ⓘ Headcanons of having Hitoshi Shinsou as your pretty boyfriend !
Hitoshi Shinso who would bribe you into getting cats, doesn't matter how many you have. He made you love them and now you keep wanting more.
Hitoshi Shinso who would definitely teach you how to play guitar, and if you already know—even better. You two hangout half of the afternoon just playing it together.
Hitoshi Shinso who calls you at midnight just because "Can't sleep, come over" and despite how late he calls you, you always end up showing.
Hitoshi pro ragebaiter Shinso who just love annoying you the second he gets an opportunity to. The expression you do and the valid crashouts only make him continue.
Hitoshi Shinso who also loves when you nap with him, earphones in your ears, falling asleep with music who rocks you to sleep. Who said listening to Chase Atlantic couldn't make you sleep?
Hitoshi Shinso who would sometime use his quirk out of nowhere because it confuses you and you look alarmingly close to a confused cat when he does so. Just know that you'll do something important, yelling that you can't be with him right now and suddenly you're laying on him.
Hitoshi Shinso and dates with you in a cat cafe. Having fun with cats while having sweets is his favorite thing. Especially when you give him a reason to, like tutoring session.
✦setting: this fanfiction sets during the events of cafta.
✦genre: best friends to lovers, slow burn.
✦ summary: they wrote your ending for you long before you learned how to resist it.
Promised to one man, in love with another, and standing on the edge of a fate meant to swallow you whole — you discover that not all tragedies end in water. Some are interrupted.
✦warnings: implicit sex, emotional abuse & manipulation, period typical misogyny, non-consensual medical examination, sexual shame – slut shaming language, war themes & deployment anxiety, angst, coercion and emotional distress.
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You were fine with an arranged marriage... or at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since the moment you stepped into the bridal shop. Your mother couldn’t make it today, and your future in-law was traveling this week.
Your reflection in the mirror looked back at you. The white fabric caught the light, sending back soft glimmers, as if it was breathing with you. The V-neck framed your neck and collarbones with quiet elegance, while the fitted bodice molded your figure before flowing into a full skirt that spread around you like a whisper.
Yet, for some reason, you felt like you were suffocating.
You stepped back and sank onto the stool in the middle of the private fitting room, taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. A pair of blue steel eyes peeked through the doorway, and before you could say or do anything, your best friend walked in. That boyish grin making your stomach twist in ways you weren’t ready to name.
He was in his uniform, every medal in place.
“I didn’t know you’d made it to the final stage of planning, sunny. Your mother didn’t come to pick up the dress with you?”
You shook your head, but before you could respond, the shop assistant intervened. “Excuse me, it’s considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her —”
“He’s not my fiancé,” you interrupted, waving a hand dismissively, though saying it out loud made your stomach knot anyway.
Bucky laughed, shooting the woman a cheeky smile. She flushed furiously as he passed by. “She doesn’t have much luck, doll.” Ugh. He was so effortlessly flirtatious that it was maddening. You tossed a few stray buttons in his direction. “Oof, you missed your shot, sunny. Good thing I still have my bulletproof vest on”. He joked, his gaze sweeping over you in a way he hoped you wouldn’t notice... but you did, and your cheeks warmed instantly. “That dress looks exquisite on you, sunny. Charles is a lucky bastard.”
That made your bubble pop. Right. The dress. Charles, your real fiancé.
“I feel like it’s cutting off my circulation”, you admitted, turning your back at him. “Since you’re here, do something useful and help me unzip it. I’ve been suffocating since I put it on.”
His hands settled on your waist; you felt his breath brushing your neck. “Sunny...” he began. “You don’t have to marry Charles if you don’t want to. His family can find him someone else for that merger.”
He had a point... though he didn’t.
“The invitations were sent. The venue is booked. It’s too late to cancel everything. My parents would kick me out — what then?” You exhaled sharply, glancing at Bucky’s reflection behind you in one of the mirrors. “They’ve made it clear they don’t support me studying. For them, my main role is to preserve our family line. On the other hand, Charles said that he could take me to Western Europe to study if I want to.”
Bucky sighed. “And how the hell is he planning to do that, in the middle of a war, huh?” His hands stayed on your waist, his breath now tickling your neck. “There’s no way, sunny. You can find another husband. Didn’t you tell me once you wanted to marry someone you love?”
“That was a fantasy”, you replied coldly. “If I don’t get married, my parents will send me to work in a factory as a punishment. And more than half the men in Brooklyn are already enlisted in the army. Where else would I find someone to fall in love with and marry, genius?”
Finally, his hands tensed, and he made you turn around to face him. His voice was calm, but his gaze said more than words ever could.
“You mean there’s no one in your life you want right now?”
“You know what I mean, Bucky.” Your voice was a low murmur, the knot in your stomach tightening. “You must go to war. That’s what you said when I told you about my wedding, you said you got your deployment orders and...”
“Fuck the deployment orders. That was some stupid mistake, sunny. I’ll quit the army for you, for us...”
You shook your head, but it felt heavy in your shoulders, like even that gesture was too much to carry. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. You can’t just quit the army, not with your deployment orders already issued. You’ll get in trouble.”
“Then we run away. Everything will be okay as long as we have each other.” He said, as if it was simple. The blue of his eyes was almost translucent, pure longing.
And hell, you wanted to say yes. You wanted to tell your parents, Charles and the stupid dress to go to hell. But Charles family… they had the power and the resources to send Bucky to the front early. You shook your head again, looking away. “If you’re not helping me with the zipper, then go.”
And so, he did, leaving you alone in the middle of the dressing shop, feeling how the bodice constricted your chest, and your heart along with it. Yeah, arranged marriages totally sucked.
You hadn’t heard from Bucky since that day.
Not even through Steve, who went to your father to ask him for a favor so he could be accepted in the army despite his failed medical exam. Your father couldn’t do anything and even advised him to stop trying... and he vanished as soon as you asked him about Bucky.
Now you are at the World’s Exposition of Tomorrow, Howard Stark headlining the exhibition with his last discoveries... and your fianceé family was figuring among the main investors. The Morgan Family was a respected dynasty, and the fact their name was attached to scientific improvements, and Stark’s patents had your parents drooling over the prestige.
“...it’s a shame Winnifred and George couldn’t join us today.” Your father said, snapping you out of your daze as he walked beside you and Charles. It was a custom for families like theirs to never appear in public unchaperoned, so you were never alone with him. “I just saw James with Steve, having fun with a couple of young ladies.”
Your stomach lurched. Bucky was here? In a double date with Steve? That was... low.
“James as James Barnes? That poor boy is too young to be in the army,” Charles interrupted, trying to catch your gaze that got lost in the multitude. “Is he a friend of yours, darling?”
You nodded, as you excuse yourself to the restroom. Neither of them gave any sign of noticing your white lie. You weaved through a few booths, and when you spotted Bucky unmistakably through the crowd, you quietly grabbed his free hand... the other one that wasn’t holding his date.
“May I have a word with you?” You asked once he turned to face you. He shrugged, glancing at the attractive girl who was with him, who was distracted by the demonstration about some flying car on the stage. “...in private.”
Without another word, you led him toward the back of one of the food tents, the biggest one, so you both could be hidden from the curious gazes of everyone.
“I was on a date, sunny, a double date, actually Steve needs... —”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving tomorrow?” You interrupted. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about Steve or their double date. “Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye? Does my... friendship mean so little to you?”
Bucky grimaced at your words. “I could ask you the same thing, sunny. Do I mean so little to you that you’ve gone ahead with this wedding?” Your chest ached, and you shrank in on yourself. “Tell me, sunny... what’s the point of saying goodbye? By the time I return from my assignment you probably won’t even be living here in Brooklyn anymore.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you replied, although you knew there was some truth in his statement. The Morgan family owned so many properties in Connecticut that, even if you didn’t want to, you likely would end up moving there “Would you rather leave knowing our last conversation happened in that bridal shop?”
“Oh, you mean that conversation where I said I’d give up everything for us, and you told me it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever said?” Bucky laughed, humorlessly, shaking his head. “Neither of us should even be here. I saw you arrive with the Morgan family, sunny. If they notice we’re sneaking around...”
You shook your head, even though you knew he was right. You were testing your luck. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself. Promise me you won’t do anything reckless and you’ll come back in one piece.” Your voice cracked, and finally, Bucky’s expression softened.
“Don’t cry over this poor sergeant, sunny. You’ll get wrinkles before your wedding day, and the groom will say ‘no’ at the altar”. He paused, a small, crooked smile, tugging his lips. “I hope he does, though. That way, I can take you with me the moment I return from war.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly, brushing a hand over his cheek. God, you wanted to kiss him so badly. “I love you, sergeant.” Before you could say more, your father’s voice called her from across the crowd. “I must go. I’ll leave my window open, I’ll stay awake.”
You heard a soft knock on your window, right after midnight. Your house was in complete silence, so you rushed and helped him get inside without making any noise. There he was. He looked tired, but also, there was a glint of something you couldn’t quite name in his eyes.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come tonight. Dropped your date this late, huh?” You said, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but there was something twisting in your chest as you spoke.
“Jealous much, sweetheart?” He teased, making room for himself next to you in your bed. It was a twin bed, and you barely fit, but you couldn’t care less.
“Ugh, don’t start with that pet name. Save it for your conquests, James.” You replied, rolling your eyes. “Just as ‘doll’ or whatever you charm Brooklyn women with.”
His hand found yours through the dark, his fingers intertwining with yours in silence, your pulse spiked at that, you swore he could listen to it. “At the fair... you said you loved me. Did you really mean it? Or was it just what felt right at the time?”
You nodded, knowing he couldn’t see you in the dark. “I do. Guess I have since that day Steve, you and I went to Coney Island, and you won that stupid teddy bear for me. Or maybe that day you brought me flowers for my birthday... I don’t know when I started loving you but...”
You don’t get to finish, one second; you’re talking (whispering, actually) and the next he’s kissing you gently and unannounced, stealing the words right off your tongue. The kiss is light at first, almost hesitant, but it deepens just enough to feel intentional. Not a question, not a rush — just a quiet, careful promise pressed to your lips.
Bucky pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “Couldn't stand the fact that prick would be your first kiss...” he murmured against your lips, shifting in bed, holding himself above you in his forearms. “He only sees you as a pawn, something to get status. You deserve to be worshipped... loved.”
Something in his voice makes your chest ache. You reach without thinking, your hand warm against his jaw, grounding him there with you.
He kisses you like he means it — like a promise, like a vow he doesn’t trust words to hold. You hesitate for a moment, not because you don’t want him, but because wanting him suddenly feels like something fragile.
Bucky feels it. He doesn’t move closer right away; doesn’t rush or close the space you didn’t ask him to cross. Instead, his thumb brushes softly along your jaw, grounding, patient.
“Hey”, he whispers, barely louder than your breathing. “We don’t have to do anything else, sunny. I’m good just kissing you.”
The reassurance settles you. The way he looks at you, does more than any kiss could. When he leans again, it’s slow, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. You meet him halfway, tentative at first, then surer, and his answering is warm and steady, like a promise kept.
By the end of the night, you’re sure about two things:
1) You loved Bucky Barnes more than anything.
2) You shouldn’t marry Charles.
Just activate a grenade and toss it into the garden where the wedding is supposed to happen”. You joke for the umpteenth time to Steve, who’s clearly tired of hearing the same request repeatedly. “
He rolls his eyes and tosses a stone into the lake. “Why not just cancel the wedding like Bucky told you? Charles seems reasonable.”
“The key word is ‘seems’, Stevie.” you reply, crossing your arms. “Don’t forget he’s almost ten years older than me, and that he couldn’t find a wife on his own despite his attractiveness.”
“You could’ve said no from the start.” He says, but the truth is... not really. You tried talking to your parents out of that idea, but they barely listened. And Charles, well, he promised the moon and the stars: a professional career, a tutor to prepare you for college in Eastern Europe... and you fell for it, because honestly? Women didn’t get too many chances at education. “...I’m not throwing a grenade, period.”
The two of you fall silent, staring off at nothing. “Any news from Bucky’s unit?” You asked finally. Both of you have been trying to get updates since the moment he left, offering each other moral support.
Steve shakes his head. “He’s alive, okay? He has to be. He’s strong, smart... always finds a way out. Hell, I think he might even flirt with the enemies’ nurses to get healed in case he’s injured.” That earns him a nudge from you. “Hey! I’m just saying. It’s a shame, he didn’t want to go there... and here I am, wishing I was there and forced to watch and pray for my country and for my best friend.”
