if the crazy gets to be too much?"

Somehow we still haven't scared him away. He's gorgeous but you're worried he might be a beautiful idiot.

"Happy almost New Year," you smile as you place your hand on the side of his face, the stubble tickling your palm. He smiles down at you in return, "Happy New Year's Eve." He starts to lean in but you're lost in thought for a moment.

"Wait," You blink and Bucky halts his movement, "Did you guys tip the pizza delivery?"

"It was a young kid, he got a picture with Sam and ran off in his excitement after."

"Damn, that's genius." Note to self, remember that for the next time we order delivery.

You kiss his cheek and hand him the pillow back. "Well, I'm pleasantly surprised and glad you're here. Your continued movie education awaits. You first," you gesture up the stairs, "I'm just gonna go help Nora real quick." Bucky stares at you for a moment, an eyebrow raised as he tilts his head.

He goes to question you but you interrupt as you start to back away, "I'll be right up!"

He gives you a face that looks like you just kicked his dog and you suddenly realize in your frazzled state you gave him the brush off. You step closer again and place your hands back on his face.

"Hi, sorry. Starting over," you crank up the excitement, "I'm so happy you're here. Happy almost New Year!" You move his face between your hands back and forth for emphasis.

"Happy New Year's Eve," he repeats his part in amusement.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer into a sweet kiss. Bucky slowly rests his forehead against yours after, his piercing gaze searching yours with a light smile.

"Sorry for the awkward scatter brain. Was just caught off guard."

"S'fine. Don't do it again though," he jokes with you.

"An eight year old wasn't trying to set me up with a stranger for no reason. He's aware I'm a basket case."

"If you think you're a basket case, I don't know what that could possibly mean for me then."

"Well, the remaining roles available are brain, athlete, criminal, and princess. If you don't understand that reference we'll add it to the growing movie list. But I'm voting princess," you quip and kiss his nose quickly before you step away, "See you upstairs, your majesty."

He glares down at you sceptically, but decides not to bother questioning you. He's sure he'll find out at some point. He shakes his head while adjusting his backpack strap on his shoulder and making his way over to the stairs.

You escape into the kitchen in a flash but wait a moment, listening to Bucky's footsteps make it up the stairs before you say anything.

"Nora, how could you?" You try to keep your voice low while you whisper yell at her.

She clearly knew about this and said nothing this whole time.

"I made sure you looked cute today! Come on!"

"Traitor."

"Why are you even in here? I don't need your help. Go make out with your handsome future husband."

"I'm moving somewhere tropical and far away from all of you," you mutter as you grab a tote bag off the counter.

"Send postcards! Save a guest suite for us," she blows a kiss at you. "Oh, that also sounds sunny! Make sure Bucky gets your back for you when you need to reapply sunscreen."

You send a middle finger (with love of course) her way as you exit the kitchen.

Bucky lets out a low whistle when he reaches the attic space, "Wow."

"How does it get cooler every time we come up here? What is this?" Sam waves his arms towards the fully decorated ceiling.

Benji's previous surprise movie set up had been recreated but on a much larger scale.

The couch was set up much the same with it's pillows lined up, sheet canopies hanging over it, and string lights surrounding the area. However Prudence had helped Benji cover the rest of the space to look like the room was basically a giant blanket fort, with sheets draped and hanging from the ceiling from various strings and pins.

The king size and queen size foam mattress toppers that belong both on your bed and Nora's now took up residence on the floor for some padding along with every cushion that could be found and removed in the house, making one large cozy area. Sam tosses his backpack down, flopping onto his stomach on the padded floor next to it, "I'm moving in."

Benji jumps on top of him, "Heck yeah!"

"Hi fellas!" Prudence greets from her spot on an oversized beanbag chair, her boyfriend Monty next to her.

You make your way up the attic stairs with Nora, the large tote full of snacks and candies in your hands.

You hold the tote open to Bucky with a grin when you reach the top of the stairs.

"Are you sharing?" He asks while peering into the bag.

"I suppose," you tease, "Go ahead and pick your poison."

The lights dim as Bucky goes to reach into the bag and "Get Ready For This" by 2 Unlimited starts playing. The recognizable beat pumping through the Bluetooth speakers.

"Ohh, here we go," you sigh but laugh.

The starting line "Y'all ready for this?" announces Theo's presence as he starts pumping his phone in the air while the lights in the room start flashing with the help from Nora flicking the switch off and on rapidly to the music.

Benji groans. "Every time," he grumbles while crawling off of Sam and standing back up.

"Party peopleeeee!" Theo shouts as he reaches the top of the stairs.

Nora turns the lights back on, "Everyone go ahead and pick out your movie choice for tonight. Try not to share your choice yet."

Sam and Benji move to huddle by a large shelf of DVDs.

Sam silently holds up a copy of Sleepless in Seattle to Benji with an eyebrow raised.

Benji's eyes widen as he continues their silent exchange with a violent head shake side to side.

Sam slowly puts the DVD back on the shelf and gestures to locking a key over his mouth and throwing it over his shoulder.

"I knew that line about soulmates, puzzle pieces and cosmic forces sounded familiar," he points an accusing finger at the small agent of mischief.

Benji smirks and flashes his choice so only Sam can see. They both break into a giggle fit and high five.

Meanwhile across the room, you stand next to Bucky, "Do you have any favorites you'd like to pick out? If we don't have the physical copy we can try finding it online and just hold up a photo on my phone."

"Haven't been big on movies these days. I caught part of a movie recently playing on one of the TV's at the bar? Never saw the end, definitely didn't start watching at the beginning either. Just glimpses here and there."

"Do you know what it was? We could find that one if you are interested."

"Never saw the title," he shrugs.

"Oooh, a challenge," you rub your hands together and turn to face him better, "Let's see... Was it real life or animated?" You lean in, face turning serious in concentration.

He laughs lightly under his breath at your switch in demeanor, "Not animated. It was in space? It had people and robots in it."

"Oh hell yeah, okay. Let's see... Was it like a moon landing situation? Or maybe trapped on a planet?"

"Uh.. buncha people with terrible aim. Like, astonishingly bad aim. They were in a garbage compactor that was closing in..?"

"BUCKY, please shut your beautiful mouth right now. Star Wars????"

"That's the movie people always bring up?"

You grab his arm and yank him over to the many movie collections. You pull 'A New Hope' out and hand it to him.

"Yeah, that's the one. The girl with the hair," he holds the cover up to your face to compare side by side. "Yours are cuter," a sweet but devilish smile appears on his face as he references your hair that's up in two buns.

You swat the case away from your face, "Is this what you'd like to pick? You might get some heat for choosing this... Just a fair warning."

He shrugs while tucking the case under his arm.

"Beautiful mouth, huh?" He smiles slyly over at you.

You fix a playful glare at him, "Now is not the time, Barnes. This is serious business."

"Okay!" Nora announces, "For our esteemed guests, welcome. We're glad to have you join us. Everyone please put your choices behind your backs and line up when you're ready."

You all finish grabbing your choices and gather in a line, standing side by side. You pull on Bucky's arm and direct him to stand next to you. Benji grins up at him and tosses his arms around Bucky's waist, giving him an excited hug. Bucky freezes at first and then relaxes, ruffling Benji's hair. Benji lets go and gives his attention back to what's going on in the room.

"Here's the deal," Theo begins, "We each get a turn. When it's your turn you step to the front and present your choice. When you hold the movie up, we like to say a line from the movie for an added razzle dazzle, you don't have to though. The next person goes up and does the same with their movie. We then vote on which one stays and which one goes. The winner stays and the next entry goes up against them. We repeat until the last movie is standing. Got it?"

You all nod and confirm your understanding of the rules.

"Since we're watching more than one movie tonight, how are we deciding follow up winners?" Prudence asks.

"Well I mean, if you insist, I will choo-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Nora cuts Theo off.

"Guests could choose," Prudence suggests.

"What about the youngest? Hellooo?" Benji cuts in, waving his hand.

"We could go by highest rating on IMDb?" Monty adds.

Arguments break out. You roll your eyes and go back to picking out chocolate from your tote. You grab a snickers and inspect the wrapping and then silently offer a piece to Bucky, tapping his arm with the wrapper to grab his attention. He smiles and accepts your offering while you rip into a KitKat and take a bite. "This could be a minute."

Sam nods over to you and holds his hands up in a stance ready to catch. You reach into the tote again and toss over a random candy for him. He catches the orange Reese's and gives you a thumbs up.

"Alright!" Nora interrupts the bickering, "Raffle style? We pull from a hat."

A chorus of fiiiiine's agree and you're all finally ready to continue.

Theo steps up to present his choice first. "Pockets ain't empty, cuz." He proudly slides a copy of 2 Fast 2 Furious out from behind his back.

Nora rolls her eyes. "Another one?! Again? Why the second one?"

Theo puts his hand over his heart, "How could you? You're my wife, my FAMILY."

"Don't you dare say it-"

"You're gonna turn your back on family?"

Nora's palm covers her face.

"This is the fourth time in a row he's chosen a fast and furious movie," you whisper to Sam and Bucky, taking another bite of your candy.

"I heard that," Theo points at you, "and that is a lie. This is my seco-... No wait, it's the third time."

"And you don't choose them in any order. You just pick random ones! Last time we watched one of the more recent ones, now you wanna go back to not the first but the second movie? Make it make sense," Nora argues. They both stick their tongues out at each other.

Prudence skips up next to Theo, "Well this should be an easy choice then." She holds up her choice over her head: Hot Rod. "You look pretty. What did you say? Uh, I said you look shitty. Goodnight, Denise!" She quotes while mimicking the two different voices.

You laugh while pointing towards Prudence, "Cool beans!" You quote back.

The majority votes for Prudence and Theo dejectedly goes to stand to the side, Monty stepping up in his place.

"You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting," he kneels while holding up A Knight's Tale over his head, "Come back when you're worthy."

"Dang. Sorry Prue," you join the votes and point over to Monty.

"It's a worthy choice, I understand." She moves to the side and Nora steps in her place.

"D-i-g, what's that spell?" She swings the DVD case for Holes like a shovel, "DIG!"

Theo groans, "I'm tired of this, Grandpa!"

"Well that's too damn bad!" Nora shouts back.

Bucky looks over at you with visible confusion written on his face.

"They're still quoting the movie," you answer for him.

He nods but still seems baffled by this movie selection process. You link your arm around his and pat it in a gesture to show your silent support among the chaos.

Votes stick with A Knight's Tale. It was close though.

"If you forget to come back for Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity," Nora does her best Eartha Kitt impression as she moves aside.

Finally it's your turn. You let go of Bucky's arm and make your way over next to Monty.

"I do a great impression of a hot dog!" You scrunch your shoulders up and neck down, holding up Mrs. Doubtfire.

"HelloooOOooo!" Prudence cheers while voting for you.

"My first day as a woman and I'm already getting hot flashes!" Nora points to you as well.

"It was a run-by fruiting," Benji giggles.

"I'm melting like a snow cone in Phoenix," Sam joins in, Benji giving him a high five.

Bucky's eyebrows scrunch together. Benji tugs on his hand and pulls him down to whisper in his ear.

Standing back up, Bucky clears his throat and answers, "Help is on the way, dear?"

"Yeah!" You all cheer.

Bucky blushes a bit at the attention. Benji grabs his arm, giving it an excited shake.

"Alright, alright." Monty surrenders and steps aside.

Sam starts singing in a deep voice as he walks up next to you, "Bow bow, Oooh yeahhhhh," he raises his movie up, "Chick, chicka-chickaaaa!"

His voice goes monotone as he continues, "Bueller..... Bueller......"

It's a strong choice but votes stick with Mrs. Doubtfire instead of Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

Bucky shyly makes his way up next to you. You give him an encouraging nod and smile. His face is scrunched up and unsure, "I'm not really prepared with a quote or anything..."

"Wait! Hang on," you pull out your phone, quickly typing away. "One second... Almost got it... Fucking ads - five more seconds please..." You watch the countdown waiting for 'Skip Ads' to finally appear. "Ok! On the count of 3," you nod over at Bucky. You hold up three fingers, two, one, and then point over at him as you press play.

The intro to Star Wars dramatically blares as Bucky presents his choice.

"Boooo, hiss!" Prudence yells out towards you.

"You coached him!" Theo argues.

"Party foul, bending the rules to your advantage!" Monty joins in.

"I didn't coach shit! This was his choice! So be nice!"

"Then you two really are perfect together," Nora rolls her eyes.

"The rule was I can't choose this movie ever again. Our GUEST chose it!"

Bucky's eyes are wide as he stands frozen, trying to figure out what is happening.

"Uh, we can skip my choice?"

"Of course not, Bucky. So sorry for freaking you out. Y/n has made us watch this a million times. Open the case, we started a tally mark system for them," Nora motions towards the case.

He opens the case and sees the cluster of line tallies filling the inside cover.

"I tried to warn you," you shrug at him.

"At least it's not Lord of the Rings again," Theo sighs.

"You leave my precious out of this," you point at Theo accusingly, "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Theo rolls his eyes at you.

"I'm just gonna.. step aside... No votes necessary, really," Bucky assures.

"You're all a bunch of jerks. Bucky, I will gladly watch the entire series with you. You're not getting out of it that easy."

"Wait, have you not seen them before?" Nora asks.

"I've only seen parts of that one," Bucky shrugs and moves back to his original spot.

"Well, that's a different story I guess," Monty shrugs, "but still not enough to sit through it again. Sorry."

"Nerf herders," you mutter under your breath.

Benji dances up to the empty spot. "With it being New Years, I have decided to go with a more New Year resolvation related choice."

"Resolution," Theo corrects.

"Yeah, that." Benji reveals his DVD, holding it up with a wide grin. Uncle Buck.

Prudence lets out a snort that instantly makes her start giggling even harder. "Remember when you showed me his first ultrasound and I told you ' this baby is destined for greatness'?" She asks Nora next to her, "Absolutely knocked it out of the park."

"Well, that was fun. I'm so honored to have the winning choice," you interrupt while shoving Benji's face as you push by him.

"Hey! We didn't vote yet!" Benji protests.

"Are you really sure you want us all to watch this? Mr. 'Where do you live, own or rent?' Hm?" You whisper the last part to him, hinting at you knowing all about his previous kitchen interrogation after prying the info out from Bucky yourself during your first date.

Benji's eyes widen as he gasps. "I, uh, I... Y'know what... I was just being silly. You know meee, just gotta get that title joke in there. I.. take back my choice and pass," he plasters on a nervous grin as he hides the movie behind his back, "Maybe next time!"

Bucky raises an eyebrow but you refuse to look over at him.

"Can I see that?" He asks Benji with a smirk.

Theo and Nora claimed the couch.

On the floor area in front of it Monty and Prudence assembled their own little nest where they gathered some of the extra cushions and blankets around them.

You were next to Prudence, a wall of cushions between the two of you and a stack of pillows from your bed behind you. Bucky is next to you with his pillow he brought with him, the other pillow he carried in earlier was Sam's. Sam is on the other side of Bucky, an empty space left between them for Benji who called 'dibs' on the spot before disappearing downstairs.

While Theo sets up your winning movie for Mrs. Doubtfire, you get up to grab some plates and pass out pizza slices with Prudence who passes out the drinks.

You place one more plate of pizza in Benji's open space and sit back down in your spot with your own.

As you're pulling your blanket over your lap, loud thumps and clatters from Benji running back upstairs start to echo and he emerges carrying a bag full of items over his shoulder like a small Santa Claus. He plops everything down immediately.

"Here you go, Sam." Benji grins while tossing a thick rolled up fleece blanket over to him.

"Ayyy! Thanks so much, big guy." Sam unrolls the blanket and tosses it up slightly to spread it over his legs, revealing a large captain america shield on it. "It's perfect," he laughs.

"Do I get a blanket?" Bucky asks, looking over at the blanket and back over to Benji in betrayal.

"I'm all out. Sorry. You'll have to share one," Benji smirks and scurries away.

"I wonder who he thinks you'll share with," you ask in an airy tone while pretending to brush dirt off and pick lint from the comforter over your lap, tucking it closer under your legs with one hand while taking a bite of your pizza with the other.

Bucky gives you a side eye, but you keep a straight face while focusing on your pizza. A piece of mozzarella stretches as you pull it away and place it back on your plate.

Sam makes a show out of smoothing his blanket out as well, pulling it up over his shoulders and giving them a shimmy. "So cozy. Wow. It's like I'm being hugged by a fluffy cloud."

Bucky shakes his head at both your antics.

"You can share with us, BB." Monty lifts a corner of their blanket up with a wink.

Suddenly the large blanket over Prudence and Monty disappears towards their feet. Benji has their blanket tangled at his feet as he walks away. "Whoops," he shrugs while shuffling his feet and the blanket around some more like a plate of spaghetti. You almost break, but manage to keep a straight face still. Benji then grabs two chunky black plastic objects from his earlier pile and you know exactly what they are. One definitely came from your room, the other from his own. He rushes over to the corner of the room and plugs one in, setting the object down on the floor at a slight angle. He then rushes to the other corner of the room and does the same with the second one. He excitedly runs over to the light switch, shutting off the overhead lights, leaving only the movie projector and the string lights lighting the room.

"Sure, I didn't need to see anything," Theo grumps, remote in hand still clicking around on the screen.

"It's a projector, you can see better in the dark," Nora shakes her head at him.

Benji excitedly plops down in his spot and leans over to Bucky. "Are you ready for this??"

"Da na na, da d-da da, na na-" Theo starts singing the same 2 Unlimited song from earlier.

"Dad, stoppppp!" Benji swats behind him at Theo. "Anyways! Watch this!" He holds up two small remotes and presses the power buttons on them.

Two more projectors come to life, but these cast laser dots to look like stars with multi-color aurora light effects dancing around the room.

"Are you kidding me?? I'm forwarding my mail. How much for my share of rent?" Sam asks Theo behind him.

"We'll crunch some numbers and get back to you," Theo answers.

"I could stare at this for hours," Bucky watches in awe as the colors slowly shift and dance around.

"I bought Benji one for his birthday and then immediately bought one for myself. Ceilings are so boring and depressing without them now."

"Can we turn the spinning off? It makes me slightly nauseous," Prudence requests.

"On it," Benji presses a button and the laser stars stay stationary in their positions, they continue to blink in and out softly and the Aurora effect is still shimmering and shifting colors.

"Perfect, thank you!"

Benji starts making himself comfortable in his spot between Bucky and Sam. He has wrapped himself in his favorite fleece blanket that looks like a giant tortilla and has managed to lounge his way across both Sam and Bucky, shoving a large slice of pizza in his mouth.

The 20th Century Fox logo pops up on the screen as the opening music for Mrs. Doubtfire starts playing.

A sense of calm washes over Bucky as he relaxes. Next to Wakanda he thinks he has found a new favorite spot. A feeling catches him off guard. A feeling he hasn't had a lot of experience with in a long time... Home. He has had a similar taste of it when he visits the Wilson's, but he still felt more like an outsider looking in. This though. This felt different. He looks over at you.

You were still sitting up, a bag of chips now resting in your lap while you toss candies back and forth with Prudence. A smile is stretched across your face as the two best friends giggle at each other. Monty retrieved their blanket.

Benji has his head resting back against Bucky's chest and left shoulder, while one leg stretches across Sam's shins. Bucky's vibranium arm rests across Benji's small shoulders, his forearm bent up allowing his hand to rest on top of Benji's head.

