#and also dark!bucky

[lowlifesymptoms]

anyways, ive been smutting about john walker and winteragent thingssss

[logansgaar]

thank you What If...? for finally confirming that Bucky does in fact have honey pot training as part of his deep cover, it's been fan theory for too long. It's a gold mine for fluff, smut, crack, darkfic and angst all in one

[mania-sama]

just a little update on how my bucky & joaquin torres / sambucky fic, ballad of a dove, is going:

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES 1917                 1945 TO THE END OF THE LINE

A small cross is embedded in the middle of the grave marker, resting pristinely between the two letters at its sides and the words below and below it.

Bucky stares at it, the meaning of the cross now dull and faded in his chest after a war and a lifetime of killing for the enemy. He then sits down, even though he hasn’t sat down at his own grave since the first time he saw it. He’s not prone to giving himself gifts, either, but he gently lays a bouquet of buttercups, pink roses, and cornflowers at the edge of the marker. His left hand fiddles with the rose buds for a second, pulling at the soft petals and pushing an entire head a few centimeters northwest.

His hand moves to brush across the stone engravings. He traces the indents of his name and the ridges of his and Steve’s saying. The corners of his eyes start twitching and his waterlines start stinging something fierce, and Bucky doesn’t get it. He’d never come close to crying, not even when Steve had first shown him the grave years ago.

He doesn’t know why he’s so close to it now.

To the end of the line. Steve never claimed to have directed the making of the grave marker, and Bucky had never accused him of it, but that didn’t mean Bucky couldn’t put two and two together. Nobody else knew about their saying. Nobody else should have known.

It was theirs. Just theirs. 

Besides, both of their families were poor; they both had thought it’d be lucky if they’d ever get a grave at all. Only Captain America’s salary could pay for a proper burial, even when there was no body to bury.

Steve’s headstone is on the other side of the yard where there’s more room. His contact with Bucky had been rather sparse since he’d chosen to grow old with Peggy the right way. Bucky had expected it, but it still didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when Steve knocked on his apartment on a sunny spring afternoon for lunch, only to break the news that there was no available area next to Bucky’s marker.

(The coffee was warm and steaming in his hands. Bucky breathed, long and deep.

“I can leave you a spot to be buried with me. Or next to me. Whatever you prefer,” Steve told him. His face was wrinkled, his hair was white, his hands shook slightly, and, worst of all, he smelled like an old man. Bucky kind of wished he did, too, but he’s sure he only smelled like the leather jacket covering his upper body and the timber-scented shampoo he’d used a few hours beforehand.

He brought the coffee to his face but didn’t drink. His fantasy of blocking out Steve’s scent with that of his drink was merely fleeting, as it did nothing to overpower the smell of wooden rocking chairs, dying skin, and worn polyester.

Steve was waiting patiently for an answer.

Bucky shrugged. “I already have a grave. I’ll fill it eventually.”)

They didn’t grow old together.

Steve is dead and Bucky is alive, yet they both have graves.

He fell off the freight train in January of 1945, less than half a year before the Germans surrendered. He only had to hold on, only had to make it that few months before they would win Europe. At worst they would’ve sent him to Japan afterward, but Japan is a long way from Germany and the Soviets. In September, the war would be over and he could go home with Steve and he could’ve lived out to see the twenty-first century as an old man.

He would’ve been okay.

But he couldn’t hold on, and those months passed with amputation, torture, and a series of numbers leaving his lips until they erased any semblance of the man he was.

That’s why the grave never bothered him all that much. James Buchanan Barnes was killed in 1945 by Soviet scientists, and Bucky has made peace with it. Even though they have the same face, they do not share the same scars, the same family, or the same story.

He’s happy that James is buried. He’s happy that his parents grieved the boy they raised, and not the fist of war he became. He’s happy, that of the three of them — James, the Winter Soldier, and the White Wolf — James is the one that got the burial.

Bucky wonders where they will bury Joaquin.

The graveyard would surely be in Miami, where he grew up and where his immediate relatives still reside. Modern funerals are a bit different than how they were in the 30s — would his family hold an indoor service, or would the procession be all outside? They wouldn’t necessarily need to have a visitation since there was no body to see.