“There are worst fates than that... look at me, about to marry a man I don’t love.” You finish, looping an arm around his shoulders. “...unless you throw that grenade.”
Steve exhales, but before he can reply, your father intervenes, giving you a disapproving look at how close you are to him. To another man that’s not your fiancé. You can already predict the lecture about propriety.
“The family doctor is here for your prenuptial evaluation,” your father announces, arms crossed. “Say goodbye to your friend.”
“An... evaluation? Do they really have to —?” You pale at the thought. “Father, this is ridiculous, don’t you think?”
Steve notices your discomfort and nods towards your father with a brief, reassuring pat on your shoulder. But you’re lost in memories of that last night with Bucky, when his hands traced your body and your lips sought each other in the darkness.
Now a doctor was here to inspect you as if you were Charles’ property. And the truth is, married or not, you could never belong to him.
The rest of the exam passes in a blur. Routine checks: blood pressure, breathing, skin, eyes, ears, temperature. You obey automatically until it’s time to lie on the bed.
“I need to use the bathroom,” you say when Dr. Higgins asks you to lift your dress. You try to rise, but he stops you. “Miss, I assure you I’m a professional. I’ve done thousands of these exams. And we are, after all, in your room.” That was the problem. If the stories about virginity were true, he would know immediately.
You take a deep breath and force yourself to appear… untouched. Not that you believe it’s possible, but that’s how you hold yourself during the inspection, staring at the ceiling as if waiting for a divine sign.
“All done. I’ll give the results to young Mr. Morgan,” he says, patting your knee so you can close your legs. You lower your skirt and stare into the distance.
“Will the results remain confidential? That only my fiancé sees them?” Your cheeks burn, earning the doctor a raised eyebrow, but he nods knowingly.
“Don’t worry. That’s standard for prenup evaluations—confidential for both parties.”
Another try-on evening at the bridal shop.
But this time, Charles was beside you. There were only a few days remaining before the wedding, and he had become your shadow, following you wherever you go. Honestly, a friendly face would have been welcomed, but Steve has been chosen for the ‘Rebirth project’ and was out on the bond tours.
Charles is leaning against the doorframe, while the seamstress removes a few pins from your dress to adjust it. You nervously fidget with your fingers, looking at him in the mirror.
“It’s considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride’s dress before the wedding,” you murmured, shifting your weight. You flinch as the woman pricks you with a pin in the ribs.
Charles shakes his head. “Let me tell you something, darling. This union was cursed from the day you gave your virtue to someone else.”
You paled, alarmed. “Darling... Charles, I —”
“Shut your mouth, dear. Didn’t your parents teach you it’s rude to speak back to your future husband?” The word ‘dear’ drips like velvet poison from his lips. “Who was it? I’ll tear him apart.”
Your legs tremble under his scrutiny. The seamstress continues her work, oblivious —or perhaps used to it. “N... no... it doesn’t matter who it was,” you whisper, the knot in your stomach tightening.
Charles lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, but it does. It was James Barnes, wasn’t it? I saw the way your face dropped on the expo. It must hurt, doesn’t it? Must hurt to be nothing but a filthy little flirt for him.”
You press your face into your hands, forcing yourself to hold back tears and swallow the lump in your throat. “Charles, enough. We’re in public.”
“I hope he dies on his mission.” He turns sharply toward the door. “You’re lucky my parents are fond of you. Otherwise, I’d have canceled this shitshow and let everyone in Brooklyn know the kind of... woman my fiancée really is.”
You don’t realize you’re shaking until he slams the door, and a pin drops to the floor.
The seamstress murmurs a quiet “I’m sorry,” not for the prick of the pin, but for everything else, but you don’t know how to respond. You let her help you out of the dress and put your clothes back on before walking outside, only to find Charles waiting outside his car. The cold gaze he gave you sank deep in your bones.
You were doomed. Your fate was sealed, and it all felt like a nightmare.
Rehearsal dinner came quickly after that day. It was harsh to fake a smile in front of everyone. Everything was too bright. Too loud. Too polished.
Crystal glasses clinked against porcelain plates, laughter rising and falling in practiced waves, and everywhere you look there are smiles —wide, approving, satisfied. Yours is among them, perfectly rehearsed, fixed in place until your cheeks ache.
You sit at the head of the table beside Charles, your posture immaculate, your hands folded neatly in your lap. Every time someone congratulates you, you nod and murmur a polite thanks, the words slipping out automatically, as if you’re watching yourself from somewhere far away.
Inside, your chest feels tight.
The room is warm —too warm — and the air feels heavy in your lungs, like you’re breathing through damp fabric. Each course drags on longer than the last, each toast another weight pressing down on your ribs. Someone mentions the future. Children. Family line. You smile again, but it feels like lying with your entire body.
Across the table, your parents beam with pride. This is everything they wanted. Respect. Security. A perfect alliance.
You excuse yourself at the first polite opportunity, murmuring something about needing fresh aire. No one questions it. No one ever does.
Outside, the night greets you with a cold breeze off Lake Erie. You step closer to the railing, fingers curling around the iron, and for a moment you let yourself imagine it — the water swallowing the noise, the expectations, the carefully constructed life closing over your head until everything goes blessedly quiet.
You wouldn’t even have to swim. The thought scares you, how tempting it feels. How easy it would be to lean forward, to let the dark take you.
Instead, you press a hand to your chest and breathe slow and shallow, until the dizziness fades. You tell yourself this is just nerves. Just fear. That it will pass. But deep down, you know the truth; this was all doomed.
You hear a door closing behind you, and your pulse spikes. Footsteps. Voices. Reality rushing back in. You straighten instinctively, shoulders drawing back, mask sliding into place before you even turn around. The laughter, the toasts, the future waiting for you inside —it all presses down at once, heavy and unavoidable. Your chest tightens, breath turning shallow, and suddenly it feels like the walls are closing all over again.
You are trapped.
“Did someone need a grenade?” The voice cuts through the noise like a spark in the dark. You freeze.
Steve Rogers steps out of the dark, grin already in place, dressed neatly and far too casual for a room full of rigid expectations. Behind him —half a step back, as if he doesn’t quite trust the moment: Bucky. Alive. Whole. Real.
For a second, you forget how to breathe. Even in the dark, you could see some scars on his cheeks and dirt on his clothes. His expression looked different to that usual confident facade he always portrays, but it’s still him.
Steve’s smile widens when he sees your expression. “Brought a little something for my favorite bride to be. Couldn’t let you get married to the wrong man.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you, blue eyes soft and searching, like he’s memorizing the sight of you standing there under the dim lights. Like he’s afraid you might disappear if he blinks.
And for the first time all evening, the tightness in your chest eases.
Bucky steps closer, slow, careful, like he’s approaching something fragile. The noise from inside fades into a dull hum, the world narrowing until it’s just the three of you beneath the terrace lights.
“What have they done to you?” You whisper, stepping into the darkness, voice breaking at the end. Your hand caresses his scarred cheek.
Bucky steps closer, lowering his voice like the night itself might be listening.
“They kept asking questions,” he says. No drama. No anger. Just truth. “Didn’t always wait for answers.” Your stomach twists. “I don’t remember how many days it was,” he continues, eyes fixed on yours. “But every time I thought I wasn’t going to make it… I thought of you.”
Your breath hitches at that. “I told myself I couldn’t die,” he says quietly. “Not if it meant you’d end up marrying someone else.” A pause. “Couldn’t let my girl slip through my fingers without a fight.”
Those words hit harder than anything Charles ever said to you.
Behind you, Steve shifts, clearing his throat softly —giving you a moment, then grounding it. “If this is happening, I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”
Bucky holds your gaze and covers your hand with his. “Say the word, sunny.” He murmured. “And I’ll get you out of this shitshow.”
The dinner. The wedding. Life expectations waiting inside to close over you like water.
You nod and that’s all he needs. Steve turns on his heel, already moving. “I’ll draw attention. You two take the long way around.”
Bucky finally takes your hand, firm and sure, like something solid in a world that’s been slipping out from under you for weeks. As you move into the dark, away from the lights and the music, his thumb presses gently against your skin. The noise fades behind you, and then it hits you.
Your shoulders tense, the weight of weeks —months —crashing down all at once. The pretending. The smiling. The suffocating certainty that your life had already been decided for you. But then, there’s Bucky. Here. Alive. In front of you. Saving you.
Your vision blurs before you even realize you’re crying.
“Hey,” he acknowledges, stopping immediately, turning fully toward you. His hands come up instinctively, steadying you when your knees threaten to give. “What is it, sunny?”
You try to speak, but the sound that leaves you is a broken breath instead. “I —” Your voice trembles, betraying you. “I thought... I thought this was it. That I was already gone. That I would never see you again.”
The tears spill freely now, hot and unrestrained, born not from fear — but from release. From the sudden understanding that the future you were marching toward, terrified and alone, no longer has its claws in you.
He pulls you into him without hesitation. His hand slides to the back of your head, cradling you there as your forehead presses into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat right beneath your ear, and it only makes you cry harder.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice low and rough with something unspoken. “I wasn’t gonna let them take you. Not like that.”
Your fingers curl into his jacket, clinging like the ground beneath you might disappear again if you let go. “I didn’t think anyone was coming,” you admitted softly. The words muffled against him. “I really thought… this was my fate.”
He exhales slowly, his thumb brushing back and forth against your skin in that same gentle motion, over and over. Anchoring you. “Not anymore,” he says quietly. “That future doesn’t get to have you.”
The house is small. That’s the first thing you notice.
Not a mansion. Not a place meant to impress. Just a narrow, two-story building tucked between trees, far enough from the road that the night sounds feel louder than the world you left behind.
Steve unlocks the door and steps aside. “You’re safe here,” he says simply. “No one knows about this place. Not officially at least.”
The word officially carries weight now.
Bucky squeezes your hand as you step inside. The rooms fell faintly of dust and soap, like somewhere that hasn’t been lived in yet. Or somewhere waiting.
“There’s food in the kitchen. Blankets are in the closet. You can stay as long as you need.” Steve clears his throat. “I’ll check back in a couple days. Just... rest, okay? Both of you.”
When the door closes behind him, the silence settles — not heavy, not threatening. Just quiet.
Safe.
You sink onto the edge of the bed in the small bedroom, your body finally giving in to exhaustion now that it’s allowed to. The dress is gone. The expectations are gone. Even your name feels lighter here. Bucky crouches in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees. “You okay, sunny?”
You nod. Then shake your head. A broken, breathless laugh surprises you both. Bucky smiles, small and sure before pulling you into his chest, arms wrapping around you fully this time — not careful, not restrained. Just holding you like someone who’s allowed to.
Outside, the wind moves through the trees. Somewhere far away, the war keeps turning.
But here, you breathe. And for the first time, nothing asks you to drown.
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taglist: the very first person who read this drabble ♡ @herejustforbuckybarnes
✦a/n: this is the first bucky barnes fic I've ever written! (Also, first time writing in english so sorry in advance if i mistranslated or mistyped something.) I’ve written about my other interests (boybands mostly), but I listened to the fate of ophelia this morning and remembered “when life gives you tangerines” kdrama and this idea came to me, also, had to be 40’s bucky cause he’s so cute and he deserved more. Hope u guys like it, and it’s not my debut and goodbye lol.
authors note | happy thanksgiving bbys! Not proof read and the ending is rushed *cry* but who cares. Also I’ve done an ending just like this for a fic before and…who cares! <3 dt: @opheliabbarnes @pinksplace for the hype up @barnes-babydoll I think you would like it idk lolll and my bby @bckyslover
The early morning silence in your house was a thick, comforting thing, broken only by the chirp of the kettle and the rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the hallway. Sunlight, still riding and tentative, angled through the kitchen window, bathing the counters in a cool glow.
You stirred first, pulling the comforter tighter around your shoulders, realizing instantly that Bucky was already awake. He laid beside you, propped up on an elbow, watching you with that soft, entirely unguarded expression you were still getting used to.
“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
“G’Morning,” you whispered back, leaning up to press a quick, sleepy kiss against his jaw. His beard was scruffy, smelling faintly of the sandalwood soap he preferred over your sweet warm vanilla one.
But the domestic peace wasn't the only thing swimming in your minds. Today was the day. Today, you were driving across the state line to meet the Barnes’.
Bucky smiled, but his eyes, usually so clear and steady, held a flicker of apprehension. “We’re still doing this today, right? You didn’t decide to fake a sudden illness on me overnight?”
You laughed, sitting up fully, resting a hand on his bicep giving it a playful squeeze. “Absolutely not. I want to meet them. But if I break an heirloom china or…something, you have to promise you’ll still claim me.”