You smile and shake your head when you look over and see Benji has made himself comfortable. In his own little chosen people bubble. Wrapped as a cozy pizza-eating burrito.

You give in and lift the edge of your blanket and comforter, tossing it over what you can reach of Bucky.

He looks down in surprise for a moment and then smiles over at you. With his Benji-free right arm, he adjusts the blanket over his legs. You scooch over closer, purely to make it easier to share of course. He nudges you with his shoulder in thanks. You tap him with your knee as your silent reply.

During the movie Benji grabs a bag of peelable red licorice strips that he starts chowing down on. Every few peels he'll hold a couple strings up and offer them to Bucky or Sam.

Mrs. Doubtfire wraps up and you all get up to stretch and take bathroom breaks while setting up for the next movie.

You start clearing up some discarded pizza plates.

"Anybody want some cake?" Nora asks.

"Yes!" Benji cheers.

Nora goes to open a cake box, revealing a decorated vanilla & chocolate marble cake made to resemble a clock.

"Theodore, why is the 5 o'clock slice missing?" She points the serving knife over at her husband.

"Uh.. because seven ate five?"

Prudence lets out a snort of laughter. Nora just sighs while shaking her head, slicing into the cake to serve the rest.

"Alright, Benji," you hand him a plastic cup, "I scribbled down the movies on paper scraps and put them in the cup. Go ahead and pick out the next movie."

"How do we know you didn't put Star Wars in there for every entry?" Monty points an accusing finger at you.

Benji reaches in and pulls out A Knight's Tale. You hold a middle finger up while Monty cheers, "Only joking, sweet Y/n. I knew you'd never do that." He cuts his eyes over to Prudence quickly, mouthing "What are the odds?"

"You owe me five," she mouths back while holding up her hand.

Monty gives her a quick high-five, earning an eye roll from Prudence. "That was my fault for not being more specific that I meant dollars, you cheeky bastard."

Monty grins and leans over, stealing a kiss from her.

Mid-movie Benji let's out a slight snore-snort as he startles himself awake, sitting up straight. "Wha- is it midnight yet?" He rubs at his eyes.

"It's not even 8pm yet, you lightweight," you toss a smaller pillow at him and it bounces off his head.

"Heyyy. So rude." He yawns while laying back down but instead of leaning back on Bucky again, he burrows into his own stack of pillows.

Bucky takes advantage of his newly freed arm and range of motion, reaching over to steal some of your snacks. You playfully glare over at him in mock offense as he gives you a smirk in return.

Benji pops his head back up suddenly, a new wave of energy hitting him at his sudden thought. His head whips around to look over at his parents on the couch behind him, his eyes staring owlishly wide at them.

Theo whispers over to Nora, "We made that terrifying little being."

"Straight up brought that chaos into this world," she whispers back. "How can we help you, sweet definitely-not-possessed baby boy of ours?"

"Can we play my new board game?"

"That sounds more like a group vote decision, my love."

Benji sits up on his knees sitting back enough to have all eyes on him. The overkill gut-punch pout and large puss in boots eyes appear, "Can we all play my new board game, pleeeease?" He clasps his hands together under his chin making sure to tilt his head and pitifully look at each adult while he begs.

"Man, that is stone cold. How do you say no to that?" Sam asks.

You and Nora sigh at the same time, "You don't."

"Which board game is it, Ben Ben?" Prudence asks.

"I'll go get it!" He leaps up and runs to a closet in the corner

"Are you sure you can stay awake long enough to play a game?" You tease.

"I was not sleeping! I was resting my eyes like Pop-pop! It wasn't my fault, Bucky's arm must have some sort of sleeping magic."

"Sleeping magic?" Bucky and Nora ask at the same time.

"Can't say I've unlocked that feature before," Bucky answers while flexing and twisting his arm back and forth as the plates shift with the motion.

"Please tell whoever made it I will donate my entire body to get some of this sleeping magic. Even if it's just a pinky," Nora pleads back.

"I'll pass that along," Bucky laughs.

Benji runs back in with his new board game proudly held over his head. A box that says... Benjopoly?

"Benji, what is this?" You ask taking the box from his hands to get a closer look.

"It's a custom monopoly board!" He jumps up and down in excitement.

"Hey, our house is on a spot!" You point at a spot on the box, "How cool! Why is this the first time I'm seeing this?"

"He wanted to surprise everyone with it today," Nora shrugged, "I haven't even seen some of the choices he went with yet."

"So can we play, pleeeease??" He begs.

You open the lid and hold the box back out to Benji. He's practically vibrating with excitement as he pulls the board out.

As Benji lays the board out you get a closer look at the property choices around the board. You also catch a glimpse at the little trinkets for player pieces.

"Sweet Jesus...." You sigh and shut your eyes while you press your fingers against them.

"What?" Bucky questions, "You okay?"

You clear your throat, "Fine, I'm fine..." You grab Benji by the back of his shirt and tug him over into your lap. He lands with a thump and gazes up at you with a look of complete innocence, but you know it is anything but. Placing your forehead against his, you playfully glare into his tiny mischievous eyes, "Wanna delight me with an answer on why you chose these places?"

Your house, the library, museum of natural history, a few fancy hotels, the gazebo at a local park, Brooklyn botanic garden, the aquarium, even Disneyland and the Smithsonian were on here. These were all innocent enough until you started noticing things like your childhood family church, city hall, the large barn on your uncle's property where Nora and Theo were married and you finally start to piece together... These were all a variety of wedding venue options. The player pieces? You noticed a diamond ring, top hat, flower bouquet, and a limo amongst them.

He beams up at you in return and rubs his nose against yours. He then pulls you into a tight hug, squeezing the life out of you. "Just some favorite places!"

"Oh hey, it's Uncle Dave's barrnnnn-ooooh..." Nora's sudden epiphany hits next. She looks over at you, her eyes wide but trying to keep a neutral face. She mouths, "I didn't know," over to you and winces.

"Oooh? Oooooh what?" Theo asks her.

"Uh..I was just thinking how long this is gonna take to play... Bubs, I know you're excited about this, but what do you think about something less time consuming? Like maybe Uno?"

Benji pouts and huffs while getting up and going to grab the deck of cards instead.

Nora makes quick work of packing up the board game and discarding the box discreetly under the couch.

At 10:45pm Prudence jumps up and starts lining up plastic champagne flutes, filling them with a sparkling cider. Benji also gets up and grabs a shopping bag from the corner of the room, pulling out a stack of cone shaped party hats, glittery gold paper crowns, and some foil horns to blow into. He passes out one of each to everyone, asking each person, "hat or crown?" while holding each option up.

You try to figure out the best way to make this work with your hair up. You grab two crowns. Bucky takes one from you and helps you adjust the sizes to put a crown around each bun on top of your head. He shakes his head once they're on and pulls his phone out, snapping a photo of you posing with your hands under your chin. Benji and Theo can be spotted in the background giggling as they were also trying to figure out how to give Theo a mohawk look with the party hats, elastic strings meant to go under your chin covering his face at weird angles to accommodate multiple hats going along the back of his head, which only makes them giggle harder. Nora shakes her head at their antics but has a smile on her face as she watches the two in amusement, a crown already on her head as well.

You grab Bucky's phone and go to take a picture of the both of you. He places his arm over your shoulder and smiles for the photo. After you take a couple to make sure you get a cute one you tell Sam to move closer and join in for a photo.

"I don't want a photo of Sam," Bucky argues with a huff. You lightly elbow him and Sam ignores Bucky, plastering a goofy grin on his face for a photo with both of you, while yelling "Misterwives!" as his way of saying 'cheese!'

Prudence checks her phone, "My co-worker lives up the street. She said they're all at the park having a new years party. Looks like there's a projector show of their own set up against the nearby buildings to watch the ball drop with music. Anybody interested in checking it out? We have enough time to get over there."

You trade your cookie monster bathrobe for a long wool coat and slip on your boots on the way out.

Bucky is giving an overtired, sugar-buzzed Benji a piggyback ride. Benj yaps away in his ear as you all walk along the sidewalk

"We have a 'bring your favorite person to school' day coming up soon. Can you come?" He asks Bucky while playing with the cone party hat on Bucky's head.

"EXCUSE me?!" Theo, Nora, and you stop short and yell at the same time.

"I can't pick just one of you. Two of you will get all butthurt. So I'm choosing outside the box.. or roof..? And then you all can be equally butthurt together."

"Unbelievable. The audacity," Nora scoffs and keeps walking while holding Theo's hand.

"Judas," Theo grumbles.

"Good thing we kept the receipts on those Christmas presents."

Benji ignores them and continues, "We eat lunch and they have some games set up around. We would totally crush it." He holds his fist up.

"Am I expected to make some sort of presentation?"

"Nope!"

"I'll think about it, but I think you have better options, pal."

"Nope!" He repeats and squeezes his grip around him.

"I thought I was offended before, now I'm extra offended. The absolute nerve," Theo scoffs.

"I'll text you the info," Benji fake whispers.

You get separated from Bucky at the park. He went to get you a water but he hasn't returned yet. You make a quick sweep through and finally find him, his body language clearly showing discomfort as he looks around. A woman is standing in front of him trying to pull him into conversation. You walk over and see his shoulders sag slightly with relief.

"There you are, we were about to start a search party!" You joke as you walk up to him and link your arm around his. "Hello," you greet the woman standing in front of him.

"Oh, hi!"

"This is the future Mrs," Bucky tilts his head towards you.

Her eyes dart down to your gloved hands.

"Yup, that's me," you play along, "Nice to meet you. Are you the owner of the salon on 8th? I think I've seen you there before? I've had an appointment with Mac before."

"Oh yes! We miss her. She moved back west after the baby was born."

"I heard. I'm happy for her, but she will definitely be missed."

"You'll like Alex, he has the same aura. Very welcoming and highly recommended by clients. His bridal updos are to die for."

"I'll keep that in mind. Happy New Year," you wave to her as you steer both you and Bucky away.

"We lose you for a few minutes and you're nearly on your way to another future wife, you stud."

"Haa-haa," he gives a flat response back, pulling you closer to him. "Can we go find the others before she decides to appear again?"

"What, you weren't enjoying your conversation with crazy eyes? She's loaded, you could have been her sugar baby."

The midnight countdown echoes as everyone chants down from ten.

At 'three', Bucky gently tugs you closer while his hand cups your jaw. His vibranium fingers brush gently against your chin, tilting your head towards him. You can feel your heart pounding faster in anticipation. The growing noise of the excited crowd starts to fade as he pulls you into a soft, tender kiss. Your lips fitting perfectly together.

The midnight cheers erupt and echo around you as you fight your own internal fireworks erupting for your new year's kiss. Time feels like it slows to a crawl.

"Happy New Year," you whisper with a grin when you finally pull away. You can't help but let out a laugh.

"Why are you laughing? What's so funny?" He squints down at you.

"Sorry, I don't wanna ruin the moment... This is just so cheesy," you bite your lip while holding back another laugh at the stunned look on his face.

"Cheesy? Cheesy?? You think this is cheesy, huh??" He squeezes your waist, while he playfully taunts you. With each question his face inches closer to you.

You break into laughter as his fingers tickle into your sides.

"I'll show you cheesy," his grip tightens as he dips you backwards, pulling you in for a breathtaking kiss.

Bucky lifts you back up and you both take a moment to breathe before he interrupts and pulls you back in for a more passionate kiss.

Benji makes his presence known by blowing a foil horn at both of you. The loud sound startles you away from the kiss. "Ew, was his tongue in your mouth? Or was that your tongue? Either way, tongue was involved here." He holds an accusing finger up at the two of you as his face twists in disgust.

Theo places a hand over Benji's forehead and directs him away. "Stop making things weird. Keep moving."

"I'm making it weird?? But that can't be sanitary!"

You hide your face against Bucky's shirt, both of you shaking with laughter. Tears fill your vision from a combo of the cold weather and your laughter. Your face burning up from both the exertion of laughing and the embarrassment of being called out by your nephew.

You finally look up and go to wipe your eyes but Bucky beats you to it. His finger slides along your cheek first and then gently swipes his thumb under your eyes. He takes extra care to wipe some of your smudged eyeshadow at the corners and he smiles warmly at you in the process.

"Are you gonna finally let me call you mine, or will Benji need a 12 step plan drafted up to help convince you?"

"I dunno, I might have to update my cootie shots and consult with the counsel. It's a whole to-do."

He growls and goes to squeeze your sides again, playfully nipping at your chin and cheek, "C'mere."

You giggle as you try to back away but he only squeezes you closer, "I'm still waiting for an answer," he locks his arms around you, holding you in place.

"How could I say no to this face?" You try to go squeeze his face but he has your arms pinned to your sides.

"That's not a proper answer," he squeezes tighter. "Are," he leans closer, "you," and closer, "my girl," his nose brushes against your cheek, "or not?"

"Yes."

You let out a surprised squeal as his bends slightly, moving his grip around your hips and upper thighs, lifting you off the ground and giving you an excited spin.

You gather the group back up and start to head back to the house. This time Theo gives a dozing Benji a piggyback ride.

You squeeze Bucky's hand and smile over at him. He squeezes back and pulls you closer as you both continue walking behind the group. You still can't believe how this all started. You're still expecting to blink and this all was one big hallucination.

Nora unlocks the front door as you return to the house and you all make your way back upstairs after discarding your coats and shoes.

Theo and Nora grab their pillows from the couch and decide to go sleep in their room. Theo's snoring would keep everyone awake. Although you're surprised Nora doesn't want to stay. She claims without Theo's snoring it's too quiet for her to fall asleep.

They offer Sam the couch, "If you stay down there, Benji sleeps like a starfish and moves around as if he's fighting crime in his sleep," they warn him on their way back downstairs.

"I do not," Benji grunts as he sits up while rubbing at his eyes. He reaches a tired hand up and pulls at a dangling string. A series of sheets pinned to the ceiling fall and section you all into your own little separate fort areas.

The couch area is almost completely covered, and both sides surround you and Bucky into a somewhat tent-like section together.

You hear snickering and look over to see Benji and Sam making shadow finger puppets at each other through the sheets.

Bucky moves to kneel while he grabs his pillow, and starts to shift as if he's going to stand up.

"Um, where are you going?" You ask.

"Home?" He answers, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"What do you mean home? It's late, just stay here?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why? Do you turn into a green ogre like Fiona?"

"I hate that I understand that reference now."

"You loved that movie and you know it. Stay and we can watch Shrek 2."

"They made another one?" He looks baffled at this fact.

"Oh, my sweet Fiona," he rolls his eyes at you, "there's a whole franchise. At least 4... or 5? Maybe 6. I'm honestly not sure at this point, but we're going to find out."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," you grin and grab the remote. You reach for his hand and tug him back down.

Everyone has settled into their spots. Monty and Prudence have already fallen asleep by the time you find the movie.

"Hey, Shrek 2!" Sam cheers quietly.

Bucky places a hand over his face. You try not to laugh as you grab his pillow from him and place it back in it's spot behind him. He moves his hand down to look over at you and shakes his head. You continue to grin over at him as you press play.

"You're still awake?" You whisper. The movie ended at least 15 minutes ago. Everyone else peacefully snoozing around you. Well, it's 50/50 on how peaceful Benji actually is, judging on the awkward position he's contorted and passed out in. Oh to be a kid and not worry about your neck and back again. You're already positive you're gonna be regretting this floor slumber later today, even with the foam padding attempt under you.

It's not that Bucky doesn't want to sleep, he just...can't. Too many people in the room. Too self conscious of having a nightmare and potentially disturbing the rest of the sleeping occupants. The last thing he wanted to be was a burden or a nuisance. His mind is also telling him to stay vigilant as he watches the staircase entrance.

He shrugs as his short answer, not wanting to voice his thoughts out loud.

"Sleep magic run out on you?" You joke, trying to lighten the mood when you see the dark look in his eyes, the wheels turning in thought behind them. You can tell he's fighting his answer, a look of uncertainty on his face, but a lazy smile appears. He shakes his head at you.

Laying on your side, you scoot closer and grab his right arm, hugging it against you. "Can I borrow your sleep magic then?"

Bucky smiles over at you as you drift off. He tugs your pillow closer and tucks it against his arm some more so your head and neck are more comfortable. He places a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment. He slowly tilts his head back up towards the ceiling. However, he continues to stay awake. Silently watching the stars and swirling patterns dance across the room. Soaking in the comfort and the feeling of being surrounded by people that care for him. In their own dream worlds.

Benji starts to stir with a slight grumble. Bucky lazily turns his head and watches the shadow of a small lump shift slightly closer to him behind the sheet.

"Un Buc, m'gumdrops. Gone," he mumbles together in his sleep. "How dare...th's m'ne. Hmmph." He shifts again, an arm and leg flailing as he turns over and starts to settle back into a deep sleep. Bucky shakes his head in amusement and goes back to watching the ceiling.

Hours later, Bucky is still awake when everyone starts slowly shifting and waking up. He hears Prudence and Monty shift around as they quietly make their way downstairs.

You start to stir and stretch next to him soon after. He watches as you rub your eyes and then bury your face into both your pillow and his arm. He waits a moment to see if you're awake. You finally peak up at him, giving him a slurred greeting.

"Mornin', " he greets back with a tired smile. You clock the dark circles under his eyes.

"Please don't tell me you've been awake this whole time."

"Course not. I feel fresh as a daisy."

"Liar."

You sit up, grab your pillows and drag him downstairs.

"Where are we going?" He asks at the bottom of the stairs. You ignore his question and approach the door to your room. "Can't drag me to your bed fast enough, huh?"

"Oh baby, you're about to get hours," you pause and look over at him, leaning up closer, "and hours," you lower your voice and kiss his knuckles quickly, "of great sleep. Let's go." You pull on his arm again and direct him over to the bed. You give him a push towards it and take a step towards the side table. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as you open the side table drawer, pulling out a small spray bottle. Uncapping it, you give two quick spritzes over the pillow areas and one more in the general area over the bed behind him before putting the cap back on and tossing it back in the drawer.

"What the hell was that?" He blinks at you.

"Lavender spray," you shrug and walk over to your dresser. "It's supposed to be calming and relaxing to assist you with falling asleep." Opening a bottom drawer of the dresser you pull out a water bottle and set it on the side table.

Bucky watches in amusement, observing the other bright colored packages of what looks to be a snack stash in the same drawer before you close it.

"Are you one of those doomsday preppers? Or is it a hoarding thing? What else do you have stashed around here?"

"Look, I'm just trying to survive in this household. Benji and his little friends eat everything. I'm terrified when puberty hits. Also, I don't feel like going all the way downstairs when I'm thirsty," you shrug. "Now will you lay down?"

You pull the blankets back, "Chop chop. Don't make me dump that whole bottle of lavender on you."

He rolls his eyes and lays back against the pillows.

"Is this ok? Are you comfortable? Do you need space and want me to leave?"

He scoots back and grabs your arm, tugging you onto the bed next to him. You sit on the edge of the bed and he pulls your arm again, and then places a gentle hand on your leg making you lay down next to him. You lay on your side facing him.

"That didn't answer my questions. Do you need music? white noise? a bedtime story? I can go grab the comforter," You continue to ramble on.

"Just a good night kiss," he pouts his lips towards you.

You lean over and place a soft kiss to his waiting lips.

He smiles and wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you to him. "Goodnightmorning," he whispers.