Joaquin and his family are Catholic. Would they want to host a celebration for their deceased son, grandson in a cathedral? Bucky and Sam could get that arranged. They could decorate the halls and hire an orchestra to fill the place with cheer. 

They could prepare speeches. Bucky’s would be about the strength and tenacity that Joaquin carried, though with a propensity to danger. It’s why they became partners at all; Joaquin met Sam, and Bucky was with Sam, and they became something of a team.

Sam’s would be better than Bucky’s, he thinks. His would have more humor to loosen the blows of his emotional lines about Joaquin’s intelligence and bright future as both a military captain and the Falcon. He would talk about the late nights and early mornings spent in the office or on the run, laughing about Joaquin’s hero worship after saying that his ability to aspire was the greatest thing about him. 

Both of theirs would still pale in comparison to the words that his blood family and lifelong friends would have to say. They would talk about the baby he and Sam had only seen in pictures, the child they’d only met through his excitable demeanor, and the teenager they’d only heard through embarrassing, tipsy stories. They would show love, care, and great respect for the man that their child, grandchild, and friend had become.

It’s a year on the dot since Joaquin went missing. His family would never think to put an empty casket in the ground with an engraved headstone on top for someone who is still, conceivably, very much alive. Bucky’s family buried him because Steve watched him fall hundreds of feet off of a moving train. They had every right to believe in his full, anatomical death. 

Joaquin’s family has no such luxury.

They have a flat tire and a car that has been scraped and bled on in a desperate struggle. They have a few upturned criminal organizations and a thousand dead ends. They have the location of where their boy was last seen, the text he’d last sent, the call he’d last ended, and the photo he was last in. They have his two partners, Captain America and the White Wolf — formerly the Falcon and the Winter Soldier, a man who could fly and another who could track people across state lines, countries, continents, and oceans — who did not find him.

And in this world, being turned into some sort of brainwashed soldier is far more likely than it was during Bucky’s time. It could be old-fashioned maniacal torture or trafficking. Or Joaquin could be dead, his body floating down some garbage-filled river in the middle of Wyoming. His body could be stuffed with drugs from the cartel to get across the border.

He’s missing. They don’t know where he is.

So he probably won’t get a grave until his body is found or he’s conceivably died of old age, either having been found and able to live out a full life or they’ve calculated his presumed death based on the passage of time.

Bucky doesn’t know what would be worse, in the case that they do find him: getting kidnapped, rescued, and having to reconcile your previous identity with your present, or your family giving up on you and burying you before you’d actually died.

i am... 7500 words into this, with about *checks notes* 50 plot holes and inconsistencies because i got a lot canon info mixed up, but its okay im working through it. hope you guys enjoy the little teaser again. i am losing my MIND.

[howdoyousleep3]

Mama please give us some dark Steve in these trying times

It’s coming together so well, I’m two pages in and Steve just came home from a late dinner with his friends after Bucky threw a fit about it and Steve went anyway, and Bucky woke up to the sound of his Daddy standing next to his bedside angrily jerking off over him so…

[juliaswickcrs]

oops another oc :: vanessa reyes in through the dark ( post tws - tfatws )

Vanessa Reyes was convinced she'd finally made it. Freshly graduated from nursing school with a great job posting in Washington DC, she'd proven to everyone back home that she could be more than the pregnant 18-year-old foster kid from the wrong side of the tracks. But she knows better than to grow too comfortable where she's at. For as long as she could remember Vanessa could never stay in one place for too long. Her adoptive mother would tell her it was simply superstition, born from the New Orleans blood running through her veins, but Vanessa knows better. And when a homeless man stumbles into her clinic bearing a gunshot wound and a metal arm along with multiple traumas, she has the sinking feeling that death is knocking on her door once more. Even after he is discharged, he continues to follow her, a shadow on the wall as he shows up at her work, her house, even her outings with her daughter. She's not entirely sure what he wants, until he speaks her name and tells her he's sorry for the death of her parents. Intrigued and unable to turn down a challenge, Vanessa puts herself directly in the line of sight of what she now knows is the Winter Solider. The very man who took down SHIELD in the first place. She knows it's dangerous, and yet she can't help herself. Call it empathy, curiosity, or just being stubborn, Vanessa decides to take a chance on the 70-year-old fossil, who seems to have just as much knowledge about her as she does about him.