He reached out and stroked the curve of your cheek, his thumb dragging gently over the bone. “They’re gonna be focusing on how much better I am since I met you. They love me. They’re just protective. And they’re gonna love you too, doll.”
He used the term ‘doll’ sparingly, reserving it for moments of deep affection or serious reassurance, and hearing it now sent a needed jolt of confidence through you.
“I know,” You swung your legs out of bed. “But confidence doesn’t make an impression. A perfect, deeply flavorful culinary contribution does.”
Your chosen weapon for the afternoon’s dinner was a classic Apple Pie—a double-crust masterpiece, infused with cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dash of bourbon, designed to enjoy without being overly fussy.
The kitchen soon transformed into a highly focused, moderately chaotic workshop. You, despite nerves, were comfortable in this space as you tied your apron— already with flour—and set about the crucial task of the crust.
Bucky hovered. He had dressed in soft, worn denim and a thick thermal shirt, looking like the ideal poster boy for rustic, holiday life. He stood watching your every precise movements as you cut the butter and scooping it into the flour blend.
“You sure I can’t help with that?” he asked, leaning over, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“You can help by staying clean,” Y/ou instructed, tapping his nose lightly with the back of your floured hand. “And by not contaminating the integrity of the pastry. It has to be cold and unforgivingly dry. Step one is flaky perfection. It doesn’t appreciate warmth.”
“But I’m inherently warm,” he protested, his breath tickling your earlobe.
“Okay. You can peel the apples. But be warned: you steal one slice, and you lose your kitchen privileges.”
Bucky took the peeler with a nod, his metallic hand surprisingly delicate and efficient against the round, crisp red apples. He worked in focused silence for a few minutes, the peels spiraling off neatly onto the paper towel.
But… trouble started when you moved onto the filling.
You had just managed to toss the slices with brown sugar, spices, and the crucial splash of bourbon, the aroma instantly filling the kitchen air. You tasted it carefully with a small spoon, adjusting the nutmeg.
Bucky suddenly appeared at your elbow, his eyes wide and eager, looking less like a grown man and more like a five-year-old at the candy aisle.
“Just a little taste, darlin’. I have to ensure the bourbon-to-cinnamon ratio is correct.”
“It’s raw, Bucky. It’s just spices and apples,” you said, trying to push him away gently while still holding the heavy bowl.
He was fast. Before you could react, the metal fingertips of his left arm dipped into the bowl and snaked out a small, sticky apple slice. He popped it into his mouth and chewed slowly, his eyes closing in exaggerated appreciation.
“Perfection. This pie is going to solve all my problems through sheer flavor alone.”
“Get out of my workspace!” You mock-shrieked, trying to wipe the sugary residue off the lip of the bowl with a clean towel. “You just contaminated the whole batch with your enormous, handsome, highly…germs!”
He just chuckled, backing up a single step and leaning against the counter, watching you begin to roll out the first layer of dough.
“I’m just observing the process, sweetheart. It’s fascinating. You’re like a surgeon.”
“I’m focused,” you insisted, carefully lining the pie and trimming the edges. “I’m trying to make a good impression on your very sweet, very traditional family. My reputation as a girlfriend starts with this.”
The thought, spoken out loud, brought a tiny spike of genuine anxiety. Bucky caught it instantly, the teasing fading from his expression.
He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your head this time, effectively trapping you between him and the counter.
“Hey. Look at me,” he instructed softly.
You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze.
“They are going to judge you on two things only: how happy you make me, and whether or not you treat me right. That’s it. And since you manage to do both of those things better than anyone I have ever met, and keep me safe and loved…the pie is just extra credit.”
He tapped your hip affectionately. “But seriously, that crust looks incredible. Did you do lard or use the all-butter method?”
“All butter, you heathen.” You picked the corner of his mouth. “Lard is for savory things. Now, let go, I have to fill this and construct the weaving on top before I lose the coolness.”
He sighed dramatically, dropping his forehead to your chest and released you, returning to his post as ‘observer.’
The next hour passed in a haze of flour, apple skins, and shared anticipation. You diligently wove the strips of dough over the filling, crimping the edges almost professionally. Bucky, true to form, tried to sneak a piece of the buttery dough scrap, resulting in him getting flicked on the ear.
“You’re hopeless,” You muttered, but couldn’t help the small, fond smile that curved your lips. This was your life: him being endearingly messy, you trying to maintain order, both utterly relaxed in the presence of the other.
Finally, the pie was dusted with an egg wash and sprinkled with coarse sugar, as you slid it gently into the awaiting, preheated oven.
Bucky immediately came over, leaning down to peer through the glass door, watching the pale crust begin to bloom and brown.
“Okay,” he said, straightening up and clapping his hands together softly. “Now what? We sit here and stare at the oven until it’s perfect, or do we get to have some free time?” He wagged his brows already reaching for you.
“We get ready. We’ve got maybe two, two and a half hours, even if we hit traffic. We need to look presentable.” You patted his chest walking past to the bedroom.
Dressing for the occasion was its own minor hurdle. You wanted to look respectful and warm—no sharp edges, nothing too trying hard. Ultimately settling on a soft, deep burgundy sweater and dark pants, comfortable yet nice.
Bucky watched from the doorway of the bedroom, already looking impeccable and ready. Men.
“You look great,” he said simply.
“I hope so.’” You replied, adjusting your necklace.
Bucky walked over, his boots silent on the rug. He took the necklace gently in his hand. “You don’t have to try this hard, honey. They know I’m hard to impress. If you made it this far, they’re just thankful someone survived the vetting process.”
He pulled you close, pressing you right against his chest. The nerves, which had been momentarily shelved during the focused task of the pie, returned sharply as you buried your face in the soft wool of his jacket, inhaling the scent of him—and a hint of the coffee he’d just finished.
“I just really want them to like what they see,” you confessed, her voice muffled against his sternum.
Bucky’s grip tightened, firm. He understood the subtext: you wanted them to approve of his choice, to see that you recognized the real, fragile miracle of the man standing before you.
He pulled back just enough to tilt your face up, his gaze intense and unwavering.
He lowered his head and pressed a firm, slow kiss to the crease in your brow, letting his lips linger on the soft skin there.
“They’re gonna love you, doll. Promise.” His voice was low, imbued with all the certainty he had ever felt. “They’ll see how you make me smile like no other, and that’ll be enough. Trust me.”
He collected the perfectly cooled, gloriously golden pie, now sitting securely in its carrier, and walked to the door.
“Ready to face the family?”
You took a deep breath, smoothing her sweater one last time. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The drive was long, tracing the curves of the rolling hills of Upstate New York. The late afternoon light was beginning to fade, turning the stands of maple and oak into blazing tapestries of russet and gold.
Bucky drove his sturdy, slightly worn truck easily, navigating the merging traffic with practiced nostalgic ease.
You had talked for the first twenty minutes, confirming the names of the family members you were about to meet, and reviewing the brief, essential history Bucky had managed to piece together about them. But soon, the conversation lulled, settling into a comfortable, necessary silence.
Bucky, however, never let go.
From the moment you had pulled out of the driveway, his left hand had found and secured yours, resting your intertwined fingers on the center console.
You felt a sense of grounding in that touch. It was a clear, physical manifestation of your bond, a silent declaration that they were facing this together.
You let your thumb trace the intricate metalwork on the back of his hand, noting the cool temperature of the vibranium against your own warm skin from the trucks heater.
Bucky steered mostly with his right hand, occasionally adjusting his grip on yours before resting it back down. Every few minutes, he would shift his weight and momentarily turn his head, glancing over at you.
The glances were short, lasting only a fraction of a second, but they held such depth that you felt an answering pang in your chest every time.
It wasn't just a check to see if you were bored or nervous. It was a look of slight disbelief, a quiet awe that you were actually there, sitting next to him, driving toward his whole world.
You're real, the glance said. We’re doing this. We have a life.
The fifth time he did it, you squeezed his hand in return, offering a soft, smile.
“Stop checking to see if I’ve melted, Barnes,” you teased softly.
He immediately turned his attention back to the road, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. “I just… the sun lit up your eyes, and I got distracted.”
“By my perfect hair and my impeccable pie contribution, I hope.”
“By the fact that you decided to stick around,” he corrected quietly, his eyes focused on the winding road ahead. “This whole thing, this whole… family thing, it feels fragile. Like if I breathe too hard, it’ll shatter. And you make it feel real. Solid.”
You lifted your joined hands and pressed the back of his knuckles to you lips. “It’s solid, Bucky. It’s not going anywhere. Neither am I.”
He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing noticeably.
The last leg of the drive took you off the main road and onto narrower, tree-lined lanes, the houses growing larger, more spread out, and older.
“Okay, five minutes out,” Bucky announced, his voice regaining its usual confident chirp. “Remember, Aunt Rose is the hugger. My cousin Mark is the skeptic, but he’ll thaw if you mention the Dodgers or hockey. And Grandpa just wants to know if you can keep me in line.”
“I’m bringing the pie, and the most prized grandson and son,” You confirmed, straightening up. “I’ve got this.”
You rounded a final curve, and the Barnes family home came into view. It was a traditional Colonial, its wide porch strung with warm, yellow lights. Smoke curled warmly from the chimney, and the sounds of distant laughter and chatter could already be heard. The driveway was already full of cars.
Bucky killed the engine, and the silence rushed in, thick with the scent of pine and burning wood.
He turned to you, his silvery eyes dark and luminous in the dimming light. He didn’t offer a quip or joke this time. He just reached up with his free hand and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“Ready?” he asked, a serious, hopeful question.
You took a deep breath. “Ready,”
Bucky returned the smile you flashed as he opened his door, retrieved the pie, and then walked around the truck to open your door for you.
He offered his hand. You took it, stepping out onto the gravel drive, ready to meet the people who shared his name, ready to solidify the future you were building, one perfectly spiced apple pie at a time. Together, you walked toward the porch and the symphony of his past.
Bucky chuckled, reaching over to lace your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on skin. "They're gonna love you."
You offered a shaky smile, tightening your grip a little. "I hope so. You've made them sound like saints… or a small army."
He laughed. "A little of both, maybe. Mostly, they're just… them."
As you stepped inside, the noise level instantly amplified – a delightful boom of laughter, overlapping conversations, and a distant clatter of pots. The walls were painted in soft, welcoming tones, adorned with a mix of family photos, framed artwork, and children's drawings. A sprawling, comfortable-looking sofa dominated the living room to their left, already occupied by a few figures.
Before Bucky could even properly utter, "Ma, Dad, this is her," a blur of motion emerged from what you presumed was the kitchen. A woman with kind greenish blue eyes, a dusting of flour on her cheek, and her silver hair pulled back in a loose bun, launched herself at you.
"Finally!" Winnifred exclaimed, her embrace surprisingly firm and incredibly welcoming. She smelled of cinnamon and whatever candle was currently burning. "I’ve heard so much about you, darling! Bucky, you took your sweet time bringing her around." She pulled back, her hands still resting on your arms, her eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.
Bucky, caught off guard by his mother's characteristic speed, just grinned, a familiar flushed pink creeping up his neck. "Mom, you didn't even let me introduce her."
"Nonsense, I've already introduced myself!" Winnifred declared, before turning back to you. "Come in, come in! Don't just stand in the doorway."
A tall, broad-shouldered man with a gentle face and Bucky's same piercing blue eyes stepped forward, extending a hand to you. "George Barnes," his grip was tight but very friendly. "And don't mind Winnie. She gets a little overexcited when Bucky finally does something right." He winked at his son, then added, "But seriously, it's a pleasure to finally meet you Dear. Bucky's talked our ears off. I was beginning to think you were a figment of his imagination, he's said way too many good things about you." His smile was infectious, instantly dissolving another layer of nerves.
Before you could respond, another figure burst from the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy. This was Rebecca. Her round, pregnant belly leading her. Her dark hair, a shade lighter than Bucky's, was swept up in a long braid, and her eyes, full of familial mischief, darted straight to you.
"Y/N!" she shrieked, her voice full of delight, completely bypassing Bucky as he dropped his opened arms laughing at his sister.
She enveloped you in a hug that was both fierce and surprisingly gentle, given her condition. "It's so good to finally put a face to the name! James never shuts up about you. I swear, it's just 'Y/N this' and 'Y/N that'—"
"Okay, Becca, that's enough," Bucky interjected, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he tried to pry his sister off you.
Rebecca ignored him, pulling back just enough to beam at you. "I feel like I've known you for years! Welcome, welcome!"
