Hey guys! This is my first fic, so it might not be the most perfectly put together, but I really missed the old Tony party fics—and the angst—so here we are :) Hope you enjoy it! (And yeah, I probably messed up some tenses along the way.)
was listening to Her body by Nasty Cherry
I'll be down for you, maybe
If you can prove you're good, baby
How's that working out for you?
The elevator door chimed as she stepped out to Tony Stark’s annual party, which was really, for her, just another lame excuse to get drunk as fuck—and for Thor, as he’d learned, an annual ball to get bitches. A pulse of heavy music surged through the glass walls, vibrating beneath her feet. The bar was bathed in a champagne haze.
She’d barely been at the party five minutes and already felt the room breathing down her neck. Smoothing out her dress, a backless plunging dress too tight, heels clicking against the floor, she picked up a drink. Scanning the crowd, she saw Sam grinning and wildly gesturing with his drink, probably giving out punchlines, and Steve leaning against the bar with his hands in his pockets, talking to Natasha, who was perched on the velvet high stool sipping what looked like her fifth glass of champagne.
Walking toward her teammates with a faint smile, she headed over.
“Okay!” Sam gestured to her, then to her figure draped in the dress. “Alright now, see this is exactly what I’m talking about. People showing up like they own the damn place. I support it, girl.”
Steve looked over. “Yeah, you look uh… nice. Very classy.”
Natasha raised one eyebrow, eyes flicking down then back up—smirking—clearly fed up with the two men’s antics. “You look hot.”
You held her gaze. “Oh well, you know—it’s all for you, Romanoff.”
Sam, who enjoyed taking the piss out of you on a regular basis, lowered his glass mid-sip, gave you a slow once-over, and grinned. “I mean damn. Bucky’s gonna see you and forget all his trigger words.”
“I’ll stab you with this fucking heel, Wilson.”
“I’m just sayin’, the man spent a hundred years in cryo, woke up mad. Then you show up lookin’ like that?”
Steve sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Y’know what, I’m saying that man’s gonna to short circuit.”
He sighed again, long-suffering. “Please behave.”
“That’s it, Sam, I’m going after Redwing,” you said jokingly, remembering how long it took Sam to recalibrate it after their last mission.
“Flirting and violence? Huh, see, Bucky is going to fall in love twice.”
Sighing, you muttered, “Forget it. He’s probably going to walk right past me.”
Sam speaking with a slight smugness in his voice adding "And stare at you the entire damn time after."
You knew what you felt for him. That part was easy. The hard part was Bucky—impossible to read, impossible to hold onto. One minute it was the long stares that burned through you, the way he’d bark at you after a mission, call you reckless only to be the one wrapping your wounds with hands too gentle to believe. The next, it was the same old sting: him drifting away, laughter tossed toward someone else, as if the moments with you had never mattered at all. And maybe they didn’t. Maybe you were just a story he rewrote depending on the day.
Look, Steve smiled lightly "You know how he is. Bucky feels more than he’ll ever admit. Half the time he looks at you like you’re the only thing steady in his head. The other half… he runs. He doesn’t always trust what he wants, and he sure as hell doesn’t think he deserves it."
Natasha gave you a flat look, unimpressed. “Is that why he still hasn’t come over here? Because of you?” Her words cut through the noise, sharper than the bass thrumming underfoot.
The rest of them turned to follow her gaze—and there he was. Bucky, alone at the edge of the room, shoulders stiff, eyes flicking anywhere but toward your group. The act of indifference was a bad one; it read more like rejection, like he’d rather hold up a wall than face whatever sat between you.
He stood awkwardly beside Thor, who was beaming like this was the best night of his life. Thor clapped a heavy hand on Bucky’s back, gesturing to the golden goblet in his fist,“Come, Barnes! You must try the mead of Asgard. Stronger than any mortal drink, fit for warriors!” no doubt trying to sell him on the wonders of Midgardian mead. Bucky gave a tight nod, the kind that said he wasn’t listening. Bucky gave him a side-eye, lips twitching. “Pretty sure one glass already knocked out Legolas and the scientist.” “Ha! They are weaklings! But you—surely you are made of sturdier stuff.”
Meanwhile, Clint and Bruce had already gone soft around the edges on the sofa. One glass in and they were slurring like old men at a dive bar, Clint laughing at his own joke while Bruce looked seconds away from a nap.
“I’m good, really.” His eyes scanned the room, searching for a way out. He spotted Steve by the bar, straight-backed, calm as ever—the obvious escape hatch. For a second he started that way, shoulders shifting like he might excuse himself.
But Steve was already looking back, like he knew what Bucky was thinking, and the weight of that old familiarity pinned him in place.
So instead, Bucky’s gaze drifted—and landed on you. Too quick, too sharp, like he hadn’t meant to. The noise of the party pressed in around him, but he held there a second too long, caught. The flicker in his eyes wasn’t quite longing, wasn’t quite regret—just that haunted in-between he wore too often when it came to you.
He tore his gaze away just as fast, mumbling something back to Thor, but the damage was done. You’d seen it.
OKAY GUYS... lwk that was it, just a tiny portion- please let me know if should continue it or not, this is my first time writing- so idk what to do at all, but I'll probably tailor it to your requests!
tried to remember why the many instances of robby’s self soothing looked so familiar and then i realized. bentoncarter always at the scene of the crime.