You let out a soft laugh in return and place another kiss to his cheek which gets another smile from him.

You start to lightly run your fingertips up and down his forearm and then repeat again lightly with your nails, back to your fingertips.

He hums in appreciation.

"Goodnightmorning. Sweet dreams," you whisper back as he drifts off.

Dividers by @saradika

#replies

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enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

The Gumdrop Trio are sitting around their table with completed Father's Day cards. "It so pretty! Your Daddies are goin' to wuvs it so much."

Chloe takes Abby card, "Mr Bucky will be so 'prised. You did so goods, Abby."

"You fink so?"

Mia chimes in, "Mr Bucky don't have any baby. You his first baby. He the Papa."

"But um...I hads a Daddy awready." Abby looks sad staring at the table top.

"It ok. Him's in heaven. Your Papa is here. Papa Bucky take cares you all da times here on the pwanet." Chloe is so smart in her brains. It must be 'cos her mommy works at the big school library.

Abby does a happy wiggle, "Yeas."

"So Father's day is for Papa's too." The Gumdrops look at each other and giggle happily.

******

Abby goes to see if you and Bucky are awake yet. She's been waiting to give Bucky his card. Abby tip-toes into your bedroom with her card in one hand & Pu'a in her other. Whispering, "Papa? Uh, Papa?" She circles to the foot of your bed and climbs up. Gripping your blanket, then hoists herself up. "Is you wakes?" She crawls up the bed and squeezes her way between you both, grunting while removing Bucky's arm from around your waist. You both have been awake just waiting for Abby.

Not making it easy for her, you roll onto your back squashing her beneath you. "Mama, no." Pushing at your shoulder, "Moof! I skuck!" She wiggles her feet up to your butt cheeks and shoves you off her, "Why you so heavy??" You and Bucky start laughing and he sits her on his lap.

"Good morning, Abigail."

"G'morning Papa!" She looks over at you as you sit up, shaking her head.

"Why are you up so early?"

"Today is Father's Day. And...and...and you my Papa Bear, wights?"

"I am."

"Here." She places her card in his hand and hugs Pu'a tightly to her chest.

Bucky opens his card with an exaggerated gasp. "You made this for me?? Its beautiful!"

Her tense little shoulders relax, and she giggles. "I made it at shcoon."

"Thank you so much, Abigail!" Bucky wraps her in a big hug and gives a loud kiss to her cheek.

"Yous not my Daddy. But you know, you work like a Daddy. You have da best dances with me. You no let bad people hurts me. Even the ones in my eyeballs," Abby pokes her eye & Bucky stops her, gripping her hand in his. "And you ask e'ry day if i's ok. If sumtin' wrong, you fixes it. And you wuvs me and I feels it in my hearts." Abby wraps her arms around Bucky's neck.

"Thank you, Abby-baby. I do love you so much."

"It hard to 'member my Daddy. But you know what?"

Bucky whispers, "What Abby?"

"It easy to 'member my Papa Bear 'ery days."

"Thank you."

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unax @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly @idkyiamherebutiam

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enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Because the problem is that he’ll either lose his mind or kiss you so hard it resets both your trauma timelines.

😏

The way these made me laugh:

“No,” you say. “I give you my teeth. It’s symbolic. A gesture of trust. Of love.”

“A bag of loose teeth is not love."

“I know a theatrical ghost when I see one, and that bitch was hitting angles.”

Your voice is all sullen when you say, “She liked me. We had a moment.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell all her friends.”

Also Mrs. Mullens 🥹

And Bucky 🥲

unsolved (xvi)

Summary: Bucky doesn’t even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet’s amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse.

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, tension, ghosts, ptsd

A/N: this was 10k words long before i brought it down to 9.6k. anyway. we're starting to wind down with this series. isn't that so insane.

Previous part || Series masterlist

Dawn comes, and brings with it not birdsong. Not the gentle patter of rain.

A loud, sharp knock on your door.

You roll out of bed to check your phone. 4:58 a.m.

You half expect to find the building on fire.

No one else would be stupid enough to pull this stunt on you on the second day of the year.

When you open the door, Bucky’s standing there like he’s already been up for hours. Hoodie, boots, duffel in one hand, a to-go cup in the other.

“You’re up,” he says.

You stare at him. “You just woke me.”

He tips his head. “We’re leaving in ten.”

You’re not even sure you heard this loser right, considering it was 5 in the fucking morning.

Still, you ask as patiently as you can, “Where.”

“Route 7. There’s a ghost on the highway.”

You just look at him, wondering if he had been replaced in the middle of the night by an alien with a death wish, because what the fuck is this.

He looks back, steady. “Ghost bride. Wants to hitch a ride.”

“And she must hitch one at the ass crack of dawn? Not at like, 3pm?”

He shrugs. “It’s a long drive.”

“I haven’t packed.”

He holds up the bag. “I did.”

You recognize it as the one you keep ready for field work, though you can’t remember where you last left it.

“…You packed for me.”

“Check it. I guessed on the jacket.”

You take it, slowly. “But the camera’s not charged.”

“I charged it.”

“Tripods?”

“Loaded.”

“SD cards?”

“In the glove box. Readers too.”

You can’t stop staring at him. “Is this a trap?”

“There’s a folder on the front seat,” he says. “Case notes. Highlighted.”

“Highlighted.”

“Active case sightings.”

“What is happening?” You stare at him. “Are you trying to impress me?”

His eyes flick to yours, just for a second. “Is it working?”

You don’t know what to do with that, so you point at the cup. “Is that coffee?”

“No. Peach mango tea.”

“…For me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “No.”

That is probably the most normal he’s been in this whole interaction.

You don’t say anything for a moment. He doesn’t fill the silence.

He looks like he might, but he doesn’t.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says. “Ten minutes.”

Then he turns and walks down the hall.

“Your cup’s in the car,” he calls over his shoulder.

You glance down. The zipper’s already half open. Inside, you can see your camera, tucked into its spot like it’s been handled a hundred times. Neatly packed. Memory cards in their pouch. Gimbal foam-wrapped. Chargers coiled.

You don’t know what to do with any of this.

The road unwinds slowly in front of you, all gray light and low fog. He’s been driving for over an hour.

Neither of you have spoken much since the first gas station, and even that was mostly about fuel grades. A lot, considering he dragged you out of bed to be here.

Ghost bride, tragedy at the wedding leads to it being called off, dies on her way home. Now haunts the highway, shows up in people’s car, waiting for someone to drop her to her favourite diner. Stuff you’d dealt with before, which is why Bucky dragging you out of bed for this made no sense.

The sun's just starting to bleed into the sky when you say it.

“Does this have anything to do with the meeting yesterday?”

He shifts his position. Not much, but enough.

“No,” he says, too flat.

You hum quietly. “Right.”

You let the silence stretch.

You glance at him. “You didn’t say much after it.”

“Didn’t have much to say.”

You haven’t seen this Bucky since the first meeting you had with him all those months ago, all monosyllabic and short sentences.

He turns up the heat on the AC, one arm leaning on the window.

You turn your head to the outside, watch the mist slide past the trees.

Something stretches tight between you. Like a drawer packed too carefully, threatening to spill.

You think about the look on his face yesterday after Maya logged off the call. How he just stared at the blank screen.

You think about the way he’d said, “Guess that’s that.”

You glance at him now, and he’s still got that same set to his jaw.

He just keeps driving, hands steady and eyes on the horizon.

“There’s no way this road used to be called ‘Lover’s Bone Trail’,” you say instead, poking a hole into the tension in the air.

“That’s what all the articles said.”

“And we, as a community, have just decided to keep it?”

“It’s historical. Named in 1874.”

“It was the 1800s. Everything was like a euphemism for syphilis. Men wore ten layers of wool and died from looking at soup wrong. Why are we respecting that?”

Bucky has no answer to that.

“So,” you say, suddenly loud because you guess you had to do this the old fashioned way, “if she shows up, I’m pulling over. She’s coming with us.”

“You’re not the one driving.”

“Technicality.”

“No,” he says. “That’s literally how driving works.”

“She’s a bride,” you say, ignoring him entirely. “That means she’s into commitment. I think I have a shot.”

“You think she’s your type?”

“I think I’m her type. She keeps climbing into strangers’ cars in the middle of the night. She sounds fun. I think I could win her over before she disappears.”

“Win her over to what.”

“To our side. She could help us with b-roll.”

Bucky exhales. “She’s going to latch onto your soul and suck the nutrients out of your bones.”

“Great. Finally some passion in my relationship.”

He doesn’t answer.

You grin. “You could just admit you’re jealous of my hypothetical ghost wife.”

He mutters something like “I’m begging you to shut up” but there’s the barest, traitorous twitch at the corner of his mouth.

You lean your head back against the window, pleased. “If she asks what we are, I’m saying I’m single and looking.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like.”

“She’s a bride. How hard can it be.”

“You can’t just stop for every random on the street.”

“I can. And I will.”

“We are not putting a stranger in the car while it’s still dark.”

“If she’s dead, what’s she gonna do?”

“She could be a con artist.”

You grin. “So am I. We’ll get along great.”

You flash him a cheerful thumbs-up like that clears you of all responsibility.

Bucky shakes his head with a small tug at his lips.

“Fine,” you say, “if she gets in the car and asks what we are, what do you want me to say?”

“Coworkers.”

You scoff. “We’re in a car at sunrise. You packed my jacket. This is essentially foreplay.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You’re deeply troubled.”

“You knew that when you signed the contract.”

He mutters something under his breath. You ignore it.

“I’m just saying,” you continue, “if she climbs in here and asks, I’m gonna say we’re eloping.”

“You’re gonna tell a dead bride that we’re eloping? You want to get us killed?”

“Yessir. You going to stop me?”

He doesn’t answer.

You lean back smugly. “Didn’t think so.”

He shakes his head, one hand adjusting the rearview mirror with resigned energy.

“Do you think we'd be one of those couples that get married and divorced over and over again? Because it’s fun and chic?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Like Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez.”

He narrows his eyes. “We’re not even dating yet and you’re talking about divorce.”

“Dibs.”

“Dibs?”

“I’m calling dibs on being your first divorce. I don’t care you who you date–” blatant lie “--so long as I'm the one you're getting married and divorced to over and over.”

He doesn’t respond. But his ears are a little pink.

You’re sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat with your hoodie pulled over your face like evil Kermit.

Bucky’s been pretending not to notice for fifteen miles.

He should be used to this by now. He is used to this. But he doesn’t look at you. Can’t.

Because the problem is that he’ll either lose his mind or kiss you so hard it resets both your trauma timelines.

So instead he stares straight ahead.

“If we see her, I’m slamming on the brakes and proposing.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. “You’re still not the one driving.”

You shift a little, pull your legs down, twist the sleeves of your hoodie into knots around your fingers

He sends a glance your way. “You should sleep.”

You look at him sideways. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes.” Blatant lie.

Outside, the horizon’s cracking open with light. The fog’s burning off slow. The road stretches ahead like it’s daring you to say something next.

“If I die on this trip, I want you to taxidermy me.”

A beat passes as Bucky processes what you just said..

“No,” he says slowly, like it’s a boundary he’s had to establish before.

“I’m serious. Tasteful pose. Keep me in the studio.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Where would you put me then?”

“I’m going to bury you in a ditch.”

“I’d crawl back up Michael Jackson style.” You sit up slowly and stretch with the smug satisfaction of someone who knows they’re an acquired taste and has already been acquired.

You’ve had enough caffeine to kill a Victorian child and still your brain refuses to slow down.

Still, you tediously continue, “If I die before you, you’re not allowed to get remarried.”

“We’re not married.”

“I just think if I die, you should live a quiet, devoted life. Maybe take up baking. Get weird about birds. But never move on.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Focuses on the road.

You keep going.

“If you die before me, I’m gonna be insufferable,” you say. “Wear your hoodie for five years. Cry at vacuum commercials. Start getting into knife-throwing or something.”

He lets out a breath.

You smile, wicked and tired and radiant with nonsense. “Also, I’m going to lie about you. So much. You fought bears. You once ate glass to win a bar fight.”

“I’ve never even been in a bar fight.”

“Gotta fill in the gaps.”

And yet again, he doesn’t say anything. You’re sitting there with crumbs on your shirt spewing absolute madness without even blinking.

He tells himself to focus on the horizon, on the mission.

But all he can feel is the heat of you next to him. The way you’re always like half-feral. And how every word you say has him unraveling by degrees. All he can think is that god, you’re annoying, and god, he wants to kiss you so bad he could drive you both off this road just to make it stop.

You turn to him suddenly, serious. “If I do die first, you can’t carry a picture of me in your wallet. That’s boring. You can carry my teeth. Like, in a pouch. Just in case.”

“In case of what.”

“You never know,” you say. “Might need them.”

He glances over. “You’re carrying your own teeth.”

“No,” you say. “I give you my teeth. It’s symbolic. A gesture of trust. Of love.”

“A bag of loose teeth is not love.”

“You just don’t get symbolism. Anyway. If you don’t do it, I’ll know you never really loved me.”

He finally glances over.

Your grin widens. “See? That’s the look. Perfect. Do that when journalists ask if you still hear my voice.”

He doesn’t answer, eyes lingering over you for a second too long.

“You’d look good with a parrot, by the way. For your widower era.”

He looks at you and it takes a millisecond to realise somehow this is– different.

Messy. Like all the gears in his head are clanging against each other at once.

“You good?” you ask after a beat of him not moving.

He exhales sharply, before giving a curt nod. “Fine.”

You’re still watching him like you’re about to say something else when it happens.

You blink, and that’s when it flashes past the passenger window.

White and tall. Not a blur, but more like a flicker, the kind you catch just out of the corner of your eye.

Pale fabric snapping in the wind. A veil, maybe. A dress.

You sit bolt upright.

“HEY.”

He jerks slightly, hand tensing on the wheel. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? You twist halfway in your seat, finger jabbing at the back window. “Did you not see that?!”

“What are you talking about?”

“We passed her.”

“Passed who.”

“The bride!”

He glances at the rearview mirror. “There’s no one there.”

“She was right there. You just— I told you to keep your eyes open!”

“I was watching the road.”

“You were looking at me.”

“You were trying to give me your teeth.”

You’re still facing backward, peering through the fog. “I think she posed. That’s so hot of her.”

He squints. Checks the mirrors. Nothing. Just the stretch of empty road behind you.

You turn in your seat, trying to spot her through the trees. “She probably thinks we’re rude.”

“She probably doesn’t exist.”

“She posed.”

“She didn’t pose.”

“I know a theatrical ghost when I see one, and that bitch was hitting angles.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He parks.

You’re already out of the car before he unbuckles. Camera bag over your shoulder, boots crunching on gravel, one hand raised.

“Miss Bride!” you call. “Sorry, my cameraman was too busy making googoo eyes at me to notice you the first time–”

“Shut up.”

“--but we’d love a second to talk if you’re free. Perhaps even consider holy matrimony.”

Bucky rolls down the window to watch you.

“Turn around.”

Bucky, sitting in the car, door shut, hands on the wheel, does not even flinch.

“No.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Excuse me?”

“We’re not going back.”

You stomp over to his window. He hits the button and rolls it down.

““She was right there,” you say, stabbing a finger into the air.

“She’s not now.”

“Because we drove past her.”

He shrugs. “She’s got legs. She can catch up.”

“She doesn’t have legs, she’s floating.”

“She can float her way over.”

“Bucky.”

“If she’s that into this, she’ll show up again. Get in the car.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, marching around to the passenger side. “You’re so fucking difficult.”

You throw the door open, toss yourself in.

He starts driving, non-chalant, like he hasn’t just disrespected the very fabric of journalism.

You stare at him. He stares ahead.

“Can’t believe I saw a literal ghost bride and you’re acting like it was a pigeon.”

“Both of them are mobile. She can come over if she wants.”

Your voice is all sullen when you say, “She liked me. We had a moment.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell all her friends.”

You glare out the window.

He’s been driving for forty minutes.

The forest has thinned. The fog has burned off. The sun has the audacity to shine.

No sign of her.

You’re on your third rewatch of the dashcam footage you weren’t even filming at the time.

“There’s a shadow at timestamp 7:08,” you say, zooming in. “Could be a veil.”

Bucky doesn’t look. “Could be a bird.”

You turn to him. “You have no imagination.”

At another point, you put on music that is, frankly, emotionally manipulative. Minor keys. Whispery vocals.

He turns the volume down without asking.

You turn it back up.

Another twenty minutes pass.

Still nothing.

Just road. Crows. One gas station.

You sigh.

“I think she broke up with me.”

“She was never dating you.”

“We had a moment.”

“Your entire moment lasted less than five seconds.”

“People fall in love in less.”

“Name one time.”

You stare pointedly at him, daring him to say it.

He does not.

Instead, he says: “We’ll stop at the next town. You can film the local haunted mailbox or whatever.”

Another mile passes.

You peer out the window one last time, hopeful.

Nothing.

“You’re buying me breakfast,” you say like it’s punishment.

As if that wasn’t the plan anyway.

Since it’s on Bucky’s dime, you order too much food. It’s half out of spite. Half because the menu actually looks good.

Bucky’s halfway through his toast, mind elsewhere.

You point your fork at his plate. “What should our last video be about?”

Bucky’s mouth goes a bit dry but he swallows the bread nonetheless.

“Don’ care. Pick whatever.”

“Wow, can you contain your excitement? I can't handle it.”

He gives you a brief smile.

You take a sip from his mug. “You’ll miss me.”

“Like a rash.”

“Charming.”

You kick his shin lightly under the table. He doesn’t flinch.

You lean back, stretching your arms over your head. “One more after this. That’s it.”

“It is.”

You eye him.

He shrugs, picking a crumb off the table like it’s something to do.

“What next?” he asks you, tone casual but voice gruff.

You watch him for a beat before saying, “I mean, I always figured I was gonna bounce after this. It was a fun gig.”

He nods once, making no motion to argue. Like you said you were going to pick up groceries.

“So, you know. Big change.”

“Guess so.”

You give him a look. “That’s it?”

“What else am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. ‘Wow, I’ll miss your witty insight and looking at how sexy you are." Something like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “My mother raised me not to lie.”

You throw a balled up straw cover at him. It bounces off his shoulder and lands on his plate.

You pick up your fork again. “So what are you gonna do with your newfound freedom?”

He sets his cup down. “Sleep for a week. Punch the next person who says ‘content strategy.’”

“Bold of you to assume anyone talks to you voluntarily.”

“You never shut up.”

“I bet you had a countdown. Big red Xs on a calendar. ‘Only three more episodes with the loud one.’”

He doesn’t respond. You glance up.

His face is unreadable.

You flag down the check with a raised hand.

“Anyway,” you say, lighter again. “One more, then I ride off into the sunset. You get your life back. Everybody wins.”

He watches you slide on your jacket, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “Is that what you think? I get my life back?”

You pause, one arm halfway in a sleeve.

He pays the bill without asking even though he very defiantly he said he wasn’t going to.

You finish putting the jacket on. Adjust the collar like it’s suddenly very interesting.

Outside, the morning’s sharper now. Colder, even though the sun had taken its rightful place in the sky.

You walk toward the car. He follows.

Just before you get in, you say, “I don’t think you hated all of it.”

He opens his door. Doesn’t look at you. “Some parts were tolerable.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I can take it back.”

“You won’t.”

The doors shut.