Behind Rebecca, a quieter man with thick glasses and a sweet grin stepped forward. "Vince," he offered, shaking your hand warmly. "Rebecca's husband. Don't worry, she's always like this. Especially when she's..." He made an exaggerated gesture of a round stomach, earning a playful shove from Rebecca.
Suddenly, two tiny heads peeked out from behind Vince's legs, wide, curious eyes fixed on you. A small girl with pigtails and a boy with a mop of sandy hair, both clutching well-loved stuffed animals. They were shy, clinging to their father's slacks.
Bucky, noticing them, dropped to one knee with a practiced ease you had seen him use with kids before. "Hey, guys! Come say hi." He opened his arms, and the initial shyness melted away instantly. With identical squeals of "Uncle Bucky!" they launched themselves into his embrace, giggling as he swept them up, one under each arm, like he was made of steel and they were feathers.
"Hi guys," You whispered softly, offering a wave. "It's nice to meet you."
The little girl, who Bucky introduced as Lily, buried her face in Bucky’s shoulder, but the little boy, Leo, peeked out, a shy smile gracing his lips. "Are you Uncle Bucky's new friend?" he whispered.
"I am," You confirmed, a genuine smile forming. "A very good friend."
Bucky, still holding the children, stood up, his gaze sweeping over you. There was a softness in his eyes, a subtle lift at the corner of his lips that you had come to recognize. He watched you blend in, not just tolerating the chaos, but embracing it. It was the look of a man whose expectations had been not just met, but gloriously exceeded.
"Alright, enough of this standing around!" Winnifred clapped her hands. "Dinner's almost ready. Y/N, you look like a capable young woman. Care to help Rebecca and me with the last-minute preparations? Bucky, you can entertain the kiddos."
Before Bucky could protest, You readily agreed. "I'd love to! Do you need anything chopped, peeled, or stirred?"
"Perfect!" Winnifred beamed, already ushering you towards the kitchen, Rebecca trailing, wobbling—behind.
The kitchen was a hive of activity, smelling even more divine up close. A large island dominated the center, covered with bowls of colorful vegetables, herbs, and spices. Holiday jazz music played softly from a speaker in the corner, mingling with the sizzle of something on the stovetop.
"Okay, hon, you're officially deputized," Rebecca announced, handing her an apron adorned with embroidered turkeys and en scripted on the top “Barnes”. In orange cursive, you would be lying if you said it didn’t give you butterflies.
"Winnifred's in charge of the main course, I'm on sides. You look like you can handle potatoes?" She gestured to a large bowl of potatoes. "Mashing, please. Extra butter, please. It's a family tradition to clog arteries efficiently."
You laughed, tying the apron. "My pleasure. I take my mashing very seriously."
As you began to mash the potatoes, Rebecca leaned in a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Soooo," she began, her voice a low, teasing murmur, "tell me everything. What's it really like dating Jimmy? Does he still talk in nerdy voices about vintage comics and 'the good old days'?"
You almost wheezed at the name, expertly working the masher. "He does occasionally reminisce. Especially if there's a good ol’ movie playing."
"And the arm?" Rebecca gestured vaguely. "Is it as cool to you in real life as he makes it sound? Does it come with any…special features? Can he, like, hmm, open jars super easily?"
"It is very cool," you grinned. "And yes, he's quite good at…opening jars. Also, he gives excellent back rubs."
Rebecca snorted. "Oh, you are perfect for him. I swear, he's needed someone to keep him on his toes for ages. He's so intense sometimes, he needs a little light." She paused, her gaze softening. "He really does talk about you a lot, you know. Like, a lot. My kids even know your name. He's utterly gone for you."
Just then, Bucky sauntered into the kitchen to "check on things." He leaned against the doorframe, a casual posture that belied the real reason for his visit.
"Everything alright in here?" he asked, though his gaze was fixed on just you.
Rebecca raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Oh, everything's perfectly fine, little brother. We were just sharing some family secrets."
Bucky rolled his eyes, then moved closer, leaning over your shoulder to steal a perfectly mashed potato off the spoon. "Mmm, tastes perfect. Just checking on quality control." He used the opportunity to brush a quick, feather-light kiss against your jaw, making your cheeks warm.
"Oh, quality control, is it?" Rebecca teased, loving seeing you two together. "Sure, Buck. Just don't let Dad catch you raiding the snacks. You know how he gets.
Bucky just winked, stealing another quick kiss, this time on your lips, before retreating towards the fridge for a drink, but not without lingering to watch you for just a moment longer.
The scent of roasted turkey, sage and thyme, mingled with the sharper notes of cranberry sauce and the aroma of the pies.
The dining room now was pulsing with controlled chaos as Rebecca guided the kids to their shorter table and Bucky pulling out your chair before rounding the larger table.
The long expanse of polished mahogany as he made his way to its head, there sat the turkey. Bucky—as he saw it, had the most important, job of the evening, carving.
The family all insisted. It was a tradition he’d perfected over the years. Tonight, however, it felt a little different. He was acutely aware of you, seated across the table, your gaze a steady, quiet anchor in the boisterous room.
He picked up the carving knife, its silver gleam catching the tabletop candle light. With a grin, he spun it between his fingers. He imagined he was a young gunslinger in an old western film, all swagger and practiced ease, trying to catch the eye of the prettiest dame in saloon. He risked a peek at you, his lips twitching into a half-smile.
“James!” His mother’s voice, sharp but laced with affection, cut through his bravado. She stood by the side, a crisp white dishtowel draped over her arm, eyes narrowing in mock disapproval.
He caught your eye again, offering a sly wink. The knife moved with practiced precision, each slice falling away with a satisfying flip. He carved with grace that took over his usual clumsy charm.
After all was cut, sliced and dished out, he plopped down next to you.
Under the table, his hand, found you. First, a brief, firm squeeze of your thigh, then his fingers wandered and laced with yours.
The meal was a blur of good food and even better company. Plates were cleared, coffee was poured, and then dessert began. Pies – apple, pumpkin, pecan – were sliced and served, each crumb a moment of pure indulgence.
The television, flickered to life with Chiefs vs 49rs. Lily and Leo, fueled by sugar and the freedom of break, chased each other through the house, their squeals of delight a counterpoint to the playful barks of the family dogs.
“Hey Bec’s imma’ go look for extra napkins!” Bucky yelled.
You snapped your head to him when hearing his voice but startled as he was already leaning close, his voice a low against the shell of your ear. “Wanna hide with me for a minute?”
The invitation hung in the air. You nodded and he squeezed your hip as he steered you away from the main gathering.
You both moved down the hallway, the sounds of the party receding with each step. Bucky’s childhood bedroom came into view as he pushed the door open.
The room was a mash-up of posters of faded jazz bands adorned the walls alongside framed photographs of college awards and memorabilia. A dusty collection of video games sat on a shelf, a stark contrast to the space and text books piled on his bedside table. A worn baseball glove lay on the floor, next to a pair of brand-new dress shoes. It was so utterly him, so endearingly Bucky, that a giggle escaped your lips.
He turned to face you, the warm glow from the hallway casting long shadows across his stumbled face. The playful glint in his eyes was replaced by something deeper, more intense. He closed the door behind you, the soft click sealing you in your own private bubble.
He didn’t say a word, instead immediately closed the distance between you, his hands finding your waist. He pressed you gently against the door, the wood cool against your back, his body warm, solid against your front. The kiss, when it came, was slow, deliberate, and incredibly deep. It wasn’t the hurried peck of a stolen moment, but allowing himself exploration, a re-discovery of your taste. His hands, firm and tender, moved up your sides, caressing your skin through your sweater and lower to your jeans.
Whispers, soft and breathless, punctuated the kiss. “Couldn’t go the whole day without you to myself for a minute,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. Each word was a declaration of his desire. You responded with a soft sigh, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the scratchy feeling there. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own filled with a raw, vulnerable affection. A forehead kiss, lingering and soft, followed, then a shared giggle as your lips brushed against each other’s again.
Just as the moment threatened to deepen, to stretch into something even more loving, a voice, bright and sharp, sliced through the quiet. “James? Mom wants to know if you’ve seen the ziploc bags.”
Rebecca.
Bucky flinched, pulling back as if caught in an graphic act. He straightened his shirt, his face flushing a deep crimson. You quickly pulled your hands away, a nervous flutter starting in your stomach.
“Uh, no, Becca, haven’t seen em’,” he stammered, voice a little too high.
You both emerged from the bedroom, a picture of forced casualness. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, trying his best to appear nonchalant. You smoothed down your sweater, your heart still thrumming from the encounter.
Rebecca stood at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over her belly, a knowing smirk plastered across her face. She took in your flushed cheeks, Bucky’s swollen lips, and the faint scent of something more than just holiday cheer clinging to the air between you.
“Uh-huh,” she drawled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Sure. You were definitely just looking for extra napkins.”
Bucky’s blush deepened, spreading to his neck. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You, mortified but also trying to suppress a smile, hid your face in his shoulder. The warmth of his shirt, still carrying the faint scent of him, offered a comforting, if slightly incriminating, embrace.
“C’mon Becs, just look at her and tell me…” You swatted his hip before he could finish and walked away to get a much needed drink.
After a few glasses of wine you were now nestled deep into the plush cushions of the sofa, your side pressed against Bucky’s. His arm, was wrapped around you, thumb gently dipping under your sweater, brushing the delicate skin of her shoulder.
Winnie came to settle onto the ottoman in front of you, a blanket draped over her knees.
"Y/N," she began, her gaze warm and direct, as you turned to face her "I’m so glad my son brought you today." She reached out, her hand covering yours where it rested on Bucky’s thigh. "He hasn’t been this genuinely happy in a long time. It’s good to see."
A flush of warmth spread through Y/N, deeper than the heat from the crackling fireplace. "Thank you, Winnifred," you managed, your voice thick with emotion. "It was a wonderful day. You have a kind, beautiful family."
She squeezed your hand once more, a knowing softness in her eyes, before rising and moving to check on the youngest of her grandchildren, who was already starting to nod off on the far end of the couch, a half-eaten cookie abandoned on the plate beside him.
As the evening wore on, the hum of activity began to slowly wind down. The kids, thoroughly exhausted from a day of sugar-fueled excitement and chasing each other through the house, fell asleep on the couch, tangled like puppies under a heap of blankets.
Rebecca, leaned her head against her husbands shoulder, her eyes already fluttering shut, a peaceful smile gracing her lips. The house, once alive with the joyful cacophony of the Barnes’ family holiday, now breathed with a quiet, full stillness.
Bucky shifted, slightly leaning down, he gently kissed the top of your head. Speaking, only meant for you. "Thanks for coming with me," he whispered, his lips lingering against her hair. "You made today perfect."
Your heart swelled. You turned to him, throwing your legs over his lap, just enough to press kiss against the crinkle of his smile lines. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world," you whispered back. You truly meant it. The day, filled with laughter, good food, and the overwhelming sense of belonging you’d found with Bucky and his family, had been nothing short of magical. It was a glimpse into a future you hadn't dared to fully imagine until now. The kids, the trading. All of it.
The goodbyes were gentle. Hugs were exchanged, promises of future visits made, and the tease of Bucky finally putting a ring on your finger as you stepped out into the crisp, cold night. The air was still and sharp.
Bucky held your hand firmly as you walked across the gravel driveway to his car. He opened the passenger door of course kissing you dizzy once you hopped inside.
Once Bucky was behind the wheel, the gentle rumble of the engine melted as he spoke up.
"I really can’t wait for future holidays with you," he said, his fingers gently stroking her arm. "Christmas, Thanksgiving…all of them." He paused, and you felt a smile spread across your face, even though your eyes were still closed in rest. "Maybe," he added, his voice dropping another notch, laced with a hopeful tenderness that made her heart flutter, "maybe even in a home of our own."
The words hung in the quiet space of the car, potent and full of promise. A home of their own. It was a future she’d only allowed herself to glimpse in fleeting, private moments. Now, hearing it from him, so casually yet so meaningfully, made it feel real, tangible. It wasn't just a fantasy anymore; it was a shared possibility, a path they were charting together.
You snuggled closer against him, your own answer unnecessary. Your quiet contentment was your reply, a silent "yes" to the future he was so eloquently sketching out. The thought of decorating a Christmas tree together, of hosting their own New Years with the family, of waking up beside him on a snowy holiday morning, filled you with a warmth that chased away the last of the late night’s chill.
"We're home, sweet girl" Bucky whispered, his voice soft, as if afraid to break your sleep.
You stirred, blinking slowly, reluctant to leave the warmth of the car.