taglist: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

@arrthurpendragon @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @kingsmakers @noratilney

@stanshollaand @zarovichwife @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse

@misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns

@princessmadelines @impales @waterloou @rose-of-oz @eddysocs

MARVEL TAGLIST: @notxjustxstories @themaradwrites

[ash-muses]

(OOC) Thanks for sending this in, Ghosts! <3 I love this prompt for them and I think it's really sweet. I hope you enjoy! :D ♡ Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy ♡ Starter for @ghostsandmirrors

Loki had gone to visit Bucky again for the umpteenth time. After the winter soldier had saved the God from succumbing to fatal wounds in the snowfall of Russia, he had grown rather fond of the mortal, eventually staying in the cabin together. With the passage of time and the winter season came new experiences for the trickster; hot chocolate by the fire, snowmen and snowballs, desserts and Christmas movies. The cool air came creeping in through cracks and hollows of the home, icy breath gripping the village tightly as the tides of winter wracked its inhabitants.

Yet, lying undisturbed in the stillness, Loki was enveloped in Bucky's arms. His legs were stretched out and half tangled with the soldier's, lips pressed lightly against his shoulder as he slept soundly. Gentle breathing filled the room, providing a sense of solace within the early morning hours while remnants of the previous night gradually evaporated. Soon, the God stirred from his slumber, blinking away blurry shapes until Bucky's features — softened with sleep — came into focus.

It wasn't long before memories from the night before began to resurface. They had curled up with one another, low whispers into the stillness of the night until sleep had finally overcome them. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he took in the soldier's countenance, from the way his stubble shadowed his features to the long, errant chestnut strands that pooled across the pillow. Shifting slightly, careful not to wake Bucky, the trickster pressed his lips against his chin in a feather-light kiss.

[myfavbuckyfics]

Happy 107th Birthday to my dear husband sayang,Bucky Barnes 💋🖤💜💜💜💕🎂🎉🎊🎁💜💜💜💕

[kayvsworld]

sneaky :)

[geoz-n]

MCU discourse is getting to me.

[nix-sacrificium]

Little bit of Steve Rogera / Jack Rollins slinking into my brain

[johnbottoms]

oh yeah. it's all coming together

[burninblood]

I NEED ED BRUBAKER TO COME BACK AND WRITE A NEW WINTER SOLDIER SPY SERIES PLS 😭😭😭

I was re-reading "Gulag" and ugh, it was so good, so gritty and dark!

[rosyxcc]

I’m just curious. Where does it clarify that this is in fact Bucky and Steve RESCUING the reader from being kidnapped, and not being the ones who kidnap her? I’m just curious! I’m just wondering! I’M JUST CURIOUS! It’s a very innocent question! I’m just curious about what impression this was supposed to give! I’m talking to the author, and currently waiting for a reply after giving my reasoning, and I couldn’t resist saying this SOMEWHERE! To clarify: I did enjoy the fic, a lot, it was very nice, and it was a lot fluffier than I expected, and it was very sweet, and I did like it. HAVING SAID THAT. It was very definitely not what I expected. I feel duped. I liked it, but like, clarification? Maybe add a tag that says “rescued reader” or “rescue mission” or “saved from abuse” or “reader/JERK” or SOMETHING! Please? It would be nice.

… honestly the funniest part is that in the comments, I think the author thought I was upset about it being dark. Like, it sounded like they were thinking I was expecting something lighter because of the description, and didn’t see the tags, but no, I actually was expecting something much darker, and completely misinterpreted the description. I kinda feel bad for that author...

[brokenhardies]

i came up with some ideas for an amalgam universe!

batman + iron man - bruce stark/iron bat superman + captain marvel - ver-el/carol kent/supermarvel wonder woman + captain america - diana rogers/ms america shazam + thor - william blake/captain thunder

harley quinn + deadpool - harley wilson/dead quinn

[tallaennatargaryen]

Do I have a midterm tomorrow (technically today because it's past midnight) that's 25% of my grade that I need to be studying for? Yes.