Bucky turns the key. The engine grumbles awake. He checks the mirrors like he’s doing a final perimeter sweep before war.

And then he goes rigid.

“...Huh.”

You’re adjusting your seatbelt. “What.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just stares into the rearview, deadpan.

You lean over. “What.”

Still nothing.

“What?” you ask again, sharper.

He sighs. “There’s someone in the back seat.”

You blink. “Sorry what?”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from the mirror.

You twist around.

White dress. Veil. Pale as moonlight.

You turn back slowly. Face forward. Stare straight ahead.

“Is she... buckled in?”

“Nope,” he says, straight laced.

“She should be buckled in.”

“That’s not a priority right now.”

“I don’t care. That’s a moving violation.”

He adjusts the rearview. Avoids eye contact with her.

You whip around again. She hasn’t moved. Just sits there, hands folded, gaze unfocused.

“Now what?”.

“She’s not screaming,” Bucky mutters. “So that’s a good start.”

“Oh great, we’ve upgraded from ‘screaming banshee’. Love that for us.” You stare at her a bit longer before deciding on, “She’s probably just hitching a ride.”

“A ride to where? Hell?” Bucky just adjusts the AC like that’ll fix the ambient death in the backseat.

She’s still there in the rearview. Still pale, still backlit like she brought her own horror movie fog. Face slack. Eyes a little too bloodshot, like she’s been awake since 1834.

You watch her for a second.

Then look at Bucky.

Then back at her.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “According to literally every story ever written about this woman, she just wants to be dropped off at the diner.”

He nods. “Which we’ve done.”

“Which we’re currently leaving.”

Another second passes while you both contemplate.

“What if she didn’t see it?” you pose.

“She’s sitting in this car. We’re in the parking lot. She has eyes.”

“I’ve seen her eyes. She has bad eyes.”

You squint at her reflection. Her stare doesn’t waver. Doesn't blink.

“Okay. So if she saw the diner, and didn’t leave, does that mean–”

“She’s defective?”

“I was going to say she doesn’t have money.”

You reach down, grab the diner’s leftover bag from the floor and rifle through it.

You hold the takeout container up so she can see it in the mirror.

“Hey,” you say, “We have pancakes. They’re lukewarm, but edible.”

She stares.

“Real maple syrup,” you add, like that’s going to help. “I think.”

Still nothing.

Bucky glances in the mirror, then back to the road. “Well, you offered. Now what.”

You close the container, before twisting in your seat to face the back. “Okay, so what do you want?”

No answer. Just red-rimmed ghost eyes.

“Maybe she just wants to hang out.”

“She is bleeding from the eyes, Buck.” You lean forward, rub your hands over your face. “She wants something else.”

You glance back at the mirror. Her stare is heavier now. Expectant.

You squint. “What can we do for you? What will help?”

Her eyes narrow just a little.

You look at Bucky.

“She’s got that look,” you mutter. “The one you get when you think I’m about to say something stupid.”

Bucky nods. “That’s ninety percent of the time.”

“What if we brought her to the wrong diner?” You turn back to her. “Is that it?”

Nothing.

You lean back in your seat, defeated. “What the hell are we supposed to do with her? What’s the plan here?”

“I thought you wanted to marry her.”

You turn back around. “Girl, you wanna get married? I’ll do it, I don’t care. I love you.”

She doesn’t reply.

“Wow, rejected,” Bucky says flatly. “I thought you were soulmates.”

“Shut up.” You glance back at the mirror. The ghost bride stares, unmoved. Slightly annoyed. Still bleeding from the eye sockets.

You squint. “Try flirting with her.”

There’s a beat of silence so dense you can hear the engine hum in self-defense.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. Give her a little smolder. Ask if she, I don’t know, haunts here often.”

“Absolutely not.”

“She’s literally haunting us, Bucky. The least you could do is be polite about it.”

“She’s dead.”

“So’s your dating life. You have nothing to lose.”

He glares at you.

You grin. “She might respond to compliments. What’s the worst that happens? She leaves from embarrassment?”

He glances up at the mirror, then back at the road.

You can see the moment his soul gives up.

“Fine.”

You bite back a smile.

Bucky clears his throat. Just once.

Then, directed at the mirror with the bone-deep enthusiasm of a man being held at gunpoint, he turns around.

“So, uh–”

You lean in, eyes gleaming.

“You... look nice. In white.”

A pause.

Nothing happens.

He presses on, deadpan. “Timeless. Very... Victorian. Suits you.”

You press your mouth closed so tight it hurts. God forbid you laugh.

Still nothing.

The ghost bride doesn’t blink. Doesn’t so much as tilt her head. Like even in undeath, this is the worst pickup attempt she’s ever witnessed.

“Tell her she has... striking bone structure,” you whisper.

“Absolutely not.”

“She’s got cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, Barnes. Show some respect.”

“Fuck off.”

You both look at the mirror again.

“I think you offended her,” you say.

“I think she’s always looked like that.”

“She probably wanted something more old-fashioned. A sonnet. A duel. A goat sacrifice.”

“She got a compliment. That’s the most effort I’ve put into any relationship in the last decade.”

You hum. “Explains a lot.”

He gives you a sidelong look. “You want to flirt with her?”

“I can’t. I’m already married to the grind.”

He groans audibly.

“Well,” you say, “we tried.”

“She’s still here.”

You tilt your head. “Ma’am, are you lonely?”

Another beat of silence passes.

In a quick second, she raises her eyes to you.

Bucky and you exchange glances.

“It it because you miss your husband?”

Her eyes grow more bloodshot. Your eyebrows furrow.

“So, not him. Do you not like him?”

She does something that looks somewhat similar to exhaling.

“You said there was a tragedy at the wedding,” you muse. “Did something happen between you both?”

She inhales, noise coming out like a wheeze.

You only stare at her for a while.

“He left you at the altar?” you say, voice gentler now.

Bucky’s brows furrow.

A second goes by with no change.

The ghost lifts her head a fraction. Her mouth twitches, barely.

You almost miss it.

You hum. “So you walked out?”

Another blink.

“Let me guess,” you say. “Everyone else went home to gossip and you– what– ended up at the diner? That your favourite place?”

She doesn’t nod. But she doesn’t look away.

Bucky glances at you. “She died on the way. Heel got caught crossing the road. Truck didn’t stop.”

You wince, looking back at her.

“You didn’t get what you wanted, did you?”

She looks tired. Deflated even, from what you’ve known her in the last few minutes.

“Okay,” you say, after thinking for a second. “Alright.”

You don’t explain further. Simply open the door, step out, and head into the diner.

Bucky stays seated, watching the mirror.

She doesn’t move.

Just watches you through the glass.

You’re gone for a minute. Two.

Then the door swings open again.

You’ve got a receipt in hand as you walk around the back, open her door like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

She looks at you.

And for the first time, Bucky watches her move.

She slides out of the car in one smooth, silent motion. Her veil doesn’t rustle. Her feet don’t touch the ground.

She drifts toward the door.

You get there first, hold it open for her, but don't follow.

He sees the waitress behind the counter glance up, not surprised at all. She nods once, like it’s routine.

And when the faint trace of the ghost steps through, the waitress turns, grabs a menu without reading it, and just pulls out a chair. Pours syrup into a little ceramic pitcher.

She sets a fresh plate of pancakes at the far booth in the corner.

You waits until the ghost is fully inside.

Then let the door shut, before walking back to the car.

Bucky twists in his seat.

There’s no one in the backseat.

But unlike the mirror, the booth isn’t empty.

The ghost sits.

You climb back into the car. Quiet. Still watching her.

Bucky looks at you.

“Let’s go,” you say.

He turns back to the window.

Watch her cut into the stack, careful.

And for a brief second, she looks young.

The road is long again.

You thumb the edge of a candy bar wrapper and let your foot rest against the dash. He hasn’t spoken in a while.

Eventually, Bucky shifts in his seat.

“How’d you know what she wanted?”

You glance over, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.

“I didn’t,” you admit. “If that didn’t work, I would’ve tried something else.”

He falls quiet again.

You watch the blur of trees sliding past the window. Shadows flickering over the dash.

“People don’t really try to figure it out, you know?” you say. “They just assume. Oh, she’s lingering, so she must be angry. Must be tragic. So let’s banish her, cleanse her, salt the windows. But I don’t know, maybe she wanted something else.”

He hums under his breath. A sound like he’s chewing on the thought.

You’re ten minutes down the road when it hits you.

“Fuck.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. “What now.”

“I didn’t record it.”

A beat of silence.

Bucky drags a hand over his face.

“I was moved,” you defend.

“That’s not a setting on the camera.”

“Okay, well excuse me for having a heart.”

There’s a pause.

Then, unexpectedly, he huffs a laugh.

You stretch, bones cracking like old wood, and glance out the window. The sky’s brighter now, the sun finally winning the fight against the fog.

“So,” you say, casual. “I guess we’re heading home now.”

“No.”

You blink. “No?”

“No.”

You look over. He’s got the same expression he always has when he’s plotting something. His face is bare, unreadable, but with that slight tightness at the corner of his mouth.

You stare. “Are you kidnapping me?”

His eyes don’t leave the road. “Would I have bought you breakfast if I were?”

“That’s exactly what someone trying to trick me would say.”

He exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but in that direction.

You narrow your eyes. “Where are we going?”

He shrugs.

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’ll see.”

“That’s actually the slogan of most kidnappers.”

“Most kidnappers don’t let you pick the music,” he says dryly.

You pause before reaching over and switching the playlist to something you know he’d hate.

He doesn’t argue.

Suspicious.

He finally stops at a fucking cabin.

The sign isn’t even painted properly.

Just a piece of sun-bleached wood swinging lopsided over the door. Letters barely legible.

It’s a lodge or gift shop or something, with a coffee shop right next to it.

“Why are we stopping?” you ask, brows raised as he turns off the ignition.

Bucky doesn’t answer.

He just gets out, door shutting with a solid thunk, and starts walking toward the little building.

You scramble out after him. “Okay, I thought you ate lunch at like 5pm. Didn’t realise you were hungry.”

He doesn’t slow down. “Let’s go.”

You stare at the back of his head. “You’re being weird.”

He doesn’t argue.

Just pushes the door open and holds it for you. The little bell above it gives a jingle, bright and alive.

Inside, the air is warm and smells like baked apple, butter, and a little woodsmoke. A few tables. Worn chairs. Mismatched mugs on a shelf by the register.

Bucky doesn’t look at you. Just walks toward the counter like he’s been here before.

You follow, slower now. Cautious. Trying to put pieces together that don’t quite fit yet.

There’s a small table near the window. Sunlight filters in like it’s being polite about it. He stops there. Waits.

“Okay, I want a croissant, if you’re buying,” you tell him. “And one extra one because you keep taking bites from mine even though you say you don’t want one-”

Bucky knocks on the counter, pretty loudly for his standards. “Hello?”

You’re about to ask again what the hell is going on when the back door swings open.

You freeze.

Not metaphorically. Your entire body stops moving like someone yanked the cord out.

She looks exactly the same.

Same cardigan. Same sleeves pushed up. Same towel draped over her shoulder, like she’s been mid-shift since the day you left.

“What the fuck,” you say quietly.

She stops just short of the counter and smiles like no time has passed. “Hey.”

Bucky, beside you, clears his throat. “Ma’am.”

Mrs. Mullens nods at him, warm and amused. “I was wondering when you were gonna make it.”

Your head whips toward him. “What on earth– what do you mean–”

She steps forward and folds the towel over one hand. “Well, he tracked me down. Told me what the plan was and so I invited him right over.”

You stare at him.

He stares somewhere over your head, suddenly very invested in the far corner of the café.

“This whole trip was… what?” you ask. “A set-up?”

“Don’t blame him,” Mrs. Mullens says gently. “Second I heard, I told him to get himself down here and bring you with.”

You don’t know what to do with your hands.

You don’t know what to do with your face.

Bucky shifts on his feet. “I’m, uh, gonna give you two a minute,” he mutters. “Wait in the car.”

He turns before you can stop him. Just raises one hand in a half-wave and heads for the door.

You feel like the floor’s been tilted, and everyone else got a headstart adjusting.

Mrs. Mullens watches you quietly, like she’s got all the time in the world. “You okay?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Then try again.

Her expression doesn’t flicker as she reaches out to hold your forearms.

“Well,” she says, scanning you up and down. “There you are.”

You feel something in your chest cinch tight and then loosen all at once.

“Hi,” you manage.

She still smells like flour and cloves, soft in the way that nothing else in your life ever quite let itself be.

“Come on,” she says. “Sit with me. Let me make you something.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Still the same order?” she asks, already halfway to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you say. “Still the same.”

She’s back a few minutes later with a plate, the way she used to make it when you were seventeen and underfed and too proud to admit it.

“Thanks,” you say softly. “You really stayed the same.”

“You look taller,” she says, sitting across from you.

“I’m not.”

“You sure? Your feet used to swing off that booth.”

“I was like, eighteen.”

“You were seventeen,” she corrects, smiling.

You blink. “You remember?”

“I remember everything,” she says, a little amused. “You showed up with two shirts and a backpack like you’d been chased cross-country.”

You laugh under your breath. “Sounds about right.”

“I gave you the Monday morning shifts because you were too twitchy on Sundays. You always smelled like metal. What were you even doing back then?”

“Nothing good,” you say, without really thinking. “But I liked being here.”

“Did you? You were terrified of the espresso machine. Thought it was gonna explode if you pressed the wrong button.”

“It hissed at me, Mags.”

She laughs, full-bellied and familiar.

It’s been years. You should feel different, older, hardened. But with her sitting across from you in that same cardigan and kind eyes, you feel like the same version of yourself that used to sneak biscotti from the back and cry in the walk-in freezer when everything felt too loud.

“I know,” she says. “But you needed something to keep your hands busy. Didn’t think you’d stay longer than a week.”

You lift one shoulder. “Didn’t plan to. It just happened.”

“But you did.”

“I did.”

“Sometimes that’s the best kind,” she says. “When you don’t notice it while it’s happening.”

“I still don’t know if I’m any good at staying.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re bad at it.” She hums. “Some folks are just built for motion. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Never felt like I was built for anything.”

“Then I guess you get to make it up as you go.”

You don’t answer right away. She doesn’t push.

You glance around the café. It’s not the same one you left, but it might as well be. Same vinyl booths. Same laminated menus that stick a little when you peel them open. The clock on the wall ticks one second behind, and the radio hums something mellow and familiar from a back room.

“I liked the old place,” you say eventually.

She doesn’t look up from where she’s stacking sugar packets. “So did I.”

“What happened?”

“Rent happened,” she says simply. “And my knees don’t like the city anymore.”

You nod. “This place is nice too.”

“I like the light,” she says, finally glancing out the wide front windows. “Good for the plants.”

There’s a little succulent lined up by the sill. A tiny herb pot, something leafy and stubborn. You remember the basil plant she used to keep behind the counter. It never survived more than a few weeks.

“I thought you might’ve moved further,” you say.

“I tried,” she replies. “Didn’t stick.”

“Why not?”

She shrugs. “Missed my regulars.”

“Do you ever think about moving again?” you ask.

She shakes her head. “No. This feels right. Feels enough.”

You don’t know what to think about that.

But something about the way she says it quietly and certain, makes you think maybe one day, it won’t feel so impossible.

She folds the towel in thirds, slow and deliberate, like she has all the time in the world.

“He said you spent the day driving,” she says, “showed up back home with half an hour left for the day to get done.”

You huff. “Snitch.”

She chuckles.

“And you just gave him the new address?” you ask.

“Well, I asked him who he was first.” Her eyes soften. “Then he told me he was with you, and that was enough.”

You fiddle with the edge of your napkin. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. Or write. Or—”

“I know why you left,” she says, cutting in gently.

You blink.

“I figured you’d come when you were ready.”

“I should’ve said goodbye.”

She reaches across the table and sets her hand on yours.

“You did what you needed to do,” she says. “And you survived. That was always the only thing I ever wanted for you.”

You look at her, the lump in your throat rising too fast.

“I thought about calling. A dozen times.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back. I told myself I would, after things settled. But they never really did.”

“I know.”

“I felt like I owed you more.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” she says, gentle but firm. “You stayed as long as you could.”

You exhale, slow and tight. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t care.”

“I know,” she repeats with the same patience as the previous hundred times.

“It just–”

“I remember,” she says. “You got real quiet the last few weeks. Used to stare out the kitchen window like the world was shrinking on you.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t know how to make it easier,” she says. “So we did what we could.”

“I didn’t know how to thank you,” you add, quieter now.

“You just did.”

You laugh once, short, a little embarrassed. “It’s not enough.”

“Why not?”

“I left,” you say. “Just took off. No note.”

She tilts her head. “You think that erased everything before it?”

“No. But it– it undid it. I left the state,” you say, eyebrows pulling together in frustration. “Just because you offered me a room. That’s insane.”

“You were always going to leave. I knew that when you came in.”

You look up.

“You walked in that first day like someone who already had one foot out the door,” she smiles, hand still resting over yours. “You didn’t owe me anything. I was just glad I got to know you for the time I did. You were always my favorite.”

You scoff. “You said that to everyone.”

“I lied to everyone else.”

You blink.

“You knew that already.”

“I hoped.”

You glance out the window to get your bearings.

Mrs. Mullens follows your gaze. “He’s still out there.”

You follow her gaze. Bucky’s slouched in the driver’s seat, arms crossed, sunglasses on. He looks like he’s trying to nap and also like he’s making sure he can see the door if it opens.

“Is that your…?”

“Friend,” you say quickly.

She lifts an eyebrow.

“He’s fine,” you add. “Mostly grumbles. Pretends he doesn’t like things.”

“He doesn’t talk much, huh?”

“Not unless he wants to argue.”

“He’s cute.”

You snort.

“He yours?” she asks, lightly.

You shrug, avoiding the question. “He drove me here.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she says, grinning.

You look away.

“He seems steady,” she adds. “Even from here.”

“He is,” you admit. “More than he knows.”

“You always did pick the prickly ones,” she says, amused.

You huff a laugh, the ache in your throat a little lighter now.

“Why’d you say yes?” you ask. “When he called.”

She stirs her tea, quiet for a moment. “Because I missed you.”

You stare at her.

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” she says.

You nod slowly. You can’t meet her eyes.

She watches you for a beat too long. “You think you’ll stick where you are now?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Time’s almost up on this one. It was never supposed to be permanent.”

“Seems like you’ve got people now. Makes things easier.”

You stare at the guy in the car, shifting in his seat.

“Not always.”

“No,” she agrees, “but it makes them worth the trouble.”

You both sit there a while, the sun warming the tabletop. The world doesn’t demand anything from you just yet.

She leans back in her seat and folds her hands in her lap. “You know, I’ve got a room upstairs here, too.”

You blink.

“Not fancy,” she adds. “Small.”

You don’t say anything.

“Could use the help. These joints aren’t what they used to be. I’ve got a dishwasher who always misses a spot and the young ones never sweep under the tables right.”

Your face pulls into a smile.

“Think about it,” she says, tone still easy. “Doesn’t have to be forever.”

You watch her, unsure if the ache in your chest is guilt or hope or something else entirely.

“It sounds good,” you say quietly. “Actually good.”

She tilts her head, like she’s trying to read your thoughts. “You don’t have to make the call right now. But if you need a soft landing, this is still one.”

“Even after everything?”

“Especially after everything.”