You felt herself being carried, the gentle sway of his steps, up the stairs and into the bedroom. The soft give of the mattress creaked as he carefully lowered you, the cool silk of the sheets brushed against your skin. A moment later, the weight of him settled beside, his arm was around you once more, pulling you close. His lips brushing your forehead.
"Sleep well, sweetheart" he whispered, his voice rough with love and exhaustion. “Thank you for everything.” He clicked the lamps light off, digging in the bedside table for his sleep mask, pushing the small velvet box to the side, sighing in contentment.
-end
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summary. you never give bucky your actual name when you place your coffee orders. until one day, you eventually do.
content. barista!bucky x law student!reader, fluff ummm that's rlly it!!!, brainrotted nicknames (im so sorry i couldn't think of anythuing else), i am not!!! a law student i'm actually studying engineering rn so idk why i didnt just go w that but law school is like the one that got away for me... sigh, fem!reader btw
word count. 4k
from lia. i will never stop using blurry pics of seb i love them too much sue me. also ykw i dont even proofread any of my stuff bc i might end up deleting everything and i DONT want to do that so i just dont proofread so idk why i keep indicating its not proofread i dont even do it sorry im rambling pls enjoy.
the cafe, despite being situated in a good location at the heart of new york, was usually slow during the middle of the week—and today was no different.
aside from the light chattering of the couple who were huddled against each other in the corner booth somewhere in coffee-scented shop and the tender clicking of keyboards filling in the spaces in between as the man wearing headphones and a checkered top worked away in his private space, today’s tuesday afternoon was as quiet as it can get before rush hour.
it was cozy—bucky thought. he loved his job as a barista, he enjoyed handling and taking people’s order, he got to put mugs and paper cups into any way he pleased, he gets the opportunity to chat with lovely (and that includes not so lovely) people on a daily basis, and walking out of the place with his polo shirt smelling like the heavenly aroma of brewed beans was just a bonus.
thanks to the light rain outside, the windows to the cafe fogged up as tiny droplets slid down the glass surface—leaving wet trails of water in its wake.
he was currently working on an order placed by a student who goes to the local college just a few blocks down the road, someone he’s been frequently seeing as of late. as he worked on warming up the milk he was going to add into the cup of cappuccino with two extra shots of espresso, humming along to the tune of the song currently playing on the speakers hidden throughout the shop, the bell suddenly rang—signifying that someone walked through the doors to the quaint shop.
bucky lifted his head to greet whoever arrived, a warm welcoming smile on his face as his eyes crinkled along his grin.
to say he was struck by cupid was no further from the truth—he abruptly stopped in his dance of preparing the hot beverage in his hands, a dance he’s been doing for the past two years, his eyes widening as if it was his first time receiving a toy for christmas.
i want a love like i’ve seen in the movies—
the song echoed through his ears like a melody fitting for whatever feeling is beating within his heart, he was completely and devastatingly captivated. because in walks you, clad in a light brown cardigan above your outfit like you were the angel the googoo dolls were talking about.
he tried his best to regain his composure, still flashing you his signature, mandated kind smile whilst his hands went back to pouring the caffeinated drink into a cup, calling out the student’s name before sliding into the register to come face to face with you—the chilly air inside the place quickly being replaced with the warmth bucky swore you gave off.
“hi there! what can i get started for you today?” he placed his palms on the counter near the register, leaning in just a bit to get closer to you.
bucky watched you stare at the giant screen displaying the menu behind him, a hand coming up to curl on the countertop. “can i get a— mocha with extra chocolate?” you inclined backwards to look at the pastries and dishes being displayed behind the glass case on your right.
“caffè mocha with extra chocolate. anything else?”
you smiled, “aaaand—one of those delicious pesto penne with mushrooms, please.”
he typed away on the register, “one pesto penne with mushrooms, is that all?”
“yep!”
“alrighty, that’ll be $18.”
you dug through your wallet to pluck out twenty bucks before handing it to the fine man behind the register, your hand grazing his bionic one in the process, sending sparks through your body like livewire making contact with water. you dragged your gaze down to the pin which held his name on the upper left side of his body, the letters ‘bucky’ were written in print. bucky, a name you’d already engraved in your brain.
his uniform—consisting of a white polo shirt and black pants with a brown apron on top—made him look like one of the many delectable snacks on display. the sleeves of the shirt he wore looked like they were having a hard time wrapping around his biceps, which flexed with every tap on the tiny tablet attached to the register.
a guy with blonde hair wearing the same uniform as bucky, whose name was 'steve' after you caught a quick glance of his nametag, emerged from the corner, giving him a light pat on the shoulder as he passed by him to get to one of the coffee machines.
“can i get your name, sweetheart?”
“matilda.” you sweetly smiled.
“fancy name. i’ll call you when it’s ready.”
you politely nodded, replying with a soft spoken ‘thank you’ before leaving to go to one of the corner booths by the window.
law school’s been an awful lot hectic lately, only now did you manage to find the time to squeeze in a little cafe trip for yourself. you would’ve invited your friend but they were too busy downing red bull twice the normal amount and cramming their final dentistry exams.
you just barely managed to get your head above the water after drowning yourself in tax codes and jurisdiction laws. your fingers dug through the deep ends of your bag with the goal of pulling out your laptop, planning to do a few revisions on your paper for civil litigation while waiting for your drink.
you were in the middle on looking for a specific citation webpage regarding tort claims through the onslaught of tabs opened on your browser, grumbling to yourself how you should’ve closed a few that weren’t necessary so you’d prevent moments like now when you heard the name ‘matilda’ resonate in the air—you almost missed it.
bucky was awaiting you at the end of the counter, with the golden-haired guy now manning the register.
“caffè mocha and pesto for matilda?”
your lips curled up at the sound of the name—it was movie you used to watch religiously when it first came out, immediately falling in love with the characters and each musical number. your fingers enclosed the smooth texture of the paper cup, muttering a small ‘thank you’ before turning around and heading back to your seat.
you scanned the surface of the paper cup which contained your mocha after settling down the tray of pasta next to your laptop. written on the lower portion of the cup was the name you gave him with a small drawing of a cake next to it, along with a smiley face. you grinned to yourself before pulling out your phone to take a picture—sending it to your friend.
skibaddie: just aced my exam babe [hold to view attachment] 1:28 pm
fentmaxxer: look at what the barista did [sent attachment] 1:54 pm
so cute right? 1:54 pm
skibaddie: since when was ur name matilda? 1:57 pm
fentmaxxer: since now 1:58 pm
skibaddie: so many names in the world and u chose matilda 2:00 pm
which cafe r u @? 2:00 pm
fentmaxxer: the one next to the library downtown 2:02 pm
girl the baristas are hot asl 2:02 pm
one of them has a metal arm 2:03 pm
literally my type 2:03 pm
get ur ahh over here 2:05 pm
you smirked to yourself before setting your phone to the side—turning your attention to legal disputes again, your fingers gliding across the keys with familiarity.
your friend was already sitting by the window when you walked through the door to the cafe, comfortably lounging in the usual spot you’d sit at.
her hand waved in the air the second she spotted you, beckoning you to come over. you trudged your way into the booth adjacent to hers, your back hurting from the heaviness of your textbooks weighing down your bag. you slumped on the vinyl cushions, watching your friend with pinched eyebrows as she took a sip of her drink.
“finally. this is like my third double chunk chocolate cookie.” she gestured to the half-eaten pastry laying atop a cute porcelain plate.
you rested your chin on your palm, brows raising questioningly. “third? you can’t be serious. you bigback.”
“hey, it tastes really good! plus the hot blonde guy has been looking at me in that way from behind the counter, you know.” she flailed her hands in the air to further her point. “i need him to remember my face.”
“bigback and has zero game, what crime did you commit in your past life?”
“shut up before i shove this cookie up your ass.”
your laugh mixed in with the subtle playing of music in the background, almost sounding like it was in the song itself. at least, that’s what bucky thought. his eyes were drawn to your figure like sunlight shining through the curtains. he watched you near the counter with a skip to your step, his heartbeat drumming louder and louder.
“welcome to flatbush coffee, what can i get started for you today?”
“hi! a caffè mocha and pesto penne, please.”
he clicked on the screen in front of him, you could hear his giddiness from the tapping. “alrighty, anything else?”
“nope!” you responded with the same amount of energy the previous time you’ve been here.
it was now a thursday, one of the only days where both you and your friend have a few vacant hours in your packed schedules that are long enough to get together and do something for a short while. and today’s venue was the local coffee shop you visited two days prior.
“that’ll be $18,” he replied, eyes making contact with yours, “can i get your name?”
your hands stretched out to hand him the exact amount of money, “nuwanda.”
bucky’s eyebrows lifted up in surprise, a small playful smile across his lips. he remembers you saying your name was matilda, how could he forget a pretty face like yours after all. but now, you uttered a different name.
“your parents are a big fan of gale hansen?”
“you could say that.” you chuckled, watching him hand the receipt over with a shy grin.
he gladly returned your smile with a tender one of his own, “i’ll call your name when it’s ready.”
your friend had this suspicious look on her face when you slid into the booth in front of her, her arms folding across her chest like a mother accusing her daughter of sneaking out.
“what was that?”
“what was what?” deadpanning, your fingers folded the receipt twice before stuffing it into your wallet like you always did. “why are you looking at me like that?”
“you were flirting with the barista!”
“i wasn’t!”
“you totally were. you’re literally as red as a tomato right now.”
“what?!” you swiped your phone open as quickly as you could, opening the camera app like your life depended on it. “no i freaking don’t, you liar.”
“but i did make you look at yourself which means you were concerned about your face looking all red and shit after talking to him.”
you couldn’t find the words in you to deny her of anything—she was right on the money. you instead opted to shake your head with an exasperated smile, raising your hands up in defeat.
“guilty.”
“what, are you gonna start buying three more of those caffè mochas?”
you waved your hand dismissively, scrunching your nose as if you were extremely appalled by the mere suggestion that left her mouth. “no way, i’m not as down bad as you.”
“you gotta do what you gotta do to get that bag, baby.”
after bucky called out your ‘name’ signaling you to pick up your drink, you eagerly showed your best friend the name you’ve chosen for today. rotating the cup so whatever’s written on it would face her—and you gave her a confused expression as her face contorted to a look of mischief.
“nuwanda, huh.” she squinted her eyes at the beverage before focusing on you.
“yeah, dead poets society.”
“with a heart.”
“what?”
you spun the beverage in your hands to check if what she was saying was true, and it indeed, was. the letters written on the paper cup spelled 'nuwanda', and next to it was a heart big enough for you not to miss. you scoffed as your friend lowly hollered.
“look at you, messing around with a boy.”
your cheeks tinted a shade of warm red, a hand coming up to cover half of your face which was flushed in embarrassment, “shut up before i throw this drink at you.”
behind the counter within the quaint cafe, steve raised a knowing eyebrow at his childhood best friend while wiping down a mug, eyeing down bucky like he knew something was up.
"do you flirt with all your customers that way or just her?"
bucky's shoulders immediately tensed at the sound of the blonde's hair from behind him, quickly putting on the guise of rearranging the assortments of flavored syrups which did not need any arranging. "what do you mean? i don't know what you're talking about. what customer?"
the mug came into contact on the counter with a click, with steve's hand coming to twist the towel that was lying about somewhere near the coffee machines before pulling it backwards and smacking it straight into bucky's ass with a fwip!
"stop flirting with the customers."
the brunette held his hands against his butt to protect him from the onslaught of towel thwacking coming his way, an uncontrollable laugh making its way out of his throat. "i wasn't! i was just- dude stop—"
you’ve been to the cafe enough times for the barista, which you’re now on a first name basis with except only you knew his name, to know and memorize your face.
you usually visited the cafe on tuesdays and wednesdays when there aren’t much people around, but there are sometimes the place is flooded with customers and you’re only able to take your drink on the go due to the lack of seats and time.
and that was what was happening now.
you powered your phone on to check the time, the numbers showing that it just past ten in the morning—exactly an hour before your three hour lecture.
the cool breeze of the air-conditioned room hugged your cheeks as you walked in, the first thing catching your eye was the auburn-haired man you’ve found has been plaguing your mind recently—bucky.
there was a line of about four people in front of you, giving you enough time to open your phone and text your friend. you scrolled through your apps and clicked on snapchat, opening the unread messages she left for you.
skibaddie: can u buy me coffee pls and make sure steve’s the one doing it 9:43 am
fentmaxxer: sure im literlaly in line rn 10:02 am
i’ll do it on one condition 10:02 am
skibaddie: OMG 10:03 am
u have to finger me 10:03 am
i saw this coming 10:03 am
fentmaxxer: ?? im so done w u 10:06 am
no it’s not that 10:06 am
skibaddie: oh 10:08 am
fentmaxxer: HELLO WHY R U DISAPPOINTEF?? 10:10 am
bucky’s voice pulled you out of the conversation you were having with your best friend. you didn’t realize you were already next in line, you swore it should’ve taken you a waiting time of fifteen minutes. it was almost as if bucky assisted the people in front of you quicker just so he could talk to you as soon as possible—but you’ll save that thought for another day.