Am I writing the outline to my Mob!Bucky x OC fic instead? Also yes.

[civilbucky]

woah, the change in tones of this chapter compared to the last? gonna give me whiplash. she was all over him the first few chapters, and now she is running. im curious how bucky will react to this. i think hes catching on.

i get her judgement being clouded by the pressure of angelique, and also her curiosity of bucky, but things wouldve gone better if she took her own pace.

your admirable writing on this chapter, with the complete opposite feelings of the last chapter, have me completely absorbed in this book!

Besotted 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You're stiff and sore. Every part of you is cramped. You open your eyes, lids as heavy as the rest of you. You groan and shift as a weight rests against you. Bucky's arm is hooked around you as he holds you close. 

"Doll," he rolls his pelvis against you. Again. 

You shield your face from the slat of sunlight leaking in around the curtains. You brush his arm and sigh, "I gotta go, Bucky." 

"Where?" He nuzzles the back of your head, rocking against you. 

"Stop!" You smack him and giggle. "I mean it. I have to work." 

"I'll put you to work," he grits. 

"No more," you reach to shove his hip. "Bucky, I can't go anymore." 

"You can't?" He tickles down to your pelvis. "Didn't you beg me for this?" 

"I did, but... " 

"You got what you want, huh?" He snickers. 

"More than," you assure him and clutch his thick fingers. "I'm sorry, but I can't miss work." 

"Baby," he drawls as you sit up, pushing past his resistance. You grip your head as dizziness swells inside. "When are you done?" 

"Oh, gosh," you stand and shake your head. "Haven't you had enough? Don't you have stuff to do?" 

"Only you," he growls. 

You stop and look at him, hands on your hips. He shamelessly scales your body with his eyes. You wave him off and gather up your clothes. You don't say anything as you dress. How do you break it to him that he's right? You did get what you want but now you have to go back to real life. You have a trip to plan for! And an Angelique to brag to. 

"You're so sweet," you grab your phone from the table and your purse. "And... that was amazing. Mind blown, back blown," you keep your thighs apart as you waddle. 

"Mm," he hums and sits up. "So you're off?" 

"I gotta shower." 

"Could do it here." 

"My clothes are at home," you argue as you cross the room, your pelvis scraped and hollow. "Oof." 

"Grab 'em and come back." 

"I don't have long," you check your cell. "I'm sorry but I need all the money I can get right now." 

"I can spot you," he insists. 

You stop with your hand on the doorknob. "No, no, I couldn't. That's... I don't want your money, Bucky. I'll see ya around." 

You smile and quickly unlock the door. You flit out and snap it shut behind you. You stumble across the porch and whimper. It's going to be a long day sitting behind the desk. Maybe you should get one of those special cushions. 

👙

"No way," Angelique sneers. "You actually did it?" 

"At least six times. I lost count," you say proudly as you suck pudding off your spoon. 

"Holy shit. You're fucking lying. Six? I'm surprised he got it up the first time," she cackles. 

"He did. I can't walk straight," you hiss and shift on your chair. 

"You have to be lying. Half the guys I'm with fall asleep the minute they blow." 

"I don't know, Ang, maybe try an old man," you sigh. "And he wouldn't keep his mouth off of me--" 

Theresa looks over her shoulder as she waits for her coffee to brew. You grin and turn away. 

"He ate you out?" 

"Mhmm," you giggle again. 

"Wow," she drones. "Maybe you should introduce us..." 

"Ew, sloppy seconds?" 

"Maybe he has a friend?" She suggests. 

"Now who's lame," you chirp. 

"Shut up." 

"And coming to the beach..." 

"Yeah, whatever," the sniffs. "You know, you were always invited. You didn't have to go fuck a geezer." 

"Jealous." 

"No," she snips. 

"It was your idea." 

"I didn't think you had the balls to do it," she retorts. "I mean, sure, your tits are huge but--" 

"Oh, fuck off, Angie," you roll your eyes. 

She laughs again, "I'll see you soon, bitch. You earned your vacation, but remember, you already spent enough time on your back." 