You look down at your hands. “Why didn’t you get mad?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She blinks like she’s surprised you’d even think that. “You were never mine to keep. I was just glad I got to know you while you were here.”

There’s a warmth in your ribs you didn’t know you were missing until it showed up again.

She reaches below and comes up with a little paper box, folds creased neatly at the corners.

“Take these,” she says, setting it down. “Eat them before they go stale. Or don’t. Your call.”

You reach for it. “You didn’t have to–”

“Don’t start,” she says lightly, ““I baked too much this morning.”

You open the box and peer inside.

Biscotti. Lemon glaze. Just like she used to make them.

“These still your favourite?”

Your chest stings.

“Thank you,” you say again, quieter now.

Outside, the sun’s starting to shift.

“I’m really glad I came,” you say, voice low.

“Don’t wait so long next time,” she says. “You come back when you want to. No pressure.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” she says.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

She reaches over and gently pushes the box of biscotti toward you. “These’ll hold for a few days if you keep ‘em in a cool place.”

“I remember.”

“‘Course you do.”

You finally pick one up and take a bite.

It tastes exactly the same.

The screen door swings shut behind you with a thud and a jangle of the bell.

You stand still for a second outside the café.

Gravel crunches gently beneath you. The sunlight’s warm, dappled. The smell of coffee and baked sugar lingers in your sleeves.

It should be easier to walk away than this.

It’s not like you haven’t done it before. Not like you haven’t packed lighter and left faster. Sometimes with the door still swinging behind you. Sometimes before the people even noticed you were gone.

But you’re not moving.

You turn back briefly, gaze catching on the shape of her through the window, apron tied neat, still wiping down the counter like you were never even there.

And for the first time in a while, you feel… stuck.

Not in the bad way.

Not Leviathan-trapped. Not time-loop-clocktower-stuck.

Anchored.

For a moment.

You drag yourself toward the car on legs that feel heavier than they should, biscotti box clutched under one arm like it’s going to make this easier.

Bucky watches you through the windshield but doesn’t move. His elbow is propped lazily on the open window frame.

He doesn’t ask, only looks.

You stop beside the car. Pull in a breath.

“Hey,” you say, a little quieter than you mean to.

He rolls the window down a little further. “Hi.”

You rest your forearms on the top of the window. Your eyes are a little tired. Your voice is a little warm.

“She asked me to stay,” you say.

His face doesn’t change, not really. But his grip on the steering wheel falters for a beat.

“Said I could pick this place as my next job, live upstairs if I wanted.”

A long second ticks by. Then another.

“Oh,” he says.

You finally look at him. “What do you think?”

He shrugs. “I mean, sounds nice.”

“It is,” you say, eyes drifting back to the building. “Peaceful. Kind of perfect, honestly.”

He nods slowly.

The wind whistles soft between you both.

“I told her it sounds great,” she says. “Told her I’d love to do it.”

Bucky’s jaw shifts. He doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure what would come out.

The world stills around the silence like it’s holding its breath.

And then, quieter. “So… you’re staying?”

The words are small. Stiff. Like they don’t quite know how to fit in his mouth.

You don’t answer right away. Just tilt your head back and stare at the cloudless sky, lips pressed together like they’re holding something in.

Then you glance toward the café again. At the little chalkboard sign that’s still got the special written in cursive. At the potted plants by the door that have managed not to die.

At the open window, and the breeze that carries cinnamon and clove and lemon zest like a memory.

And you turn back to him.

“I told her I’d come back,” you say. “I’ve got some more videos to shoot.”

His shoulders relax just a fraction.

He swallows, nodding like it means nothing. Like it’s good to be reminded of obligations.

His hand comes off the steering wheel, flexes once. Settles again.

And then you lean in closer than you need to be.

And you press your mouth against his cheek in a long, steady press. A kiss that lingers just a second too long, enough to burn.

You feel his breath hitch.

“You’re kind of insane, Bucky Barnes,” you say when you pull back, voice rougher now. “Thanks.”

You hand him the box through the window. “I got you some biscotti”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat, just looks down at it like it’s heavier than it is.

He shifts it from one hand to the other, then looks up at you again.

You don’t look away.

“You seriously considered it?” he asks finally, like he’s trying to make it sound casual.

“Yeah.”

The answer’s easy. Too easy.

“You still thinking about it?”

You pause. Then nod. “A little.”

And you both sit in that silence.

The breeze kicks up again. A bird chirps somewhere in the trees nearby. The world keeps turning.

You let your fingers drum once along the car door. Then twice.

“I liked it there,” you say finally. “It was warm.”

He nods, barely perceptible. “It’s a nice place.”

You rest your chin on your arm and peer at him. “You ever want that? Quiet place, job that doesn’t involve crawling through basements looking for dead guys?”

He considers that.

Then shrugs. “I think I used to.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just like knowing where my shoes are.”

You grin at that.

You let your arms fall and step back. Gravel crunches. Sunlight warms your shoulders.

“I’ll come back,” you say again.

He just nods.

You start to walk around the car, toward the passenger side. You slide into your seat, pull the door shut. Clip your belt.

The car hums to life beneath you.

He pulls out of the lot slow and easy.

The café disappears behind you.

The road hums under the tires. Pine trees slip past in long green blurs.

You’ve both been quiet since the bakery. The box of biscotti sits unopened in your lap. You pick at the corner of the lid, folding it in and out.

You break the silence first.

“So.”

Bucky flicks his eyes over to you, then back to the road.

“Summoning the ghosts of Christmas past and all that,” you continue. “Worked.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just shifts his position in the seat.

Things have changed for him the past year. He’s come to realise that the world doesn’t follow the rules he was taught it ought to follow.

You exhale, watching your reflection ripple in the window glass. “It was her. Ghost of Christmas past.”

He nods once, almost imperceptibly.

You clear your throat. “That’s why I went looking for her, you know. After. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thought if I found her again– I don’t know.”

He waits.

“I wasn’t thinking. I just left.” You glance at him. ”I didn’t start this series really expecting to find any. But I guess the world’s a lot more complicated than I thought.”

He’s quiet. More than usual.

The muscles in his jaw twitch like they’re trying not to.

You turn slightly in your seat to look at him. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

You watch his throat bob as he swallows hard.

Then, after a minute that stretches too long: “I’ve been seeing one.”

You blink.

He doesn’t look at you.

“Months now,” he adds, softer. “Maybe longer.”

You don’t say anything at first.

“Is that what you were talking about on the ship?”

Bucky exhales, jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

You wait.

He doesn’t meet your eye. Keeps his attention on the road ahead. “I didn’t want to say anything. Thought maybe it was in my head. Hallucination. Stress. Y’know. Old habits.”

“When did it start?”

“After that episode with that doll,” he says.

It falls quiet for a while as you piece it together. The comment about hallucinations, freaking out after the doll episode, the way he looked at the children’s ward–

“Bucky, is a kid haunting you?

He looks at you wearily. “You think I’m insane.”

You watch him for a second, eyebrows tugged together.

You reach over, hand resting on his face, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. His eyes close briefly under your touch.

“I believe you. Trust me, I do,” you say intently, before hesitantly asking, “This kid… are they yours?”

“No. No, I don’t have a kid.” He sighs. “It’s my sister.”

“You’ve been seeing Becca?”

“Yeah,” he glances at you. “You don’t think I’m lying?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think you have any reason to lie.”

The sun hits the edge of his cheekbone and shadows the rest of him.

“Thanks,” he says. His voice cracks slightly. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

“How do you know it’s her?”

And so he tells you about the doll. The paper she threw at him in the mansion, the ouija board, the cornfield, the mirror on the ship.

The fucking tarot cards.

“Tarot cards? From that stupid video?” you ask in confusion.

“The Star, Six of Cups, The Hanged Man. I got in touch with this fuckin’ reader who said if you were haunted by someone, and couldn’t move on, it might be because we hadn’t made peace.”

He exhales, and you see it then. The look on his face like it’s been carved out of regret.

“I think she’s mad at me,” he admits.

“Why would she be mad?”

“I don’t know. For dying. She had to figure it out without me. I wasn’t there for her.”

“You were just a kid too, Buck,” you say quietly. “You didn’t have a choice.”

He doesn’t respond.

You glance sideways. “You’ve never told anyone else, have you?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you think talking to Steve would help?” you ask. “He knew Becca too.”

“What’s he gonna think?” Bucky replies. “My brain’s been fried enough times. I don’t really know what’s real or not.”

You offer him a tired, lopsided smile. “It’s Steve. He’d believe you if you said you were a ghost.”

That earns a quiet huff of a laugh from him. Barely there, but it’s something.

You shift in your seat, grabbing onto his hand.

“We’ll figure this out,” you whisper. “Thank you for telling me.”

He lets out a shaky breath.

He opens the door and steps inside.

He pauses just inside the entryway, eyes scanning a room he already knows by heart. No sound except the faint hum of the refrigerator and a distant car alarm outside. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath the entire way back.

Alpine’s already on the table, licking her paw like she pays the mortgage.

“Do you want to know what it's like,” she says, in the dark, “living with a man who keeps all the lights off like it’s a crime scene?”

“Turn it on if it bothers you so much,” he grumbles.

“You know what I did today?” she asks, still not moving.

Bucky doesn’t answer as he drops his keys in the bowl and shrugs off his jacket.

“I sat on the windowsill and watched the neighbour’s cat get fed twice,” she says. “They gave her actual tuna. Not the shredded cardboard you buy.”

He heads to the sink and fills a glass of water. The faucet squeals.

Bucky doesn’t respond. Just sips.

“Two full servings. A little parsley on top. I think there was lemon involved. Meanwhile, I have to beg for dry pellets like a Dickens orphan.”

He places the glass on the counter. She eyes the smudge it leaves.

“I get it,” she says. “Something tragic probably happened. But you live like you’re actively trying to make this place uninhabitable.”

“Because I am. I tell you to get out all the time, you clingy demon.”

He sits down in the nearest chair and rubs the back of his neck.

Walks to the fridge. Opens it. Closes it again.

“I’d ask if it was a long day but you look like this all the time,” she calls out.

“Don’t start.”

She jumps down from the table, lands with a soft thud. “Bit late for that.”

He rubs a hand over his face.

Alpine watches with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t cry in public, did you? Because I can’t be seen with you if that’s–”

“Alpine.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He pours himself a glass of water, ignoring her.

She hops up beside the sink. “You look miserable.”

He points at her. “You’re supposed to be a support animal.”

“I support you being less lame. So far, complete failure.”

He drinks.

She sniffs at the glass. “Is that water? You okay? Should I call someone?”

He sighs, leans against the counter, and finally looks at her. “Why do I keep you around?”

She tilts her head. “Because I’m the only one here who doesn’t let you get away with your sad orphan Victorian chimney boy routine.”

He holds her stare for a moment longer, then turns away, muttering.

Alpine jumps back down, tail curling behind her. “Go on then, brooder. Back to your man-cave. Try not to repress anything new while you’re in there.”

Bucky flips her off without turning around.

The floor is quiet when he finally heads inside.

He walks down the hallway with his hands in his pockets, head tipped forward just slightly. When he reaches the landing, he notices it.

A bowl of strawberries.

It’s on the little table outside his room, covered with a plate.

He stares at it for a moment, then picks it up, turns it slowly in his hand. The fruit is fresh. Still cold from the fridge. He knows where it came from.

He doesn’t go inside his room.

He turns around and walks back down the hallway to the other door. Raises a hand, knocks twice.

Steve’s voice comes through, muffled as he pushes the door open. “Yeah? Oh, hi, Buck.”

Steve’s in his sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. He has his glasses on, one arm slung casually on the back of a chair like he was reading something before being interrupted.

“Didn’t see you all day,” Steve says, stepping aside to let him in.

“Busy,” Bucky mumbles, stepping in and holding up the bowl. “You left this outside.”

Steve glances at it. “I did. They’re fresh.”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, but he breathes a little easier. He stands in the middle of the room for a second, like he’s forgotten what to do with himself.

Steve watches him. “Everything alright?”

“Can we talk?”

Steve straightens a bit. “Yeah, of course.”

They both sit. Steve curls one leg under himself. Bucky holds the bowl of strawberries in both hands.

For a long time, he doesn’t speak. The wall clock ticks quietly behind them. Somewhere, a car honks.

“You good?” Steve asks.

Bucky lets the silence stretch a second longer.

“What do you do when you fail the ones you love?” he asks finally.

Steve doesn’t move. He just watches Bucky carefully, gaze quiet.

“Well,” he says, “you apologise the best you can.”

Bucky swallows. “How do you live with the guilt?”

Steve takes a moment. Then he leans forward, rests his arms on his knees.

“You bring them fruit,” he says. “And make reminders to ask them about things they care about. You show up in a way that lets them know they matter. And you hope that makes up for failing when they needed you.”

Bucky stares at the bowl in his hands.

There’s a lump in his throat that won’t budge. He’s not sure how long it’s been there. Days. Weeks. Longer.

“You think it’s enough?”

“I think it’s something,” Steve says. “Which is more than nothing.”

Bucky doesn’t answer.

They sit for a while longer.

Steve nudges the bowl slightly closer. “They’re fresh.”

Bucky picks one up.

They’re tangy. They stain his lips red.

He eats another. Then another.

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THANK U TO EVERYONE WHO BOUGHT ME A KO-FI FOR THIS SILLY FIC. IT'S STILL INCONCEIVABLE TO ME THAT YOU LIKED THIS ENOUGH TO PAY ME REAL MONEY FOR IT.

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enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

You've Bewitched Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder on his train ride home and it leads to something very unexpected.

Warnings: Bucky falling asleep on the readers shoulder, awkwardness/nervousness, strangers to friends-ish to lovers, Bucky being old & not the best at using technology, kissing, implied smut, mentions of aftercare, Bucky gets hurt during a mission.

Word Count: 8.4k

a/n: this is a repost from my old blog.

the gif below does not belong to me

You spaced out a little as you sat down in the train that would eventually take you to your stop. You were feeling incredibly tired in this moment after all of the work you’d had to complete during your shift today. All you wanted was to get home, eat dinner, take a shower, change into your pajamas then go to sleep. And while you were very tired, you still maintained your consciousness, not wanting to fall asleep around a bunch of strangers.

You were still aware of your surroundings and the stop announcements overhead but you were spaced out enough that at first you didn’t notice the gorgeous man who sat down next to you in the last free seat. Bucky briefly looked at you as he sat down, noticing the spaced out look on your face and the earbuds in your ears. Which he could hear the sound of music by a more recent artist whom he had probably never heard of coming out of.

Moments later once you had seen this man in your peripheral vision, you allowed yourself to take a peek at him after you had blinked a few times, your curiosity getting the best of you for a second. And when your eyes did meet him, they widened a little bit. He was gorgeous, you had never seen someone as attractive as him. And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t really think much of him taking the last empty seat that just so happened to be next to you. You were used to seeing the cars just filled with people this time of day.

So you put your attention back onto the window across from you, taking your eyes off of the man who was still sat to your left and looking at the scenery that passed the train instead. But you noticed the longer you two sat there, waiting for your stops, the more his eyelids had begun to droop.

He fought sleep for a few minutes before letting his body finally rest. And when he did fall asleep, he stirred a little bit and began to rest his head on your shoulder, causing you to freeze up like a deer in headlights. You peaked over at him again, he was completely asleep now and probably didn’t fall asleep on you on purpose, this reassuring thought making your shoulders relax a bit.

And while you didn’t know this man, you decided that you would wake him up a few stops before your own, hoping that he wouldn’t be too far from his stop when you did wake him up. But you froze up again when he unknowingly snuggled into you in his unconscious state, causing you to make another decision.

When you did wake him up, you would only say that he fell asleep on you if it came up. You wouldn’t include the part where he began to cuddle with you, for his sake. As you sat there with him, you couldn’t help but start to fall in love with this man. Even though you knew nothing about him, not even his name. You hoped you’d get the confidence to introduce yourself to him after you woke him up.

———————————

About ten minutes later, you were now three stops away from your stop and it was now the time for you to wake up the very attractive man sleeping on your shoulder. You hoped your interaction wouldn’t be too awkward once he did wake up. First, you paused your music and took your headphones out. Then, you started to gently poke at his shoulder that was not pressed to you and you quietly spoke to him, “Excuse me.” you said a couple times as you kept poking his shoulder, prompting him to abruptly wake up.

And as he woke up, his head still lingered on your shoulder for a few more seconds before he moved it. He then looked over at you again once he was fully conscious, “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” he said, a bit of an awkward tone to his voice as he looked at you. You softly smiled at him and in that moment he felt as though he had been bewitched by you and your beauty. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.” you replied, that soft smile still on your face, making him feel a little at ease.

He awkwardly smiled back at you, still feeling bad for falling asleep on you. But you didn’t really mind whatsoever, accidents happen. You then stuck your hand out and spoke to him again, “I’m (y/n), by the way.” you told him, introducing yourself with a friendly tone to your voice. He smiled to himself at the sound of your name, liking the way it sounded in his head. He took your hand in his and shook it for a few seconds before letting go. And while your hand was in his, you noticed that besides the pair of gloves he was wearing, his hands were a lot bigger than yours, causing butterflies to appear in your stomach.

He nodded, “I’m Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.” he replied once he had let go of your hand, trying to sound friendly as well like Sam had suggested. But he just ended up sounding awkward, making you smile at him again. “It’s nice to meet you too, Bucky.” you said as you looked into his enchanting blue eyes, liking the way his name sounded when you said it.

And after hearing the most recent overhead stop announcement, he felt calm with the idea that he wouldn’t have to be awkwardly sat next to you, this beautiful stranger for much longer. But when his stop was announced and he stood up from his seat, so did you. You awkwardly smiled at each other as the train came to a stop and you held onto the metal bar above your heads.

And before you went off to the exit closest to your apartment, you waved goodbye to Bucky, “Bye, Bucky.” you said while you sent another smile and wink his way, causing his cheeks to heat up a bit. He silently waved back at you with a soft smile on his own face before turning back around. Under other circumstances, he would’ve liked to interact with you more. But given the awkward way you two met, he decided to keep the rest of your interaction short and sweet.

But he promised himself that if he ever did see you on the train again that he’d talk to you more, he’d start the conversation and hopefully at some point he would get the courage to ask for your number. “Why on earth would a super solider like him get nervous over asking someone out?” Bucky thought as he continued to walk towards his exit.

But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. No one had taken romantic interest in him since the 40’s and he didn’t really know what to do about it. Especially when someone as beautiful as you was being so kind to him and treating him like he was a normal person. He liked that about you.

While you walked to your apartment, you thought of how Bucky looked at you like you were an actual person and not something for him to eat. He treated you with actual respect, even if he was a bit awkward. And though he was doing the bare minimum, you still liked that about him. If you did end up seeing him again, maybe you’d actually give romance a chance this time around. And if Bucky was interested in you in that way, maybe he would be different compared to the men you’ve gone out with in the past. But for now, all you could do was hope that your love life would actually go the way you wanted it to.

———————————

The following morning when you got on the train again to head to work, you saw Bucky again, the sight of him making you smile. This time, he was sitting by himself with a book in his hands and the only free seat was next to him. And before you went to sit down, you let yourself admire him for a few seconds. In the morning sunlight, his eyes looked like the most beautiful crystal you would ever see. Everything about this man bewitched you, in every sense of the word.