“you’re getting the usual today?” he casually, fingers already hovering over the option to register in your favorite drink.
you pulled your wallet out, “have i been going here too much? should i cut back a bit?”
“we might run out of business if you did.”
“just the usual, bucky. but add in a cappuccino with two extra shots. my friend needs her fix.”
“so, what name would it be this time? forrest gump? ellen ripley?”
this was your usual song and dance with the barista whenever you order coffee. it has come to a point where bucky's even used to it—you'd say your order, give him money as payment, and he'd try guessing which character from whatever movie or series would come out of your mouth next. he's never managed to get even one right, but bucky does have to admit, it has become his highlight of the day whenever you decide to grace his presence with a visit.
“ramona.”
his lips quirked, the marker in his hands already scribbling the name on the cup. "i haven't gotten around to finishing that one, i have read some of the comics though."
bucky's irises that glimmered as bright as any blue skies bore into yours, speaking a symphony he hoped you'd understand the longer he gazed into the windows of your soul.
"will you be having it here?"
you snapped out of the trance you put yourself in, fumbling with the edges of your top to try and regain any sense of self. "oh—n-no, i've got classes in like, half an hour."
you could've sworn you saw bucky's smile slightly falter—but it was either that or you were going insane and you're leading yourself on. his tongue shot out of the confines of his mouth to lick his lower lip, his pupils quickly shifting to whatever he's looking at behind you before he parted his lips to speak. bucky looked...nervous?
"will you ever tell me your real name?" he questioned, half-smirking to hide the blatant anxiousness that was oozing off of him. "it's kind of a necessary thing for me to know if i want to take you out on a date."
take me out on a date? your eyes momentarily widened, your breath vanishing into thin air as your brain struggled to comprehend the words that just entered your ears. you straightened your posture before turning around you, worried you might be holding the line. and thankfully, there was no one behind you.
"soon." you cheekily grinned, your feet sweeping towards the direction of the side of the counter where steve was handling the drinks to wait for you and your friend's, leaving bucky both utterly in-love, dumbstruck, and everything in between. from the corner of your eye, you could see him tuck his chin towards his chest—letting out a chuckle to no one but himself.
you leaned your back against an adjacent wall within the cafe, opening your snapchat with a bite to your lip—heart thumping as fast a schoolgirl who's crush just confessed to her.
fentmaxxer: HELLO WHY R U DISAPPOINTEF?? 10:10 am
skibaddie: whats the condition 10:12 am
fentmaxxer: GIRL YOU'LL NEVER GUESS D WHAT JST HAOPPEND 10:21 am
skibaddie: did steve finally realize his undying love for me should i run or walk omw there 10:22 am
also did u add the two xtra shots im gonna drop dead if u dont 10:22 am
fentmaxxer: what is w u and ur steve obsession 10:22 am
PLEASE get urself checked asap 10:23 am
OK BYE HE'S LLOOKING AT ME I MIGHT DIE 10:25 am
today was a great day. your professor commending you for your, in her words, impressive analyzation of the case law you were assigned to gave you the moral and ego boost you were so desperately deprived of. you entered into the cafe with a light bounce to your step, your phone tucked neatly into your pocket with your bag slung over your shoulder. your next lecture on constitutional law ii was at six pm in the evening, so you had plenty of time to read textbooks and do a refresh course over some of the topics you felt like you needed to improve. and there's no better place to do so than at your favorite, cozy little brooklyn cafe.
the bell chimed like it always did, and as if on cue, the air shifted when bucky's gaze landed on you. he quickly rubbed his hands on the fabric of his apron to rid himself of any leftover coffee bean grounds so he wouldn't have to worry about the risk of staining your hands when you're about to pay.
your hands gripped on the strap of your bag with a smile that could rival the sun on your face. bucky always thought your ability to bring light into a once dim room was nothing short of magical, and he's come to grow fond of it more so than he should've. he's found himself looking the glass panes by the entrance of the shop, hoping he'd get a glance of your walking figure about to enter the place. bucky also doesn't want to admit it—but he's made your order more times than he can count on his fingers with how much he's been thinking about you.
"i'm guessing you're going to get your usual?" he teased.
you mirrored his expression, "nice try, but i'll take an americano, eight ounces, please. figured i'd spice things up."
bucky let out a surprised sound as he typed down your order on the registrar, a pleased smile on his face that never seemed to leave whenever you are around. "anything else, sweets?"
"a slice of red velvet cake will be good too, and i'll be having it here, thanks."
"okay, an americano and a slice of red velvet, that'll be $12."
your fingers spread apart the leather of your wallet to pull out a twenty-dollar bill, "here you go."
after exchanging the money with a printed receipt, bucky snatched the black permanent marker clipped onto the fabric of his apron, readying himself for whatever name you're about to throw at him. "can i get your name, ma'am?"
instead of giving him a name of some fictional character that came to your mind first, you instead beamed your name out—grin never leaving your face for even a millisecond.
"huh, i haven't heard that one before. where's it from?" he questioned, surprised he hadn't heard of that name from any movie yet, destroying his streak of identifying which character you were referring to. "is it from the 2000s? i might've missed watching a few sitcoms here and there."
"nah," you replied indifferently, "it's my name."
the feeling of shock that washed over bucky was indescribable, like a scene from a movie he knew was going to happen one way or another—but the moment it does arrive, it feels like he was drenched in a bucket of cold water with how fast his heart was beating.
"seriously?" he answered with a volume barely above a whisper, his thoughts still running around his head like wildfire.
before bucky could properly soak in the gravity of the situation, you were already turning around to head to a vacant booth near your typical spot, barely catching the words of agreement leaving your lips.
your hands carefully wrapped around the hot steaming beverage when you reached the counter to retrieve said coffee, cheeks hurting with how much you've been grinning at the encounter and from your friend's relentless teasing. you only got the chance to properly scan the item in your possession when you leaned against the vinyl cushions of your chair, and staring back at you—were the words written in bold 'go out with me,' and your name scrawled on the lower portion with an xoxo to go along with.
you whipped your head around to see bucky, pretending to wipe an empty mug with his metal hand—seemingly trying to make himself seem busy. but unfortunately for him, the woozy grin on his lips and the slight hue of red on his cheeks were as clear as day. and you waited for him to finally catch your eyes before you tilted your head whilst maintaining eye-contact. mouthing the words—i'd love to.
he can cream in my cup anytime. just saying.
@ chipotleburritobowl – 2025 , do not plagarize or i will cry fat hot tears , you are responsible for your own media consumption twin. read responsibly and thanks for stopping by!
i am LOVING your angus tully content 💕 would you please write an angus tully x reader where the reader meets angus in boston while they’re ice skating and then they get to know each other as they explore the city, sort of ‘before sunrise’ style and hunham gives them the space to do so? if you don’t like this idea though that’s totally okay!! have a lovely day regardless :)
𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫
pairing: angus tully x fem!reader
word count: 4k
notes: reader is very nervous & dorky! thank u for sending 🤎
the chilly december air stung your cheeks, leaving them reddened and sore, but that didn’t stop you from braving the weather and heading to the public skating rink. your friends had cancelled on you last minute, one of them falling sick with a nasty cold and the other deciding that her boyfriend was more important than a night with you during the festivities that boston had to offer. you couldn't be angry at her, though, you were a hopeless romantic at heart and would do the same if you had a boyfriend. you were happy that your best friend found someone so perfect for her, you dreamed of finding him too—the perfect boy.
though, you usually just giggled in your bed at night when you imagined yourself spending the rest of your life with david cassidy. that was much easier than finding real love.
so, alone you were as you willed your way ahead through the boston streets where your father had dropped you off. you promised yourself you'd start getting out of your nervous shell and what better way to test it than being alone at a skating rink? especially when you were notoriously clumsy and horrendous at skating.
if you could do this, you could do anything.
as you approached the skating rink you felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety flooding you. there were a lot of people, too many people, a lot of friends giggling with each other, children learning how to skate with their parents and partners holding hands as they stared into each other's eyes lovingly. you sorely missed your friends, but you shoved that thought as deeply into your consciousness as you could because you promised yourself you wouldn't wallow in your loneliness.
and you were here, weren’t you? successfully making do without them. all you needed to do was get the skates on and make your way onto the ice—that’s all. getting here was half the battle.
comfort warmed you as you fit yourself into the hand-me-down skates your older sister had given you. you tried so hard not to think about the negatives because even if you slipped and fell, it’s not like anyone here knew you. there was not a single person on the rink that looked even the slightest bit familiar and you thanked god you lived in a busy city.
of course, you were unsuccessful in ridding those thoughts because all you could think about was that there was a likely chance you could embarrass yourself in front of a cute boy. you were too boy-crazy for your own good, your mother blamed david cassidy for it.
as you let out a shaky exhale, you darted your eyes around the exterior of the rink as you shrugged off your bag and held your winter boots in your hand. you had ran into your first problem of the evening; there was no one to watch your belongings.
that’s when you noticed an older man just to the left of you, smoking out of a pipe and watching the rink, smiling to himself. he seemed friendly enough, reminding you a lot of your grandpa. there was no better person to watch your things!
“excuse me sir,” you said to him, smiling as you approached him cautiously, “is it alright if i leave my things here next to you? i’m not skating for long… i just don’t want to take them onto the rink with me.”
the man hadn’t realized you were talking to him at first as he pulled the pipe out of his mouth and looked between you and someone on the skating rink. he smacked his lips together a few times in thought, “okay. sure, i don’t mind.” he mumbled, though you could tell that he minded.
he was grumpier than you pegged him to be.
“thank you so much! i won’t be long!” you smiled, happy that you had some form of success, but again you had to ward off the image in your head of him running off with your things. at least he’d only have stolen a woman’s snow boots and three dollars from your wallet.
as you waddled away, you hadn’t noticed that a boy on the rink had skated up to the older man, you were much too focused on not toppling over. your ankles were already wobbling back and forth as you navigated through the snow, unaware of the set of eyes that lingered on you with each step you took.
“you got this,” you breathed to yourself as you made it to the entrance, taking a long and deep breath that caught in your throat. you froze in your spot, feeling frigid as you watched the tens of people skating along the rink so seemingly expert in their ways.
a woman cleared her throat behind you and you jolted up, looking over your shoulder and seeing a mother and her two children waiting to step into the rink, “sorry!” you squealed as you hurried onto the ice and clung to the railing for dear life.
the sounds of the young kids snickering made your cheeks burn red, so you kept your eyes downward and stared at your mitten-covered hands as they gripped onto the rail. then you focused on your feet, slowly moving them back and forth on the ice as you got used to the feeling of the skates gliding across the frozen surface.
with a triumphant huff, you straightened up and slowly started to skate with your hand keeping balance on the edge, much like a learning child. at least they usually had a helper.
you had focused on this for a bit, getting into the swing of things. you looked around with a content smile, slowly moving and breathing in the crisp air as you focused on the sounds of laughter. the christmas spirit was high and you were happier than ever to be experiencing this alone, you couldn’t wait to go home and gush to your sister about your first solo adventure as a young woman.
satisfaction wasn’t fully met, however. you needed to challenge yourself further before calling it a night.
carefully, you let your hand off of the rail and moved carefully away from the edge. your eyes darted around your immediate surroundings, making sure you had enough of a clearing to start skating without bumping into anyone. a big smile grew on your face, you were by no means quick, but at least you were moving!
you focused your eyes back down on your feet, watching closely as you moved one in front of the other with intention. you were getting the hang of it, muscle memory coming back from when you skated as a kid. with your attention far from the outside world, you didn’t notice a duo of young girls coming right for you—too busy laughing amongst each other to notice you drifting in front of them.
one of the girls bumped hard into your shoulder and yelped out a sincere ‘sorry’ as you lost your balance on your feet. you almost kept yourself upright, but you quickly fell back.
you expected to crash down onto the ice with a hard thump, but two arms caught you, hooking underneath your armpits and hoisting you back upright onto your skates. you didn’t have the means to turn around all that quickly, but the person who saved you seemed to realize that, so he skated in front of you and turned to look at you. he made it seem so easy to skate backward.