You make a face and hang up. God, she's such a bitch. Still, you can't wait. You just need to get through today and tomorrow, you'll be off into the sunset. What timing.  

👙

You meet up with Angie after work. You need a new bikini and she's always ready to spend money. It also gives you buffer between you and your neighbour. While your night with Bucky was everything you dreamed an more, you really can't take the awkward aftermath right now. You're too excited for your vacation. The weekend is one more work day away and you're out of here. 

You go to the mall and scowl at the hordes of fellow shoppers. You have no right to despise them but you do. Why do they need things? Can't they come at a different time? 

Angelique chooses her typical fare; strings and not much else. You find a cute red gingham tankini that isn't entirely too modest. According to your outspoken companion though, you could show a bit more skin. You roll your eyes and pay as she continues to pile purchases on at the counter. 

"You wanna come hang out?" You ask as you stop to get a soft pretzel in the food course.  

She snorts, "oh really? You're not too busy banging the old man next door?" 

"Whatever, Ang. It's a one night kinda thing. Really. There's a bit too much time between us." You shrug and thank the guy behind the counter as he hands over your pretzel. 

"I mean that sort of gap is kinda in now," she snickers as you turn down the tile. 

"Yeah, well, I don't know if I should be hanging around him. Apparently he just got out." 

"Got out? Of a dead-end marriage? Divorced men are hot. Probably why he took the time to kiss your kitty," she slithers. 

"No, prison," you lower your voice. "I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I was in the moment when he told me and..." you shrug. "Now I think about it, I'm just... I wonder what he did." 

"Probably drugs or some shit. They give you twenty for a joint in some cases," she slurps on her milkshake and hums. "Bad boy. Oof, sexy daddy." 

"Really? You said his dick wouldn't work?" 

"I've been with older guys and they are just..." she makes and O with her index and thumb. 

"They are what? Trent wasn't old. He was twenty-eight." 

"Well, how old is that criminal, then?" She snaps. 

"I don't know," you pick a piece of the pretzel away. "It's got me thinking. I don't know much about him, do I?" 

"And yet you fucked him. I pass my slut crown to you, your majesty." 

"Shut up. Okay? It's... whatever. It was good. I'm glad it's done with, I just..." you eye your sugary pretzel, "I need this vacation. Give him time to cool down. And me." 

👙

Angelique ditches you. She says she needs to pack but you saw the message from Kev on her phone. She needs something to brag about at the beach so she can drown out your own boasting. 

You yawn as you get to the duplex. It's dark. the streetlights are on. It's past nine and you're going to regret this when you have to get up for work. 

You jingle your keys lazily as your shopping bags rustle together. You pull open the screen door, shrouded in shadows, and search out the right key. Why do you have so many? 

A thump behind you makes you jump. Your keys fall to your feet. You turn to the silhouette watching you from the bottom step.  

"You're home late," Bucky says. 

You bend to get your keys and blow out a breath, "you scared me." 

"Did I? Probably shouldn't be creeping in after dark," he grits. 

You stand and narrow your eyes. You can't see him through the dark. "Right, well, I needed to grab some stuff." 

"Sure," he clucks. 

You frown. What's his problem? You turn and shove the keys in the lock. You quickly reach inside to flip on the porch light. You drop your bags inside and face him. You gasp as he's right behind you. You grip the door frame as you step back into it. 

"Bucky, hi, uh, I need to get ready for bed." 

He's quiet. The yellow bulb shines over him and pools in his eyes. You gulp. His expression is rigid. 

"Can I join you?" He speaks at last. 

"Oh, uh," you smile, "that'd be great but I had a long day," you pat his chest. "Maybe another time." 

He huffs, "sure... guess we did stay up pretty late." 

"Right. Besides, I'm sure you have lots of stuff to do." 

He tilts his head, "nothing important," he puts his hand on the frame, just above yours. "I had a really nice time with you, doll." 

"It was great," you chime. "Really, it was... super." 

"Your first time," he tuts. "Wish you'd said something." 

"I didn't want to ruin the moment," you brush his fingers. "Well, Bucky, you have a good night." 