You then quickly walked over to the empty seat next to Bucky before anyone could claim it. And when you did sit down, Bucky looked up as he saw you coming in his peripheral vision and he recognized the scent of your perfume. This time, he smiled at you and spoke to you first, causing a fluttery feeling to bloom in your chest.

“Hey. It’s nice to see you again.” he said to you, the dark timbre in his voice causing goosebumps to appear on your arms, making you feel glad that you were wearing a long sleeve shirt today. “Hi, Bucky. It’s nice to see you again too.” you replied, instantly smiling back at the gorgeous man sitting next to you.

As for a majority of the ride, the two of you continued your conversion and got to know a little more about each other. Where you were from, how old you were, what you did for a living. And surprisingly when Bucky revealed what he did for a living, you weren’t too shocked as his face had seemed familiar to you and you had noticed how hard his left shoulder had felt when you had poked it the day before.

Bucky felt a bit relieved to know that you weren’t that shocked now that you knew exactly who he was, he didn’t want you to be afraid of him. But before Bucky knew it, he had just a few more minutes left until his stop. So he decided to be brave and ask you for your number, wanting to wait a little while longer until he asked you out on a date. He didn’t want to come off as creep after all, but you’d never see him in that way.

He then turned his body slightly so that it was facing yours, “Sorry if this comes off too strong, but I was wondering if I could possibly get your number? I know we still barely know each other, but I really like you, (y/n) and I’d like to get to know you better if that’s okay with you?” he asked you as he raised his eyebrows in anticipation. You smiled at him as he nervously asked you this. To see a man as attractive and powerful as him act nervous was cute to you. It showed that he wasn’t above everyone like the news portrayed him to be.

You nodded with a smile, “Sure, Bucky. I really like you too.” you answered, your own nervousness popping up as you spoke to him. “Okay cool.” he quickly said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, opened the contacts app and handed his phone to you.

You slowly took his phone from him, not wanting to risk dropping it and as you did, your hands brushed up against each other. And while it may have been 7am, this simple touch made you feel as if your whole body was on fire and your hands shook a little, showing Bucky the effect he had on you. He subtly smirked at you as you created a new contact on your phone and typed in your number as well as your name before hitting save. And once you had given his phone back to him, he spoke again, “I’ll text you so that you have my number.” he told you.

He typed out the words “Hey, it’s Bucky!” and added a smiley emoji at the end then hit send. Seconds later you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket and you took it out, “Got it!” you made him known once you had turned your phone on and looked at your lock screen. Then the moment he had been dreading all morning happened, his stop was announced and he would have to leave you and go to work. He dreaded this as he’d much rather talk to you all day then argue with Sam or awkwardly talk to Tony.

“Well, this is my stop.” he said to you as he stood up, prompting you to softly frown at him. You then looked up into his eyes from your seat, “Bye, handsome. I’ll text you, okay?” you replied, causing his cheeks to heat up again at the sound of the new nickname you had for him. “Alright, doll. I’ll see you later.” he said with a wink before he exited the train, using this as his chance to make you feel all flustered. Which worked in his favor now that he knew about the effect he had on you.

And as you sadly watched him leave, you couldn’t help but think about what you two could become now that you were officially in each other's lives. And again you hoped that this would go the way you wanted it to. You wanted to have Bucky in your life in any way that you could, even if you just ended up being friends. Even that would be enough for you. But you hoped more than anything that you and Bucky would eventually become lovers.

Before you got off at your own stop, you took a quick selfie and sent it to him. Following with the word “Hi!” and a smiley emoticon, the nervousness of a man like him actually being interested in you like this coursing through your body. But you knew that you’d get over this nervousness eventually. At least, that’s what you were aiming for.

———————————

You and Bucky had sent a few texts to each other throughout the day, not wanting to bother the other person too much while you were working. But you both noticed as you worked, that you couldn’t wait to go home so that you could possibly see each other on the train that evening. But when Bucky got on the train that evening at 5:30pm which was a little after the time it was when you two first met the day before, you weren’t there. He waited a few stops and you still hadn’t shown up. So he texted you just to make sure that everything was alright.

Bucky: Is everything alright? You aren’t on the train ride home tonight.

You responded to his text a few minutes later, those butterflies reappearing in your stomach at the thought of him being worried about you. No guy you had been with in the past had actually cared enough about you to send this kind of text.

Y/N: I’m alright, don’t worry. I got caught up in some extra paperwork so my boss ordered an Uber to take me home. :)

Reading these words made Bucky let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He was relieved to know that everything was alright and you had just stayed late at work.

After being in his line of work for as long as he has, he easily worried about the people he cared about. Which was a small number, but still it would destroy him if you got hurt and he wasn’t there to protect you.

Bucky: Good, just wanted to make sure you were okay. Call me when you get home? 😊

Y/N: Of course, I’d miss talking to you if I didn’t. I’m in the Uber now, I’ll talk to you soon. ❤️

Now, Bucky could really let himself relax on the way home. Which luckily was only a few minutes away now. And the second he did arrive at his stop, he quickly walked back to his apartment, not wanting to risk missing your call in the event that you somehow got home before he did.

——————————— Once you got home twenty minutes after Bucky had initially gotten off of the train, you set your bag down by the door and took your shoes off before heading to sit on your couch.

And while you hadn’t known Bucky for long, you already missed his face. So as you got settled on your couch, you decided to FaceTime him instead, hoping that his friend Sam that he had mentioned had taught him how to use the app.

You wanted to feel closer to him even when you were both at home and tired from the day of work you’d had. You tapped on the camera icon next to his contact name and after a few rings, he answered, displaying that handsome face you had missed all day. His phone moved around a little as he started to talk to you, “Doll? Can you see me?” he asked, making you laugh. Which was like the most beautiful symphony he had ever heard, he could truly listen to your voice and your laugh forever.

You continued to laugh as you answered his questions, “Yes, I can see you, Bucky.” you answered, just a smile lingering on your face now. He laughed a little at himself, “Sorry, I’ve never used this app before.” he told you as he admired your beauty through his phone screen. You smiled at that, “That’s alright, don’t worry about it. You’ll get used to using it eventually.” you assured him as you stared right back at him.

For the rest of the call, you talked to each other about how your days had been. Bucky had talked about how he’d have to leave to go on a mission next Saturday but he’d try to get better with the whole FaceTime thing so that he could still talk to you and see your beautiful face. At least that’s how he put it, his compliment making you blush.

And you had complained to him about how you’d been tasked with dealing more paperwork. Bucky had assured you that you’d probably get a promotion after all of that hard work and he jokingly said that he would have a talk with your boss if you didn’t, making you laugh again.

The two of you FaceTimed for a little while longer while you made dinner for yourself in your own apartments and later ate together. But once you had both finished eating, you knew that it was time to end the call for the night. You looked back at him on your phone screen and smiled, “Anyway, I gotta go shower and get ready for bed. But I’ll text you, Bucky.” you told him as you leaned on the doorframe to your bedroom.

You chuckled a little at the grumpy look that had appeared on his face when you told him you had to go. He liked talking to you this way, he liked talking to you in general. But he’d let you go for now, one question still weighing heavy on his mind.

“Alright but before you go, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” he made known to you, making your eyebrows start to raise in anticipation like his had when he asked you for your number that morning. “What is it, Bucky?” you asked him, feeling a bit impatient now that you knew that he had something he wanted to ask you. “Well this isn’t how I’d prefer to do this but I’d rather not wait until Monday to see you again, I was wondering if you’d like to go out on a date with me tomorrow night?” he asked, making those pesky butterflies appear in your stomach yet again. You nodded in response right away, “I’d love to, Bucky. I’ll text you my address later.” you answered, a cute smile of his own appearing on his face as you spoke.

Then after you said your drawn out goodbyes and hung up, you set your phone down on your bedside table and walked to your bathroom to take that shower you had mentioned to Bucky just minutes ago.

———————————

Upon re-entering your room after you had taken a shower, done your skincare routine and changed into your pajamas, you plopped yourself onto your bed and grabbed your phone from your bedside table. You opened you and Bucky’s conversation again and sent him your address. He replied to your message almost right away with a selfie, which was very unlike him. He looked good, really good. In the photo, he was laying down on his bed looking at the camera with a subtle smirk on his lips.

And in this moment all you wanted to do was kiss him, but knew it was a little soon to be going after stuff like that with him. After all, you had only known each other for two days at this point. So you held yourself back a bit, at least for now.

Y/N: So handsome. 😮💨

He blushed at your message once he read it and in return you sent him a selfie of your own. Similar to him, you were laying in your bed and looking at the camera like he had been. But what you didn’t know is that seeing this photo of you, made Bucky feel as if his body had been set on fire, he felt like he was falling harder for you than he had been before. And your texts and FaceTime call only solidified this.

The more he looked at that photo of you, the more he felt like he could imagine what you would look like in his space or what you would look like when he finally kissed you for the first time. He hadn’t felt this way in years and now that he had you, he never wanted to let you go. He didn’t want anyone else. He just wanted you.

Bucky: Gorgeous, gorgeous girl.

What Bucky had sent back had made you feel all flustered for what felt like the millionth time since you two met. But you knew that it would probably be a good idea to go to bed now before you got ahead of yourself. You didn’t think it was the right moment to start sending Bucky the suggestive messages that you wanted to send when you hadn’t even kissed yet.

Y/N: Thank youuu.

Y/N: I’ll talk to you in the morning, Bucky. Goodnight ❤️

His next message made you smile, happy to see that the reserved man you had met on the train two days ago was starting to get more comfortable when talking to you.

Bucky: I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, doll. ❤️

His new nickname for you made you feel as if you were bursting at the seams with the feelings you had for him. But before you thought about what he had called you too much and kept yourself up all night, you plugged your phone in, turned the lights in your room off, put your phone down and went to sleep.

That night you dreamed of Bucky and what your first date tomorrow night could hold. And when you awoke the next morning, you hoped that your date would be as magical as that dream. But as long as you were with Bucky, you already knew it would be.

———————————

It was now 5pm on Saturday evening, the day of your date and Bucky had texted you that morning to tell you that he’d pick you up at 6pm. So before you ran out of too much time, you got out of bed and began to get ready for your first date with the handsome man.

You first did the makeup look that you thought suited your features the best and made you look beautiful, except for any lipstick as you hadn’t brushed your teeth yet. Then you retrieved a classy black dress from your closet that you’d had for a little while and put it on, quickly reaching behind yourself to zip it up. And once it was comfortably situated on your body, you went over to your bathroom and started to style your hair. After playing around with possible hairstyles for a few minutes, you decided to go with just leaving all of your hair down once you had combed/brushed it out again.

And while you brushed your teeth, you slid your heels on, feeling extremely excited for the night ahead with Bucky. No one had ever made you feel the way Bucky did and you took that as a good sign that things between the two of you would work out. You were truly a fool for him and even though you had only known him for 3 days, you already felt like you were falling in love with him.

Bucky also thought about the love he already had for you as he got ready for tonight in his own apartment. He had put on a black on black suit that he hadn’t worn since Tony’s last gala a few months ago. He’d gotten a lot of compliments on it when he had worn it to that particular gala and he wanted to see what you thought when you saw him in it. He wanted to look good for you. Right after he finished getting dressed, he went over to his bathroom and did his hair how he normally did it. His hair was a lot shorter than it used to be and he didn’t really have much to do with it now. And as you had done, he then brushed his teeth and slipped his dress shoes on. Then sprayed some cologne on himself, grabbed his phone and headed out the door.

And while you were applying the finishing touches to your lipstick after you had sprayed some perfume onto yourself, someone knocked on your front door, signaling to you that Bucky was now here. So you grabbed your purse — with your phone in it — and quickly walked over to your front door.

When you opened the door — your purse hanging from your shoulder — Bucky’s jaw dropped in shock. He had never seen someone so beautiful, so ethereal, he never wanted to look away from you. He’d stare at you for years and years if he could.

“Hey.” you said to him, a soft smile on your lips after you did some admiring of your own. He looked incredible, so handsome and regal as he stood just outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers in hand. He took a deep breath, “Wow, Doll, look at you. You’re so beautiful.” he replied, his sweet compliments making you blush and shyly smile at him. He spoke up again a moment later, “Oh, these are for you by the way.” he said as he handed the flowers to you.

You grinned at him, “Thank you, Bucky. These are beautiful.” you said, unknowingly prompting him to compliment you again as you went to put them in your kitchen. “Not as beautiful as you, doll.” he said as you rejoined him at the doorway, then grabbing one of your hands and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, making goosebumps appear on your arms. “You ready to go?” you asked him as you began to wrap your hand around the part of your doorknob that faced the hallway. He nodded right away and briefly placed his hands in his pockets, “I’m ready when you are, sweet girl.” he replied, adding another nickname that made you smile at him again.

You then closed your front door behind you and locked it, “Alright then, let’s go.” you told him, gently taking his right hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as a way of reassuring him about his metal arm. You did this because Bucky had gone without his usual black gloves tonight and you wanted him to know that you weren’t afraid of him or his arm. He squeezed your hand back and led you down the hallway to the elevator he had taken up to the floor your apartment is on, silently telling you that he knew you weren’t afraid of him.

He stayed close to you the whole time you walked to his car, making you question why he rode the subway everyday if he had a car until you got inside and you saw the Stark logo on the big screen in the car. You assumed that he had borrowed it from Tony for tonight, which only made your heart swell with love.

He just wanted this night to be perfect for the two of you.

——————————— After a short fifteen minute drive, Bucky parked the car outside of a fancy looking restaurant. And once the car had been turned off, Bucky got out of the car, ran around to your side to open your door and help you get out. The two of you held hands as you walked into the restaurant and up to the hostess’ podium. “James Barnes, table for two.” he simply said, prompting the hostess who had been standing there to check their reservation book for his name. “Ah, Mr. Barnes. Right this way.” she said, motioning for the two of you to follow her to your table.

Your table was in a more quiet part of the restaurant, away from the loud groups of people that had come in that evening. Bucky held your hand the whole way there, even as the hostess set your menu’s down on the table. “Your waiter will be with you soon. Enjoy!” she said with a friendly smile before walking back to the hostess’ podium in the front of the restaurant.

And before you could pull out your own chair and sit down, Bucky had appeared behind you and pulled your chair out for you. Then he slowly pushed it in until you were sat down after you had stood in front of it. Seconds later, he took his own seat across from you, the small light from the fake candle on the table bouncing off of his eyes as he looked at you. “So, James.” you teasingly said as I looked at him over your menu, a light smirk on your lips. He chuckled a little at your theatrics, “My name is actually James, but most people call me Bucky.” he explained, resulting in you nodding in response.

Just seven minutes later, your waiter for the night appeared and introduced themself before asking if you were ready to order. Which you were and once they had disappeared with your menus, Bucky reached over the table and took your hand in his as you two began to get to know each other better. You told each other everything about yourselves, not feeling the need to hide anything from each other. Only briefly going silent when your waiter came back with your food or one of you took a bite of the meal you had ordered. And the more either of you talked, the more you both felt like you had known each other for years.

———————————

Two hours later, after your meals had been finished long ago and the two of you had just finished the desert you decided to share, Bucky had paid the bill and it was unfortunately time to leave. You didn’t want this date to ever end, you wanted to stay with Bucky forever. He didn’t want to leave you either. Since Steve left him and went back to the past, Bucky really hadn’t felt understood or seen or liked but then you waltzed into his life and showed him what it was like to feel all of those things again. He never wanted to let go of you for as long as he lived.

After another short fifteen minute car ride, you two were back at your apartment building. And like he had done when you got to the restaurant, Bucky helped you get out of the car once more and he held his hand in yours while he took you back up to your apartment. And when you did reach your apartment, you faced your front door for a moment then turned around to face Bucky again. “I don’t want you to leave.” you admitted with a groan, a sad look on your face as you looked at him.

He used your hand that was still in his to gently pull you closer to him. He placed his hands on your face and tipped your head up so that your eyes met his. “I know, I don’t want to leave you either, doll. But I promise that I'll try to get good at the whole FaceTime thing so you don’t miss me too much.” he replied as he continued to hold your face in his hands. You chuckled at that, “Okay.” you quietly said to him and placed your hands over his own, your thumbs stroking the backs of his hands.

Bucky’s eyes then went from your eyes down to your lips up to your eyes and back to your lips again. Feeling a bit impatient, you simply said, “Kiss me, Bucky. Please.” And before you could possibly do anything else, Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. The moment his lips left yours, you felt the urge to chase them again and again. You couldn’t get over how good his lips felt against your own. But again, you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself this early into knowing him. So you pulled away from his lips again and settled on giving him one more kiss on his cheek instead, leaving a kiss print there because of your lipstick.

Bucky smiled at the feeling of your lips on his cheek and gave you one last kiss of his own tonight, this time on your forehead as he started to hold your hand again. “Goodnight, doll.” he said as started to walk away from you, not letting go of your hand until he was too far away to reach you. “Goodnight, Bucky.” you replied, blowing him a kiss as he got closer and closer to the elevator. He caught the kiss and put it in his pocket, making that smile of yours that he loved so much reappear on your face.

At this point, you felt so lovesick whenever you saw or thought of him. You didn't know how much longer you could hold yourself back. All you wanted was him. He was all that you could have ever wanted and more.

———————————

Not long after Bucky had dropped you off, you had started to take your makeup off and while you were doing so, you heard your phone receive a text from Bucky. But you’d look at it later once you had gotten all of your makeup off and you were in your pajamas. Once you had finished wiping all of your makeup off, you put some moisturizer on your finger tips and began to gently massage it into the skin on your face. You massaged any remaining product onto your neck and arms afterwards. You then slipped your dress off and threw it into your nearby laundry bin, discarding it a pair of shorts and a baggy t-shirt instead.

Then you got under the covers on your bed and grabbed your phone again. Bucky had sent you a selfie he had taken in the car before he left. In the photo, the right side of his face was pointed towards the camera — the kiss print you had left there on display — and a grumpy look on his face. You smiled at how cute he looked in the photo and hearted the message. Everything this man did made your stomach flip and you never wanted to let go of him or that feeling.

Y/N: Aww, that shade looks so good on you.

Your response made a smile of his own appear on his face as he read the way you teased him through a text. He was so in love with you already but he knew better than to tell you this now.

Bucky: Thanks, doll. 🙄

You admired the way he seemed to match your energy in this moment, not making anything awkward by any means. You liked the way he teased you back.

——————————— For the next six days until Bucky would have to leave for his mission, you spent as much time as possible together every single day whenever you had any free time. You went out to lunch together multiple times, Bucky hung out at your place a couple times after work and you did the same at his place on a couple other days, you cuddled, kissed more, watched movies together.

But now it was Friday night and Bucky would have to leave for his mission in the morning. So, you decided to give him a special surprise tonight. On the train ride home that evening, you told Bucky to come over to your place at 7pm because you had a surprise for him. That surprise being a black lacy lingerie set that you were currently hiding under a robe. You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when you took the robe off.

And at 7pm like you had requested, Bucky showed up at your apartment, nervousness coursing through his system as he knocked on your front door a few times. You opened the door moments later and leaned against the doorframe as you greeted him, “Hey.” you said, a smirk on your face. You hadn’t even taken the robe off yet and Bucky’s jaw had already dropped. He was just so in awe of your beauty, even as you took his hand in yours and led the way to your bedroom, the lights throughout your home now on a dimmer setting.