“you okay?” he asked, but you hardly heard the words because you were so fascinated with how beautiful he was. he had the biggest brown eyes you’d ever seen and a head full of wild curls that he obviously tried to tame. he was also taller than you, making you feel so small under his gaze, but not threatening in the slightest. all you could do was smile at him like a dork.
your knight in shining armour.
a few moments pass and the realization hit that you had been completely silent, “thank you!” you blurted out, your eyes widening in horror because of how you were staring at him like a goddamned fool, "i'm not very good at this."
"you were doing fine until you got bulldozed over," the boy smiled, unabashedly looking you up and down. he cleared his throat and held out two of his gloved hands, "hang on."
you obeyed with no hesitation, your arms extending so you could take his gloved hands in your own. you felt your mouth go dry and you had to force your hands to stop shaking. you were always so much more anxious around boys.
"oh, god," you groaned in anticipation as he started skating backward, pulling you along and forcing you to focus on keeping balance, "you really don't have to spend your time here teaching me how to skate." you looked up at him, feeling like a burden.
"i know," he replied, grinning at you as he kept pulling you along the ice, his gaze only breaking to make sure he wasn't about to skate back into anyone. those brown eyes fell back on you, watching you with a soft gaze as you kept moving with one foot gliding in front of the other, "i'm angus."
"hi, angus," you smiled, chewing on the inside of your lip after you returned the introduction. you could feel your cheeks blushing. you looked down and at your feet again, but your lack of focus got the best of you, "ah, shit!"
just as you lost your footing and balance, nearly flying forward, angus wrapped an arm around you and laughed aloud, pulling you against him so you couldn't tip over. you could've stayed like that forever, nuzzled against this boy's chest and forgetting about the outside world.
"you're clumsy," he teased, flickering his gaze down at you as he led you both to the railing for a rest.
"you only just noticed?" you retorted playfully as you leaned against the support, letting yourself exhale in relief once you could rest the entirety of your weight against it. shyly, you looked back over to angus after a few beats of silence, "you're not here with anyone else?"
angus scrunched his nose in response, shrugging, "it's a long story."
"i like stories," you mused, not ready to let this end. whatever this was.
a breathy laugh came from him as he glanced away to look at something, you hadn't been able to follow his gaze before he was looking at you again. there was something about him that kept your attention, likely the fact that he genuinely seemed to enjoy your presence. it made you giddy and your stomach swirled with butterflies.
"well, i came here with my history teacher," he said, almost sheepishly. you looked at him with slightly furrowed brows, uncertain where this would be going, "i go to a boarding school out of town, north of here. i, uh, didn't get to spend christmas with my family and so i've been stuck at school with him as my chaperone. guess i'm good at convincing people to take me places," he chuckled, his gaze looking anywhere but at you.
"i don't think i would've guessed that story in a million years," you giggled, a smile reaching your eyes as you looked over angus' face, "sorry about your family, though. must be hard around the holidays."
"it's fine," he quipped quickly, you figured it best to not bring up his family anymore.
you fell silent for a bit, thinning your lips as you looked around and focused on your surroundings to pass the time and try to ignore the awkward silence. you watched a group of kids skating together, playfully shoving each other and laughing when one of them wiped out.
"did you want to skate again?" angus' voice broke the silence and you met his eyes. with a small nod, he smiled and gave you his hands again.
the two of you had spent another twenty minutes on the skating rink, laughing together as he taught you how to keep yourself upright. you were happy to report that you'd only fallen on your ass twice, and even when he laughed at you, you felt your heart soaring.
there must've been some good karma you stored up over the year because you weren't sure why you were blessed to run into angus on a night like this. he was cute, funny and just as awkward as you were.
once you two were tired and ready to hang the skates up, you ventured out of the rink and stood at the exit. you had to catch your breath after laughing over some joke angus had made about his time at barton, something stupid that wouldn't have made you laugh in another other situation. angus was just... nice. funny, but in an endearingly dorky way.
as you bent down to untie your skates, you straightened up with a panicked look on your face. "my stuff!" you said, looking up at angus and then around the exterior of the rink, trying to spot the man you'd left your things with. that's where the bad karma came in, leaving you with nothing.
"are you looking for these?" a third voice spoke, your eyes landing on the pipe-smoking man that angus seemed to recognize. you put the pieces together.
"yes! thank you so much!" you smiled as you took the boots from him and your bag, quickly changing into the shoes that allowed you to stand steady. you sighed softly with a smile and looked between the two men, "i, uh, thank you again, sir, for keeping an eye on my things. and thanks, angus, i'm sure by next winter i'll be an olympic figure skater," you smiled, not quite ready to leave without spending more time with the boy, but you weren't sure you'd have the choice.
as luck would have it, though, his teacher, mr. hunham, seemed to have a soft spot for the boy.
"mr. tully, i'm calling it an evening and will be heading to the hotel room, i'm rather tired this evening," the older man explained. you could see the pleading look on angus's face, "i expect to see you there within a few hours or lest you deal with multiple detentions when we're back at barton," he continued with a satisfied look on his face when angus smile, "keep an eye on him for me." he turned to you, letting out a huffy sigh as he looked between the two of you once more before turning on his heels and leaving.
angus was speechless.
"he seems like a nice man," you said in awe as you watched him, growing nervous for other reasons now.
"trust me. he's usually not," angus replied, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat as he looked down at you, "you look cold. i think i saw i coffee shop near here. they probably have hot chocolate or something."
"okay," you smiled, forcing yourself not to let your boy-crazy giddiness get the best of you again.
as you two ventured away from the skating rink, you found yourself feeling more comfortable with each passing second and talking about yourself like an open book. you spoke about everything and nothing, his favourite band was pink floyd and he was currently halfway through reading the novel dune. you shared your own love for the partridge family show, though, you kept your lips tight about your obsession with david cassidy.
you made a mental note to rip the poster of david off your wall if something were to ever come out of this night with you and angus, like hell he'd ever be in your room.
"what do you like so much about boston?" you asked angus as you two walked through one of the downtown streets in boston, your mittens shoved in your pocket as your hands cupped around the hot chocolate you sipped on. the heat emanated from the paper cup and warmed your hands. you two had been walking and talking for a while now and your drink was half-empty.
"you like long-winded answers, don't you?" angus said playfully, bumping himself against your side as you walked together. it caused a laugh to bubble up from you, your cheeks turning red at the closeness.
"what's so long about this answer?" you wondered aloud, glancing up at him.
"my dad is here," he said after taking a moment to think over his words, "he's uh, in the sanitorium," he murmured, not quite meeting your gaze, "not doing well mentally."
"you don't have to say anymore," you urged him, regretful that you asked the question in the first place.
"it's fine, i like you. you're not... judging me." angus admitted, flickering his eyes to you and smiling.
oh, god. that smile made your stomach do flips.
"why would i judge you?" you asked rhetorically, "you've been nothing but kind to me tonight. you didn't even know me and you caught me before i fell on my ass, i mean, that's the most any guy has ever done for me... and you bought me hot chocolate!" you were animated in your words as you spoke, not noticing how you lit up angus' facial expressions.
"like i said, it's because i like you." his lips twitched into a smile before he lifted his cup and downed the rest of his drink. you followed in suit, though, mostly to cover the way you had a smile stuck on your face like a lovesick puppy.
you two found an outdoor garbage bin and tossed your empty cups in, standing on a corner of the street that was near the courtyard with the skating rink. it was quiet there now, only then noticing how late it had gotten.
"so, what's your story?" angus interrupted your thoughts as he kept walking, you needing to take a few quick steps to meet his pace as he led you to a bench to sit down on. the perfect spot to watch the christmas lights flicker around the rink and people watch the last remaining people who were skating.
"it's hardly a story," you laughed, fidgeting with your fingers as you looked up to the night sky, the stars hidden because of the city lights, "i'm just crawling my way to graduation so i can get out of my parent's house and go to college," you look over at him, "are you graduating, too?"
he shook his head, "i was expelled a few times," he admitted with an amused look on his face, "should be graduating, but stuck as a junior because of my atrocious behaviour," he teased with a click of his tongue.
"expelled?" you laughed, "wow, i didn't expect such a gentleman like you to be so fond of troublemaking."
that got a laugh out of him, the smile reaching his eyes as he turned ever-so-slightly to better look at you while you two sat together, "yep, i'm the absolute worst. though, i plead my case as i've been wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet once when it was obviously not true."
"uh-huh," you smirked, "are you certain about the wrongly accused part?" you snorted a laugh.
the night was perfect. the two of you sharing so many laughs that your cheeks were hurting and you were beginning to feel like you knew angus for years and this was simply a reunion of friends. you knew at some point it would end, but you didn't want to think about it. not yet, it was too painful of a thought.
your laughter settled and you couldn't break your gaze from angus, the silence looming, but not overwhelming. as you admired him, you caught the way his brown eyes flickered down to your lips and you inhaled sharply, the breath catching.
"i, uh—can i kiss you?" his words were gentle, but they rang through your ears loudly, causing chaos and mayhem that left you feeling like a nervous wreck, "unless i'm reading this wrong."
you parted your lips to speak but nothing came out. all you could do was look down at his lips and nod, hoping that your movements spoke volumes. thankfully, they did.
angus leaned forward, hesitating for a second, but if you could will your way forward to adventuring boston alone, then you could sure as hell will your way forward to meet him halfway. you leaned forward bravely and closed your eyes just as your lips met his, a tingling sensation rolling waves over your skin.
it was a simple kiss, one that made your lips numb when you pulled away and looked up into his eyes. but it wasn’t enough for angus because you were soon pulled into another as his hand lifted and cupped your jaw, keeping you against him as your lips moved together at a gentle, easy pace. he parted your lips with his own, which gave him the space to slip his tongue into your mouth and cause a soft sound to escape your lips. you were fully entranced by him, completely malleable under his touch as you tasted his tongue on your own—sweet like chocolate.
this went on for a few minutes, maybe longer. you two indulging in the kiss you both were anticipating the moment you set eyes on each other.
“this sucks,” you murmured when the kiss finally broke, you two parting to breathe.
“why?” angus furrowed his brows slightly, his hand still on your jaw.
“because i really like you,” you said, pursing your lips into a pout, “and at some point i’m going to have to say goodbye.”
angus shared the sentiment, frowning slightly, “i’ll come to boston again, okay?” he said, just as passionate about you as you were to him, “and if you give me your number i promise to call you.”
you nodded, sighing and watching the way your warm breath fogged up in the cold air. the city was so silent and you’d never been able to experience it quite like this, let alone with a boy you kissed. knowing that it was getting late, though, left you nervous. you had told your parents you wouldn’t be out long and would go to your sister's apartment downtown for a ride back home—leave it up to a boy like angus tully to make it fun to break the rules.
“when do you go back to barton?” you asked him quietly like you didn’t want to hear the answer.
“the day after tomorrow,” angus murmured, his thumb stroking along the skin over your cheek, “i’m gonna’ try visit my dad tomorrow,” he said, “that’s the whole reason i convinced mr. hunham to bring me here, he doesn’t even know.”
you widened your eyes in surprise, “do you think he’ll let you go?”
“probably not, but i’ll find a way.” he said, but not quite fully convinced.
“it’ll work out, angus,” you said, a shiver running up his spine as you said his name, “just like you and me. i’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
he was glad that you managed to see the bright side in all of this, as the night was coming to an end he was beginning to let his negative thoughts pull through. already he could tell that you were going to be a big part of his life, even if it ended up being fleeting and short.
“come on,” angus breathed out, removing his hand from your cheek and standing up. he offered his hand for you to take.
“where are we going?” you asked him, blinking a few times as you took his hand, no mittens or gloves in the way as his fingers interlaced with yours.