"Hmm," he inhales, "sure you don't want me to come in and check for bugs?" 

"All good," you cover your mouth and force a yawn. "See ya around." 

His face falls again. You hold back a shiver as his pupils grow and you gulp. You gently reach for the screen door. 

He moves away and watches you. He just stands there until you snap shut the outer door. You slowly push the inner one into place and twist the lock. You hold your breath and listen. You don't hear him go. 

You shake it off and back away. You grab you bags and turn on the hallway light. You make your way down to your room. That pretzel upset your stomach. Too much sugar. 

You unpack your things from the bag, sorting it into what to take and what you might return. Angelique always talks you into the worst things. 

You fall asleep easily. You really are worn out. You drift into a slog of roiling shadows and silence. You roll over as your arm tingles from being trapped beneath you and you grumble as your head spins. You blink at your room and shift in your bed. The moonlight streams in and casts across your messy blankets. 

You open your eyes and nearly scream. There's the outline of a man right outside. You blink and sit up, heaving in horror. No, it's gone. Was it even there? You're tired. Seeing things. 

You lay back down and shudder. You brush your hands over your face and sigh. Just one more day and you can forget about it all. 

👙

Your last day of work drags. You nearly fall asleep at your desk. The hours are dull and so are you. You go through it all like riding a bike. It's all muscle memory. 

It isn't until you leave that the uneasiness stirs. You have to sneak past your neighbour who always tends to be outside. Before, you looked forward to the encounters, now you're playing hide and seek. Maybe he was right... You should have listened. 

Yet, you don't regret any of it. Just thinking of it makes you tingle. You smile just before you cross the street but quickly wipe it away. You keep your head on straight and rush down your walk. You dare a peek to his side of the property as you get to the steps. 

His bike is gone. He's not there. Or at least not that you can tell. 

You run up the stairs and quickly skirt inside. You need to get everything ready. You put a pizza in the oven and get to work. 

You pack a single duffel and your beach bag. Angelique will have at least triple that even if she won't use it all. You spend the night double-checking and re-checking as you eat nearly half the frozen thin-crust on your own. 

You fall asleep watching Golden Girls and wake as your phone buzzes beside your pillow. The morning dances between your curtains, drawn almost shut since the night before. It's not paranoia. Not at all. 

Angelique's message slowly unblurs in your groggy visions; 'up and at em, bitch'.  

The only thing she ever wakes up early for is the beach or shopping. You roll out of bed and nearly fall on your ass. Your bags are at the door. You just need to get yourself together. 

You rush around and get into your new tankini, covering it with shorts and a crochet sweater. You pop on a sunhat and step into your sandals. You check the battery on your phone and nearly forget to snatch up your solar charger. You're just about ready, Angelique just needs to step on the gas. 

You grab your tumbler full of iced coffee as the knock comes at the door. You skip to it and swing it open with a smile and a hop. You stop short as the screen door is propped open against Bucky's shoulder. You shrink down as his eyes slowly descend your figure. His brows draw together. 

"Morning, doll," his hand is on his hip. 

"Um, hi, Bucky, how's it going? Oh, did my pool blow away again?" 

He shakes his head, "you headed out?" 

You look down at yourself then at him. "The beach! Going to go get some sun." 

"The beach," he echoes. "Right." 

"I would invite you but it's Angelique's thing and... yeah," you wiggle your shoulders and look past him.  

As if she hears her name, your friend pulls up in her Barbie pink convertible and toots the horn, "come on, whore!" 

You cringe and glance at Bucky again. You clear your throat. You turn and grab your bags. 

"Sorry, I gotta get going." You manage to balance it all on your shoulders as you grip your keys and cup. "Needa be early to get a good spot." 

You step out and he backs up, still close, crowding you as you lock the door. 

"Hm, I'll... keep an eye on things then." He growls. 

"Oh thank you, Bucky," you preen and face him. "You're the sweetest." 

You twirl away and hurry across the porch. You nearly sprint down the walk and toss your bags in the back of the open top car. You get in and pop your cup into the holder near the console. Angelique giggles. 

"Aren't you in a hurry?" She cackles. 

"Shut up," you send her a cringe. "Just drive."