When you reached your bedroom, he noticed that there were a few small fake candles sitting on both of your bedside tables and a speaker on your dresser that was quietly playing mood music. You then swapped places with him so that you were standing closer to the door instead and you placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back towards your bed. “Lay down for me, Bucky.” you requested and he obeyed right away, eager to see what you were hiding under that robe.

You then closed your bedroom door behind you and started to untie the loose knot at your waist. And once the knot had been undone, you slowly slid the robe down your body until it hit the hardwood floor below you. You looked so beautiful to Bucky in this moment, the lingerie set you were wearing hugged your curves in all the right ways and made you look perfect, like a dream come true. “Oh, doll. Come here.” he requested with a groan after he had swallowed thickly. And like he had, you obeyed this request right away.

You seductively walked over to him and started to straddle his lap, causing Bucky to sit up and place his hands on your hips before he then started to gently rub your sides with his large hands. You let out a soft moan as his hands went down to your ass and gave it a firm squeeze. He placed his nose in the crook of your neck and inhaled, “You’re so beautiful, doll. I could just eat you.” he said as he pressed a passionate kiss to your lips.

His lips then trailed down from your lips to your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone and over to your shoulder where he slid a finger under one of the straps, letting it snap against your skin. You were already so wet for him and he had barely touched you. And going off of the way he felt under you whenever you moved your hips, he was already rock hard in his pants even though you had barely touched him.

“So what are you waiting for?” you asked him, awakening something feral in him as his pupils became even bigger.

———————————

Later that night after you and Bucky had both came multiple times, he began to take care of you. He first gently parted from you and got up from your bed, despite your whining and begging for him to stay in bed with you. He put his boxers back on and went to your bathroom to retrieve a washcloth that he could wet with warm water in your sink.

Once rejoining you in your bedroom, he kneeled in front of you on your bed and gently parted your legs. Then as gently as he possibly could, he wiped you in between your legs, not wanting to make you feel overstimulated. He left you for one more quick moment to hang the cloth up in your bathroom, mentally reminding himself to put it into your laundry bin the next morning.

This time when he rejoined you in your bedroom, he slowly put your tired body under the covers and got under them as well. He pulled your body close to his, letting you rest your head and one of your hands on his chest while you put one of your legs over both of his and you let your sleepiness take over.

And once you were comfortable, he too got comfortable. And that night you fell asleep, safe in his arms, never feeling as safe or loved as you did when he held you.

———————————

The next morning, at 6am Bucky slowly slipped you out of his arms and headed back to his apartment to grab the bag he would need before he left for his mission. But before he left you, he got dressed, pressed a kiss to your forehead, left a note behind on the bedside table closest to you and of course put the washcloth he had used last night in your laundry bin.

And now that Bucky actually had someone to come home to, he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to be safe and come back to you, alive and in one piece. You woke up not long after Bucky left as if you could detect his absence, your bed felt cold without him in it. But before you got too sad, you spotted the note he had left for you. It read:

(y/n),

I’m sorry I had to leave so soon, I needed to grab my go bag from my apartment before I left for that mission I told you about. I’ll see you soon, doll. I promise.

- Bucky

This note eased some of your worries. But you had to admit, you did still feel a bit worried for Bucky now that he was off on that mission. What if he got seriously injured? What would you do if he never came back to you? You didn’t have answers to either of those questions because you had already become too attached to Bucky to even think of what your life would be like without him in it.

——————————— A few days later after you had gotten home from work, you had gotten a call from a number you didn’t recognize so you let it go to voicemail. The voicemail the person attempting to contact you left appeared on your phone just a minute later. And as you listened to it, your breath and hands became shaky, you started to tear up and anxiety coursed its way through your body. This couldn’t be happening, your worst nightmare had become reality.

The person who had left the voicemail said, “Hey, this is Sam, Bucky’s friend. Listen, we had to come home early because Bucky got stabbed, it was pretty bad. But he’s going to be fine, Dr. Banner was able to stop the bleeding and is stitching him right now in his apartment. I know you probably weren’t expecting this but Bucky insisted that I pick you up and take you to his apartment, you’re the only person he wants to see right now. I’ll meet you at the entrance to your building in 10.” Sam told you in his voicemail.

You were relieved to know that he was going to be okay but it still broke your heart to hear that Bucky had gotten hurt badly. You wished you could put a protective bubble around him so that he could never get hurt again. But you knew that injuries like this were part of his job and he probably wouldn’t want you to be worrying about him so much. But there was no time to waste crying in your apartment, so you put a pair of sneakers on, grabbed your apartment keys and your phone and headed out the door to meet Sam downstairs. When you got into Sam’s car, he frowned at the look on your face. He felt bad that hearing what had happened to Bucky had made you feel so distraught.

As he started up his car again, he turned to you, “Hey, he’s going to be okay. Bucky’s been through much worse in the past and plus he’s got that super soldier serum in his veins to make him heal faster than either of us ever could.” Sam assured you, his joke about the super soldier serum making you chuckle a little.

———————————

Upon arriving at Bucky’s apartment building, Sam led the way up to Bucky’s apartment. He unlocked the door for you and let you in. But before he left, he said one more thing to you, “If either of you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. Okay?” he said, his eyebrows raising a little bit. You nodded and briefly tapped his shoulder twice with your hand, “I will. Thanks, Sam.” you replied, a soft smile on your face. He nodded back at you in response and you headed into Bucky’s apartment, closing and locking the door behind you.

You walked into what you assumed was his bedroom because it was the only room with any light in it. You slowly approached his bedside, Bucky was asleep and that Dr. Banner guy Sam had mentioned was gone so you assumed that everything was okay now.

You frowned as you looked down at him but you couldn’t bear to be apart from him any longer so you slipped your shoes off, turned the lamp next to him off and got under the covers with Bucky. Underneath the blanket, his shirt had rode up a little, revealing to you the stitches in the moonlight coming in through his curtains. Which caused your hands to get shaky again, but you assured yourself that he would be okay.

You didn’t want to wake him up after all he and his body had just gone through on that mission. So you just placed a light kiss on his cheek and went to sleep next to him.

———————————

The following morning, Bucky woke you up after he had turned over and saw you sleeping in his bed. He softly stroked your cheek with his thumb while he quietly spoke your name, “(y/n).” he said, repeating your name a few more times until you woke up. And when you did, you sat up in his bed right away, taking his face in your hands and pressing a bruising kiss to his lips. “I’m so glad you’re okay. How are you feeling?” you asked him, a somewhat frantic tone to your voice.

He calmed you by slowly removing your hands from his face, placing his hands on your face instead and moving your head down a little so that you were looking directly into his eyes. “I’m alright, doll. You don’t have to worry about me.” he answered with a soft smile, causing you to let out a deep breath. And as you spoke again, he started to stroke one of your cheeks with his thumb, “I just got so worried that I’d lose you, Bucky. I’m glad that you came back to me.” you explained, giving Bucky the need to slowly pull you into lap, still being careful with his stitches.

He smiled a little at the last sentence of your statement, “Me too. But you’ll never lose me, (y/n). I’ll always come back to you, as long as you’ll have me.” he assured you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’ll always want you around, Bucky. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” you made known to him as your arms tightened around him and you started to hug him, Bucky’s rubbing on your back never stopping as you spoke to him and he eventually hugged you back.

He laughed at your theatrics, causing you to laugh with him. You then removed your head from where it was tucked next to his when you were hugging him and you looked into his eyes again, “I know we still haven’t known each other for that long. But after what happened to you, I can’t go on without saying this to you, even if you don’t say it back. I love you so, so much, Bucky. I need you to know that.” you confidently told him, mentally hoping that he would say it back and you hadn’t just made yourself look stupid.

Tears started to prick Bucky’s eyes when you said those special words to him. He then wrapped his arms around your ribs and pulled you even closer to him. “And I love you, doll. I have since the day we met, I swear.” he made known, making you tear up as well. You then pressed another kiss to his lips before resting your forehead against his own, “Be my girl, (y/n). Please.” he begged, desperately wanting to call you his and have you call him yours.

“I already am.” you told him with another kiss to his cheek, prompting Bucky’s arms to reclaim their spot around your waist and pull you on top of him, making you yelp. “Bucky!” you scolded, nervous that all of this movement would rip his stitches open. He chuckled at this nervousness, knowing that he was probably almost entirely healed because of the serum. “I’m alright. You don’t need to worry about my stitches, sweetheart.” Bucky said, comforting you and making your worries disappear once more. “Okay, whatever you say.” you replied, dragging out that last word, causing Bucky to let out another laugh.

God, he was so in love with you.

NAVIGATION

651 notes · View notes

enchantedbarnes · 2 months ago

Text

Ohhh baby. Everybody be quiet, my favorite show is back on!:

It was a blurry picture of you and Bucky in that pub last night, in one of those gossip accounts.

“Okay, before you panic,” Caleb said while you stared at the phone with wide eyes, trying to find your breath. “The fact that he has a girlfriend plays right into our hand, I’ve already planned the—nope, don’t check the comments.” He snatched the phone out of your hand. “Birdie, listen to me.”

That's a good friend right there lmao. 'no no, we're not reading comments' ❌

“Too long didn’t read; the only crime these two have is that they’re both fucking hot, there’s a file on the table, bitch are you blind?”

😂

“Did I or did I not say he wanted you?” he asked, pointing at the door that led outside and you raised your brows.

“Huh?”

“That guy. Lucas."

Heeeeere we go again 🍿

“And why—why are we in a supply closet?”

😏 I meeeeean...

“Birdie, he was trying to find out if you had a boyfriend because he—”

“How was your weekend?” you cut him off. “Mine was a fucking disaster, thank you for asking.”

A look of guilt flashed across his face, his eyes darting over your face.

“…Sorry.”

Tell him, Birdie 👏

“I need you to be okay,” he ended up saying quietly, still looking at the floor instead of your face. “For—” He gestured between you. “For us to be okay.”

🥺 this idiot 😮‍💨❤️

Oh you had to get out of here before you started taking your clothes off.

Or got on your knees.

Or got on your knees while taking your clothes off.

😂😂😂😏

“First of all, I literally just got out of a relationship.”

“Yeah I know. Five Minutes Comma Max.”

May the name follow him forever 😂 he's lucky there isn't merch. 👕

A smirk curled Kelsey’s lips and she jerked her head in the direction of Bucky’s office, and you pointed at her with the figure.

“Kelsey.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s true love,” she said, clutching at her chest dramatically and you rolled your eyes.

Keep walking.

Just walking to the door, not saying anything—

But of course you had to turn around the moment you gripped the door handle: “Miss Brooks?”

Birdie nooo 🤦‍♀️

“Because like, I can assure you everything between Mr. Barnes and I, it’s completely professional. I would never—I mean obviously also he would never—we— not that I’m referring to him and I as a unit or anything, what that piece suggested is just lies and—”

“Obviously nothing is going on between you two.”

You shook your head fervently. “Oh, of course—”

“But it’s not from a lack of trying on your part.”

“So you don’t need to worry about me,” she said with a small smile. “I don’t see you as any threat to my relationship.”

Do I have some bad news for you. 👀 😏 But I think you already know..

“I applaud your self-control because I would’ve gone full on high school bathroom fight on her, I don’t care how much money her family has.”

🤭

“Listen, she does see you as a threat,” Kelsey said. “That’s why she gave you that condescending talk, but it doesn’t matter. That relationship won’t last, you know that, I know that, Sarah knows that, and most importantly, Hazel knows that.”

✨ Thiiiiiiiiiis! ✨

“Are we doing this or not?”

“Caleb, that sounds disgusting…” Kelsey whined and you walked to your room, then closed the door behind you and answered the call, your heart beating in your ears.

Caleb 😂😂😂

“Birdie you need to come here, I think I discovered a new type of food!”

Precious idiot 😂

“No, something is wrong and I’m gonna—” He paused and you could almost see him pacing restlessly, running his hands through his hair like he always did whenever he was stressed. “I need to fix whatever is making you sad.”

“That’s not your responsibility.”

“Yes it is.”

“Why?” Your voice came out harsher than you intended and he fell quiet for a moment. You pursed your lips, then scoffed.

🗣️ BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU

“Come on,” he insisted in a soft whisper. “You have to know why.”

Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiit

"YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHY"?????!!

I am going to be thinking about this until the next part. On a loop. 🗣️WHAT DID HE SAAAAAAY????

“How’s Hazel?”

Silence fell upon him and you clicked your tongue, nodding to yourself.

“Good night Bucky,” you said and hung up, then let yourself fall back to the bed, your eyes still burning with tears.

Caleb: “I’m a genius.”

I maxed out my photo limit again and it's probably for the best. bless your cereal wine eat-drinking heart. Someone humble him before he takes this to Shark Tank.

Declassified [10] - Damage Control

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Self-doubt can appear out of nowhere.

Warnings: Explicit language, yearning, mentions of sexual acts.

Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist

Contrary to popular belief, falling in love with one’s boss made life harder, not easier.

You kept seeing him at work, you lost your focus whenever you talked to him –or he walked by you, for that matter— and he was the main character of your dreams every night.

“Birdie, are you awake?”

Like now.

The daze of sleep disappeared, pulling you out of the pleasant dream and you let out a whine, burying your face into the pillow.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Caleb opened the door and stepped in, then sat by the edge of the bed. “Morning sunshine.”

You rolled onto your back, rubbing at your eyes before you dropped them. “I was dreaming about Bucky.”

“Like a sexy dream?”

You hummed. “It was basically a black and white movie.”

“Like a sexy black and white movie?”

“We were in a house,” you muttered. “It had a garden outside, I was wearing this vintage dress, and baking a pie—”

“So, not a sexy dream.”

“I don’t even know how to bake a pie.” You yawned, looking up at the ceiling with a frown. “And then he walked into the kitchen and kissed me, and asked where the kids were—actually, you know what? Now that I think about it; I feel like it was an episode of I Love Lucy.”

“Your subconscious is really not original.”

“I think I was wearing pearls or something,” you mused, making Caleb tilt his head.

“So you mixed a bunch of vintage movies together and decided that was the way to go?”

“To repeat, I don’t know how to bake a pie,” you insisted. “Obviously I didn’t dec—”

“Did you tell her yet?” Kelsey leaned on the doorframe with a cup of coffee in her hand and you looked between her and Caleb.

“Tell me what?”

Caleb paused for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Okay, first of all,” he said. “As Bucky’s communications director, I assure you that we can easily spin this.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you pulled yourself up into a sitting position, your breathing getting faster.

“Spin what?”

“In fact, I’m confident that if we focus on offense, we won’t even have to go that hard into defense—”

“Caleb,” you cut him off. “Spin what?”

He heaved a sigh, then pulled out his phone, touched the screen and turned it to you.

Shit.

Oh shit.

It was a blurry picture of you and Bucky in that pub last night, in one of those gossip accounts.

“…I’ll have to resign.”

“Literally what the fuck did I just say about panicking?” Caleb asked while Kelsey stifled a laugh.

“Caleb already came up with a plan and sent it everywhere. We’re working on it.”

You blinked back the tears, wiping at your eyes. “Um…”

“And for the first time, you should be glad that Bucky is dating Hazel,” Caleb said. “I just talked to Bucky, and apparently Hazel already called him because she saw this as well, and decided to visit Bucky sometime this week because she missed him, and so that they can join that gala thing together.”

“And she wants to make sure she still has him,” Kelsey muttered and took a sip of her coffee and you shook your head.

“No no, guys you don’t understand—”

“I think I understand it better than you,” Caleb said. “It was a good call to put that file on the table.”

You frowned, trying to focus. “What?”

Caleb zoomed in the picture. “There’s a file. On the table.”

“I took it to my parents’ place just in case I could work on—”

“Nope,” Caleb said. “You were trying to work on two bills at the same time, you were feeling very overwhelmed because a lot of people want you on their team and this is literally your first month in the Congress, so Bucky, being a very attentive boss, had to insist on taking you out so that you could work on it outside the office. As the file on the table suggests. There is no kiss, you don’t even hold hands, there is literally no foundation to those accusations other than some blurry picture of two people who have made waves in politics enough to intimidate people. And now drumroll please, for the offense.”

“Caleb—”

“This is a terrible smear campaign not only on Congressman Barnes, who by the way, is in a committed relationship with Miss Brooks, but also on Mr. Drexel—”

“My father would never agree to get dragged into this.”

“Tough shit, I am dragging him into this to save you,” Caleb said. “But also on Mr. Drexel, who has served this country as a consultant for decades working with multiple cabinets. It’s at best tabloid gossip, at worst a planned attack that is designed to use the first woman the tabloids saw around Mr. Barnes, who has maintained a professional relationship with him throughout his campaign and is deeply disturbed by these rumors. Too long didn’t read; the only crime these two have is that they’re both fucking hot, there’s a file on the table, bitch are you blind?”

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Kelsey asked with a grin while Caleb took a bow like an actor on stage while you gawked at him.

“And people will believe that?”

“Not all of them obviously, but most will believe that as long as he’s dating Hazel, and there’s no picture of a kiss between you and him,” Caleb said. “The moment a picture like that comes out, we are gonna be fucked.”

You shook your head fervently. “There’s no picture like that because me and Bucky have never kissed.”

“When you do, please do it inside until I figure out how to work that angle.”

“Caleb,” you said warningly and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on, it will happen one day,” he said. “And hopefully by then, I’ll have found an idea how to use it in our benefit.”

“Can we focus on this?” you asked, motioning at the phone and Caleb shrugged.

“What’s there to focus? I already put out the statement, by now everyone in the Congress and their mothers read it.”

“You did all that in…?”

“An hour.”

“Jesus, you are good.” You took a look at your phone to check whether your father had called you or texted you, but he hadn’t.

“This is weird,” you muttered and ran a hand over your face. “Are you sure that will work?”

“Like I said. As long as there’s no picture of a kiss or anything to suggest that you two are fucking, we can spin it and even work it for our benefit.”

You took a shaky breath, then slipped a little in the bed, panic still pounding in your chest.

“I need to see Bucky—”

“You’re not going to see Bucky on a Sunday, the day after the rumor mill started,” Kelsey said. “No way. And if he’s smart, he will be on his way to New York right now to bring Hazel here on Monday so maybe it’s not the best idea to call him either. Or text him. Or do anything that might make Hazel think these rumors are true in case she’s with him.”

Jealousy twisted your gut and you bit inside your cheek, then nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “That makes sense I guess.”

“Great.” Caleb slapped his knees and got up. “Now, get dressed.”

“Why?”

“We found a great brunch spot,” Kelsey said while Caleb reached out to grab Blinky from your nightstand. “We’re going there.”

“I don’t think it’s the best idea for me to—”

“You’re not going into hiding because there’s nothing to hide,” Caleb said and put Blinky in your lap. “Well, I doubt we’re telling his girlfriend he changed cities just to get you your childhood plushie back so we’re hiding that, but you know. Other than that.”

You pursed your lips, playing with Blinky’s tail.

“Come on Birdie,” Kelsey said. “I’m giving you half an hour, then we’re going to brunch. I’m fucking starving!”

She and Caleb left your room and closed the door behind them, and you let out a breath, then looked down at Blinky.

“Well,” you said. “We’re in so much trouble.”

Your whole Sunday was spent with convincing multiple people that there was nothing going on between you and Bucky. Perhaps the strangest part was that instead of calling you, your father had your mother call you and ask whether there was any truth to these rumors, and you had to swear on your grandmother’s grave.

Knowing that you were on speaker.

Well, whatever it was, it had worked. You didn’t think your father was very happy about this but at least for now, it looked like his approach was to watch it and analyze before interfering.

You had answered Bucky’s “Are we okay?” text with a curt “Tomorrow” and much to your surprise, he hadn’t insisted and instead let you spend your Sunday without also worrying about that part of the story.

Although, you had a feeling that Sarah had something to do with it.

And now that it was Monday morning and you were walking past the security, anxiety was heavy enough to tremble your hands as you held up your ID pass, then entered the hallway.

Okay.

It was going to be fine.

“Hey, Hurricane!”

I want to go back home.

You looked over your shoulder and tried to smile at Lucas. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “I would ask you how your weekend was, but I have a pretty good idea.”

You ran a hand over your face. “Trust me, you have no idea.”

He gave you an apologetic look as you both turned the corner. “How are you holding up?”

Well, this was a good sign.

“Uh…” you trailed off. “Quite shaken, to be honest.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I’ve been alone with Gray more times than I could count, and no one blinked twice. It’s just because of Barnes and his whole thing, not you.”

You frowned, ready to jump to Bucky’s defense. “His whole thing?”

“Yeah, the whole tall dark handsome guy with tortured but mysterious past?”

“I’ll make sure to let him know you find him handsome.” You grinned. “And his past is not exactly mysterious, HYDRA files are out there.”

“You know what I mean.”

You snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I guess,” you muttered. “Obviously there’s nothing there but I’m not sure people—”

“Don’t worry about it, no one here bought that shit.”

I will buy Caleb a month’s worth of coffee and also name my firstborn after him.

You raised your brows and stopped walking to look at him better. “No one?”

“No one with a brain,” he corrected himself, making you smile. “Come on. You’re pretty, he has a certain charm, people will talk. No matter how good you are at your job.”

You tilted your head, your smile growing bigger.

“Thanks,” you said. “I appreciate it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky entering the hallway as well, talking to a congressman but he stopped dead in his tracks, then turned to the congressman, pretending to listen to him with a frown even though you knew very well that he was watching you. Your heartbeat got faster and you took a deep breath, trying to focus on Lucas who ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “And it would be stupid, you know? Like as far as I’ve seen, you’re too smart for that.”

You forced a laugh. “Way too smart.”

“Not to mention, you probably have uh—have a boyfriend right?”

Bucky’s whole body stiffened, but the only clue any observer would have noticed was the way his jaw clenched.

Which, you were pretty sure that no one noticed but you.

“I actually just got out of a very long relationship,” you said, stealing a look at Bucky before smiling at Lucas. “Hey, you know what? I just remembered it was my turn to get coffee today and Kelsey needs her coffee so I need to get to the cafeteria. See you around?”

“Uh, sure!” he said as you started walking. “Hey, we still need to do the—”

“The report, working on it!” you called out and turned the corner, then let out a breath and leaned back to the wall.

Alright.

This was ridiculous.

It was a stupid rumor, and no matter how much you wanted Bucky, he still had a girlfriend.

A girlfriend who was coming by sometime this week.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to calm down before you wiped the sweat off your forehead, then started making your way to the cafeteria. You went down the stairs and turned a corner but as soon as you did, someone grabbed your arm and pulled you into the nearest room, covering your mouth to cut off your scream.

It was only when the door closed shut that you realized who it was.

“What the fuck?” you whispered, panic still pounding in your head. “Bucky, I swear to God if someone saw—”

“That corner is a blind spot.”

You blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“The cameras don’t see that corner and here, so no one will know.”

You took a look at the supply closet you were in, trying to pull your thoughts together before you looked up at his stupidly handsome face.

“And why—why are we in a supply closet?”

“Did I or did I not say he wanted you?” he asked, pointing at the door that led outside and you raised your brows.

“Huh?”

“That guy. Lucas.”

“I feel like we have more important things to talk about rather than someone asking me out.”

“So you do accept he was asking you out?”

“We’re just going to ignore the elephant in the supply closet then? Alright, great.”

“Birdie, he was trying to find out if you had a boyfriend because he—”

“How was your weekend?” you cut him off. “Mine was a fucking disaster, thank you for asking.”

A look of guilt flashed across his face, his eyes darting over your face.

“…Sorry.”

You scoffed a breath from your nose, crossing your arms over your chest.

“How was it, really?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Bad,” you said. “Even my mom called, and I’m pretty sure my father was listening to every word I said. And you?”

“I was going to come and see you—”

“Terrible idea.”

“And then I texted you and you said tomorrow.”

You offered him a small smile. “Ah, thank you for listening to me.”

“Well to be honest, I was going to come anyway.”

“Of course.”

“I was losing my mind,” he insisted. “But uh, Sarah said I should give you your space, and she’s usually right about everything, so…”

Called it.

“And Hazel?”

He paused for a moment.

“She’s coming today, actually,” he said. “And she’ll stay until that gala nonsense.”

You tried to ignore the bitter taste at the back of your throat and nodded your head.

“That’s good. And like, in terms of optics—”

“Birdie, are we okay?” he cut you off as if he couldn’t keep it in anymore and you licked your lips.

“Depends,” you said. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t care about rumors, you know that.”

“You can’t say it didn’t bother you.”

“I honestly don’t give a—I don’t care.” He stopped himself from cursing and you bit back a smile.

“Nobody would blame you if you did,” you said. “If Caleb didn’t spin it, it could’ve affected your votes, the campaign next term, not to mention your work in here.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted. “I just…”

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly like he was nervous all of a sudden, like he couldn’t get the words out. This wasn’t the first time you were seeing this, whenever Bucky needed to talk about his feelings he either faltered or shut down, but every single time he got that kicked puppy look on his face; brows pinched together, lips turned downwards in the most kissable way, his eyes cast down and his gaze turning distant.

It took everything in you not to pull him to yourself and kiss him just to make sure he would never look that sad or lost again.

“I need you to be okay,” he ended up saying quietly, still looking at the floor instead of your face. “For—” He gestured between you. “For us to be okay.”

Oh you had to get out of here before you started taking your clothes off.

Or got on your knees.

Or got on your knees while taking your clothes off.

“We’re okay,” you managed to breathe out, forcing yourself to focus. “We’re totally okay if you’re okay.”

He gave you a curt nod, biting inside his cheek. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” you said and repressed a smile. “And he wasn’t asking me out.”

That managed to pull him out of that shell he was retrieving into, making his head snap up.

“He was!” he said while you let out a laugh and opened the door to step outside with him following you. “No, Birdie I’m telling you—”

“He was just curious I’m sure,” you said, still grinning and he let out a groan, awakening those butterflies in your stomach again.

“He was fishing for information.”

You made a face. “Was he though?”

“Yes because he—where are we going?”

“We’re going to get coffee,” you said as you made your way to the cafeteria. “I feel like I’m going to need a lot of it today.”

The rest of the day was relatively better. Apparently, Caleb’s approach to that whole scandal had worked on most people but he had warned you that you had to be careful in the following day not to do anything to fuel any more of that fire.

Which was fine.

It wasn’t like Bucky was asking you out to go to pubs anyway.

“Kels?” you asked without looking up from your computer. “Can you send me the report we had on the uh— on the I think the first week of last month, with the mental health resources for veterans?”

Kelsey tilted her head. “Weren’t you working on the clean energy bill with Mr. Rebound?”

You lifted your head to stare at her. “Mr. what now?”

“Mr. Rebound,” Kelsey said. “Because, you know, you need to get out there but he’s obviously not gonna be the one who get into a relationship with. He’s just a guy you sleep with a couple of times and then find someone else.”

You stole a look at Bucky’s closed door, then turned to her and grabbed the small fox figure on your desk.

“Okay, many things wrong with that theory,” you said, turning it in your hands. “First of all, I literally just got out of a relationship.”

“Yeah I know. Five Minutes Comma Max.”

“Well it—okay, that one is good,” you said with a huff of laughter. “Anyways, even if I were looking for a rebound, it wouldn’t be someone from work. I literally work with the guy.”

A smirk curled Kelsey’s lips and she jerked her head in the direction of Bucky’s office, and you pointed at her with the figure.

“Kelsey.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s true love,” she said, clutching at her chest dramatically and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s just different.”

Kelsey looked around the office, then pushed her chair back to come sit on your desk.

“Well you can keep yourself busy while…” she trailed off and stole a look at Bucky’s closed door before turning to you. “You know.”

You shook your head while she crossed her legs, leaning forward so that you could hear her murmur.

“Did I tell you she’s coming here for lunch?”

“Hazel?” you whispered and she nodded.

“Mm hm.”

Damn it.

Bucky had told you Hazel was coming today, but you had just assumed she was coming to the city and not the goddamn building you were in. You checked the time to see it was near lunch, and huffed out a breath.

“I cannot be here when she drops by,” you said. “She already wanted me fired before, and I don’t want to push my luck.”

“Bucky would never fire you.”

“I’m still not risking it,” you said. “I’ll just go to the bathroom and be right back, and then we can go to lunch? There’s no way we’ll be having lunch at the same place anyway.”

“You do realize you’ll have to see her at the gala?”

“That’s a problem for the future me, be right back,” you said and walked out of the office to go into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

While you were washing your hands, you were also trying to come up with excuses to skip the gala but none seemed convincing enough. It was going to be an important event so Bucky was going to want you there even if Hazel didn’t.

Maybe it would be crowded enough that you could avoid both of them for the whole night.

You finished washing your hands and went to the hand dryer but as soon as you took a step, the bathroom door opened, making you turn your head out of habit.

Fuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck…

Hazel seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see her, and you offered her a small smile just because you didn’t know what the fuck you were supposed to do, then turned your attention to the hand dryer.

Okay.

You just had to walk out.

You had already smiled and acknowledged her presence, which was probably more interaction than she wanted from you, so you just had to walk out of the bathroom, go to the cafeteria and text Kelsey. You pulled your hands back from the dryer while Hazel refreshed her lipstick, her eyes on the mirror even though you knew she was paying attention to your every single movement.

Anne Boleyn worked for Catherine of Aragon for years, you can handle just walking out of the bathroom while Hazel is here.

Keep walking.

Just walking to the door, not saying anything—

But of course you had to turn around the moment you gripped the door handle: “Miss Brooks?”

Fuck.

She raised her brows as if she was taken aback by your audacity –which to be honest, you were as well— but she didn’t say anything, just looked at you in complete silence, waiting for you to say whatever you wanted to say. You could already feel the stomachache you were going to get from anxiety, but you took a deep breath and cleared your throat.

“Um, I just wanted to say—” you stammered. “I’m guessing you saw that gossip piece, and I know of course you didn’t believe it because it’s completely false, but I wanted to apologize anyway, if it…um, if I somehow crossed the line.”

The silence was not making things easy so of course your brain took it as a demand to fill it immediately.

“I know it’s just lies.”

Her voice was completely calm, similar to the approach Bucky had adapted while you were freaking out at his doorstep, but unlike his, Hazel’s tone also held a condescending tinge in it. You gulped to ease the tightening in your throat, then nodded your head with a forced smile.

“Oh.”

“Obviously nothing is going on between you two.”

You shook your head fervently. “Oh, of course—”

“But it’s not from a lack of trying on your part.”

That managed to shut you up, your eyes snapping up to hers. She hadn’t even said it in a hostile way, it was phrased in such a matter-of-fact way that for a couple of seconds you just gawked at her, then managed to pull yourself together.

“Miss Brooks, I can assure you I would never do that.”

Hazel smiled at you as if she was entertained by your pitiful attempt to lie to her and you cleared your throat.

“Our relationship is completely professional—”

“If you’re gonna recite me some PR bullshit, you should just email that to my assistant,” she pointed out. “Listen, I’m not here to start a catfight, and I’m certainly not going to fight over a man, both of those are beneath me. Or any other woman. I’m not even trying to insult you, I’m just telling you that I know.”

You pursed your lips just so that you could stop the words threatening to spill from them.

“I get it,” she said and gestured at you. “You’re the pretty, starry-eyed girl and he’s…well, him. So to be honest, it would be surprising if this whole schoolgirl crush didn’t take place. Obviously it will.”

You gritted your teeth, barely noticing that you were wringing your hands to keep your calm.

“You are important to Bucky,” she said. “You’re good at what you do, and despite this whole thing, apparently you’re somehow smart…”

Fuck. You.

“But the fact that your relationship is professional is not because you’re keeping it professional,” she said. “It’s because he’s determined to ignore those cute lovesick smiles you keep throwing his way.”

Nope.

You were not going to take this bait, and you were certainly not going to react to this in any way.

“So you don’t need to worry about me,” she said with a small smile. “I don’t see you as any threat to my relationship.”

You tried to swallow the bitterness of anger at the back of your throat, and as much as you wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, what left your lips was very different.

“Have a nice day, Miss Brooks.”

With that, you pulled the door open and walked out of the bathroom, still shaking with fury.

“I applaud your self-control because I would’ve gone full on high school bathroom fight on her, I don’t care how much money her family has.”

You rolled your eyes as you laid on the floor and Caleb filled Kelsey’s glass with wine.

“I mean,” he said, “it sounds like she kind of called you a whore.”

“A dumb whore,” Kelsey added and you pointed at her.

“Exactly!” you said. “Whore I could understand, but dumb? That’s just rude as hell.”

“Maybe you should’ve told her to ask her man why he’s throwing a fit every time Lucas so much as breathes within the perimeter,” Kelsey said with a smirk and you scoffed.

“He’s not throwing a fit.”

“Sorry, what do we call breaking a goddamn chair when Lucas asked you out?”

“And to repeat, I was in that chair.” Caleb wagged his finger in the air. “It could’ve been my fucking neck. I basically survived the Winter Soldier.”

“Oh and pulling you into a supply closet?” Kelsey asked, motioning at you and you heaved a sigh, then pulled yourself up into a sitting position, making a face when your back cracked.

“We really do need a couch.”

“What’s wrong with our pillows?” Caleb gestured at the pillows and you shook your head.

“We look like interns at a startup tech company that has an open buffet of cereals.”

“Great, now I’m craving cereal,” Caleb muttered and looked between you and Kelsey. “Do you guys think anyone tried cereal with wine?”

“Nope.”

“Let’s try it,” he said and walked to the kitchen while you let out a whine, pressing your hands on your eyes.

“Kels…”

“I don’t know that actually.”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Max was your first serious boyfriend and all, but even you can’t be that out of the loop when it comes to relationships.”

“And yet.” You took a sip of your wine. “Guess who he’s probably fucking right now?”

“Aw, guess who he’s probably imagining while he’s fucking her right now?”

“Bucky isn’t like that,” you said. “And I doubt anyone would imagine anyone else when they have Hazel in their bed. Have you seen that woman? She’s gorgeous.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kelsey sang and you rubbed your eyes.

“Kels, I can’t…” you trailed off. “Listen, what if she has a point? I—I have feelings for him but what if he sees me as some dumb girl with a crush that he entertains just because of my job?”

“You can’t let her get to you, and that’s not how he sees you.”

“But we don’t know that, do we? If he had any feelings for me, he would break up with Hazel.”

“Just like how you broke up with Max?” she asked, making you frown. “Because we both know your feelings for him started way before your break up and to repeat, Bucky is from a different century. He’s not gonna make a move on you while he’s in a relationship, but he’s trying to find a way to get out of that relationship without that breakup hurting Hazel’s…reputation.”

You scoffed. “Her reputation?”

“People couldn’t just drop relationships back in the 40s, Birdie.”

“Well, it’s not the—”

“Did you guys decide what you’re going to wear to that gala?” Caleb asked, coming back with a bowl of dry cereal and three spoons in his hand. “I mean we’ll be working and all, but we can’t just go with our usual clothes. And I don’t have a suit.”

“I’ll help you out, Cinderella.”

Caleb sat down. “You’re an angel, Kels.”

“I have a bunch of clothes from the time Max would drag me to events,” you said. “Kels, you can borrow one of mine if you’d like.”

“Oh I’d like that very much.”

“I mean they’re not exactly gowns but they should—” you started but was cut off when your phone started vibrating, making all three of you look at the caller ID, your heart doing a happy flip in your chest before you frowned at yourself.

“Well, what do you know?” Kelsey said and took a sip of her wine. “I guess he wasn’t fucking her after all.”

“Why does Bucky hate texting?” Caleb mused and Kelsey shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably because it reminds him of telegraphs from the front or something—”

“I’ll be back,” you said as you snatched the phone and stood up while Caleb reached for the wine bottle.

“Are we doing this or not?”

“Caleb, that sounds disgusting…” Kelsey whined and you walked to your room, then closed the door behind you and answered the call, your heart beating in your ears.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Bucky’s voice reached your ear, filling your stomach with butterflies. “Everything alright?”

You needed to pull your shit together.

Contrary to what Kelsey and Caleb told you, Hazel did have a point. You were acting like a starry-eyed idiot with a schoolgirl crush, and you couldn’t let Bucky think that about you, not when you had been trying so hard to prove yourself.

You swallowed nervously. “Yeah. Why?”

“You uh—” He paused. “You usually see me before you leave work?”

You pursed your lips, sitting down on your bed to grab Blinky. Of course it hadn’t escaped his notice, with or without Hazel you always made sure to see him before you left work, ever since you had started working together.

However, you had a feeling that did not help the starry-eyed thing.

“Birdie?”

Your head snapped up and you closed your eyes, then took a deep breath and opened them again.

“I was busy with the clean energy thing,” you said. “Sorry about that.”

“No I didn’t ask for you to apologize,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

You ran a hand over your face, then looked down at Blinky, biting inside your cheek.

“Um,” you said. “Did you need me for something?”

You could almost see the frown on his face as he paused on the other line for a second.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

You wiped your eyes, then heaved a sigh. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Did someone say something?”

Oh yeah, funny you should ask. Your girlfriend.

You opened your mouth to say no, but turned your head when Caleb’s voice carried into the room.

“Birdie you need to come here, I think I discovered a new type of food!”

You scrunched up your face, playing with Blinky’s tail.

“I should go,” you rasped out and he let out a shaky breath.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I told you. Nothing is wrong.”

“That’s not your responsibility.”

“Yes it is.”

“Why?” Your voice came out harsher than you intended and he fell quiet for a moment. You pursed your lips, then scoffed.

“See? Exactly.”

“Birdie, you…” he trailed off and let out a breath. “You know why.”

You didn’t trust your voice so you just stayed silent, turning Blinky’s tail around your finger.

“Come on,” he insisted in a soft whisper. “You have to know why.”

You dragged your tongue over your teeth, trying to keep yourself calm but the words had already left your lips before you could control yourself.

“How’s Hazel?”

Silence fell upon him and you clicked your tongue, nodding to yourself.

“Good night Bucky,” you said and hung up, then let yourself fall back to the bed, your eyes still burning with tears. You sniffled, holding Blinky to your chest and kicked at the covers at the foot of the bed just so that you could get some of the frustration out of your system.

If Bucky wanted to be with her, fine.

But you weren’t going to let anyone see you as an idiot.

“Birdie!”

“Coming!” you called out and wiped your eyes, then got up from the bed and put Blinky on the pillow, then made your way to the living room to find Caleb holding up the cereal bowl which seemed to be filled with wine, grinning at you.

“I’m a genius.”

“And I’m in the mood to get drunk,” you said as you sat down next to Kelsey. “Wine cereal it is.”

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