“nowhere in particular,” he said, keeping you close as you walked through the quiet boston streets in the early morning hours and spending the last bit of freedom together that you two could muster.
when all was said and done, you found yourself exhausted as you curled up in your bed with the first bit of sunrise spilling through your curtains. it was a bittersweet end to your night with angus, leaving you uncertain about what the future would hold. all you knew was that you’d be waiting for that phone call he promised you.
summary: the thunderbolts get invited to the world’s top band’s concert for PR. bob gets dragged along, but chaos errupts when he realises that he knows this band, and that the super hot guitarist he's always had a thing for is looking straight at him.
pairing: bob reynolds x rockstar!reader
insp by: this ask!!!!!!! genuinely made me jump in joy. thank you again for requesting anon!!! also very inspired by ‘in my room’ by julia wolf obviously and also ‘secret door’ by arctic monkeys!!
word count: 7.7k give or take
cw: basically all fluff. there is not a single bad thing that happens. a bit sad i guess?? its just a lot of them being sad about being apart, strangers to lovers, band is named after marijuana.
a/n: this is for the all of the daisy jones’ out there. i see you queens. no man will ever dim your sparkle. ive always wanted to do a rockstar reader and im glad that this is my first one!!! i hope i did not disapoint
the SUV rolls through the city, headlights cutting through the setting new york sun. there's a thin layer of fog settling on the ground, the vehicle slicing through it as the team heads towards madison square garden.
bob sits in the backseat wedged between ava's elbow and yelena's knee. he tries to take up as much space as he can, but he can't seem to wedge himself past their extruding limbs. john and mel sit in front of them— the super soldier's gaze set on something outside of the window and the assistant's focused entirely on the screen in her hand.
the radio hums gently under the soft hum of the car— some pop song thats probably playing in every bar in new york right now— and yelena taps her boot against the floor in time with it, impatient or bored; probably both.
"remind me why we're doing this again?" she finally breaks the silence, eyes flicking from the window towards mel.
"publicity." mel answers, eyes glued to the screen of her tablet, "being seen enjoying music like normal people will help with your image... makes people more inclined to—"
ava cocks her head, "like normal people?"
the assistant's head lifts, her eyes meeting all four pairs of eyes. "oh, i didn't mean—" she blinks, her finger hovering over her screen before she shakes her head, "nevermind. you know what i mean."
john leans his head against the window, watching the glow of the venue lights as they round the corner. "do we at least get free drinks out of this?"
"smile and you might." mel says.
bob shifts in his seat. he's pretending he's calm and that he's not nervous at all, reminding himself that this is simply just another publicity stunt that valentina is putting the team through.
except the closer they get to madison square garden, the more the low thrum of the opener inside of the arena presses into the SUV, the vibrations warbling the glass. the car hadn't even stopped yet and bob was craning his neck to see the line of people that wrapped around the venue. his stomach tightens without him even realising it.
"this is hell." yelena murmurs, head turning as the car passes a horde of people with cameras far too large for any reasonable purpose.
"hell has fewer paparazzi." ava deadpans.
mel raises her head to see what they're complaining about. "oh right. i think there was a someone tipped them off about you guys showing up."
yelena raises her brows. "great."
"you guys are acting like you've never been in the spotlight before." john says, voice dry but dripping with a hidden pride, "better get used to it. we're avengers now."
bob blinks. it's still hard to believe. avengers? him? he's not sure if that word would ever feel right. right now, he just feels like plus one in their little world tour.
this is his first time out of the tower since the void had taken control. the streets of new york should feel familiar, but he feels that stab of guilt tearing away at his chest. he sees the aftermath of the damage in every little thing— the cracked pavement, the skyscrapers undergoing repair, the looks of passersby when the team makes the rare decision to walk the streets, like they can sense the chaos that clings to them like glue.
his eyes are fixed on the glowing lights ahead— massive screens that line the venue, cycling through ads of tonight's main event. he stares at them with a crinkled brow, frowning when they drive past just as soon as the ad flips to what he wants to see.
he almost feels stupid for not knowing who they're here to see. none of them really do. mel had told them that the band was huge, that this was 'great publicity', and that they should just have fun and not embarrass themselves. bob had been dragged along with the ensemble with no idea what to expect.
the SUV turns into the entrance. the car is shadowed in black before a large white light hits the windows, washing the interior in brightness before the vehicle rolls to a stop.
a few staff members step forwards as soon as the doors open. with clipboards and earpieces dangling from their uniforms, they direct the team out of the vehicle. the faint thrum of the soundcheck is louder now, vibrating through the concrete above them.
a man steps forwards. he's dressed in a suit, fancier than anyone else here. bob assumes he's the boss around here.
"avengers! welcome to madison square garden!" he says with practiced enthusiasm, his smile a little too perfect to be real. "we're just thrilled to have you here tonight. big night for the band, even bigger night for you all, i'm sure."
bob exchanges a look with yelena, who looks just as unimpressed as he feels. the man keeps talking about the venue, gesturing grandly to the high ceilings of the basement and the great staff that are there to service the team if needed.
he grins with unnecessary vigour, hands clapping together. "the band is just dying to meet you guys. they're big fans. now i'm sure you all know who they are, so i don't need to introduce them to you. now, do you have any questions?"
bob opens his mouth, a finger awkwardly raised. "actually—"
"great! come this way. don't want you to miss them!" the man says before bob can get another word out, already ushering the group through a large curtain. "press is outside, but we'll make sure your entrance stays smooth and steady."
bob lowers his hand with a quiet sigh, his mouth falling into a tight lipped frown as the group starts following. figures.
they follow the man through a short corridor lined with posters and gold records, the muffled hum of the crowd growing with every step forwards. when they finally step through the doors, the space opens up— bright lights, thundering bass from the speakers, the sheer size of the madison square garden stretching out before them.
from up here, they can see everything— roadies adjusting cables and lights, the glow of phones flickering in the pits below, the hordes of people flooding in through the doors.
the man smiles. "this is the VIP box. best seat in the house."
bob leans over the railing, watching people scatter like ants below. he searches the stage for a clue, anything that could give him the answer as to who he has to stand here and watch for the next three hours, but all he can see is a large MJ splashed into the backdrop in bold red letters.
the first person he thinks of is micheal jackson, but... he's dead.
bob frowns, squinting at the stage like it might offer a better explanation, but there's nothing of use. just more initials written on staff shirts and a collection of instruments that means something to everyone but him.
he looks back at the team, who look wildly out of place under the brightly coloured LED lights in their casual at-home clothing. ava stands stiffly, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. yelena is peering over the edge like a kid in a zoo. john's posture is painfully upright like he's trying too hard to look comfortable. mel looks like she's two minutes away from sending val an email about 'improving team behaviour in public settings'.
it doesn't take long before there's a shift in the crowd. it starts slowly— a few glances from the audience, someone nudging their friend and pointing up at the box, the faint flash of a phone cutting through the lights. it spreads through the crowd like a ripple, realisation catching on; realisation that the avengers are here.
"oh, great." john groans, turning his head away so that the cameras can't get a clear shot of him. "they've noticed us."
"so what?" yelena drawls, leaning casually against the railing, clearly unbothered by the amount of attention they're suddenly being bombarded with.
"soooo, i dont want people thinking i listen to this crap." john exclaims with a gesture towards the stage like the possible assumption causes him physical pain. someone shouts his name in the crowd and he rolls his eyes in annoyance.
"you havent even heard them play yet." ava points out.
john hums flatly. "with a band called the mary janes, i dont think i need to hear them play to know they're mediocre industry plants."
bob's jaw ticks. something flips in his brain as he turns to the team, the smile on his face faltering. "wait, the mary janes?"
the mary janes. he knows that name.
realisation slowly clicks into place, and his brain slowly catching up to the recognition that dawns upon him. his gaze sweeps back over to the stage, to the glowing MJ logo on the backdrop, to the merch that the audience parade around in, to the signs held high above the crowd scrawled with lyrics he only half-remembers hearing somewhere before.
and then he spots it— that cherry red fender, it's body covered in stickers and scuff marks from years of use. it's the same one he's seen in more magazines, interviews, videos, and photo shoots than he'd ever admit to.
before anyone can reply, the room goes dark. the conversation cuts off, the shift so sudden that it pulls everyone's attention towards the stage. the crowd erupts into a wave of applause and cheer that rattles the glass of the VIP box. the lights flash in quick bursts of red and gold and smoke rolls in thick waves along the ground. the massive MJ logo glows bright behind the drum kit, pulsing in time with the opening bassline that hums throughout the air.
bob doesn't move— he can't. his eyes are locked onto the stage as figures step into the light, four silhouettes forming behind the haze, hanging onto their instruments like they're extensions of themselves. each one of the members are standing confidently, like the stage was made for them and them alone.
the vocalist steps forwards, the spotlight bathing them in a bright white light. "we're the mary janes, and this is 'decode'."
the first few notes cut through the air like a knife, sharp and electric, slicing past the hun of the crowd and settling straight into bob's chest. the spotlight beams down onto the guitarist, and— oh god— bob feels like a pathetic fanboy.
his stomach flips and his chest tightens. his eyes refuse to leave the stage, tracing every small movement and ever flick of fingers over the frets of the guitar. each strum and pick of the fender resonates with a precision that's almost cruel in a commanding way, and bob can't look away. he feels powerless to do anything but watch.
the guitarist— you— bends into the chorus riff like this was everything you were born to do, fingers sliding down the neck of your guitar like it's an extension of you, playing with a familiarity thats almost instinctual.
"oh, i know this song! i heard it on the radio the other day." yelena yells over the music, "sounds better live than it did in the car."
john grits his teeth, "it's alright."
bob nods uselessly like his wordless input is of any use. his fingers tap against the railing, eyes focused on
ava hums. her eyes flick to bob, who's frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights. "you're gonna catch flies with your mouth wide open like that, bob." she grins like she knows exactly what's happening, her head nodding along to the rhythm.
your head tilts just slightly, enough for the light to catch your eyes as they sweep across the venue. the motion is small— maybe even unintentional— but bob feels his heart sink to his stomach when your eyes settle on the VIP box. on him.
everything in bob's body burns. are you looking at him or are you looking at the entire team? oh god, can you see him? can you see him seeing you? can you see him
he tears his eyes away from the stage, pretending to adjust his sweater, to look at the records on the walls, to do anything but stare back. even if it was simply a glance to see what celebrity was watching from the VIP box, you were still STARING at HIM— straight through the crowd and the blinding lights, through the distance, through the glass, right into him.
bob tilts his head in john's direction, his voice low and uncertain, "is the guitarist... staring at us?"
"looks like it." john says flatly before going right back to pretending he isn't enjoying the show.
looks like it? thats it? because to bob, it feels like he's being dissected under the world's largest spotlight.
every rational part of his brain tells him that you can't actually see him from that far, but it sure as hell feels like you can. it feels like you're staring directly into his soul and playing every embarrassing thought he's ever had on surround sound.
but just as quick as it had happened, you'd looked away.
your head tilts back towards your guitar like nothing had happened, lost in the riff like nothing else exists. the connection— the impossible, soul piercing stare— is gone. you turn back to your bandmates and pick up the next chord change like you hadn't just stared holes into bob.
bob watches, completely dumbstruck as you melt back into the music, head swaying to the beat and fingers moving over the strings like muscle memory. no hesitation, no flicker of acknowledgment, no second glance, no sign that you had ever even looked his way.
the concert goes by in a flash. one minute the area is roaring to life with the first chord; the next, it's drowning in applause for the band's final bow. the mary janes had performed thirty songs without so much as a break that wasn't filled with laughter, excellent crowd work, or another seamless transition from somg to song that made it impossible to look away.
and the entire time, you'd never looked back at him— not once.
not during your guitar solos or the moments you'd leaned into your microphone. not even when the spotlights swept over the VIP box over and over again, practically demanding your attention.
it was like that brief, almost impossible moment earlier had never happened. bob tells himself that it was just in his head— a weird, parasocial slip up brought on by too much caffeine and not enough sleep— a trick of the lights, a coincidence.
because why the hell would you be looking at him?
he forces a breath, dragging a hand down his face as the crowd below his roars. ava and yelena cheer loud enough to join the crowd, and john claps halfheartedly as the band waves goodbye, disappearing behind the curtains. the stage lights fade to gold and the venue lights start to come back up.
yelena turns around, a childish grin on her face. "that was fun. we should go to concerts more often."
ava snorts as she tugs her jacket back on. "as if val would sign off on that. this was a one time thing."
"we could just sneak into one." yelena shrugs, entirely unbothered. "the pit looks fun."
john lets out a sharp laugh. "yeah, until someone recognises us and we end up trending for all the wrong reasons."
"well, nobody invited you, so you don't have to worry about that." yelena smirks before she turns to bob, patting a hand against his arm. "what about you, bob? did you enjoy yourself?"
bob blinks, caught mid-thought. his glaze flicks from yelena's face to the bare stage where the lights are dimming and where roadies are already packing away cables. he ignores the dull thud of his heart against his ribs and the lingering buzz that refuses to fade.
"yeah." he nods, "it was really good."
yelena narrows her eyes like she can see straight through him, but then she shrugs, satisfied. she turns to mel, eyes bright. "can we stop at mcdonald's on the way home? i feel like fries."
mel gives a small shrug, "as long as we're back before bucky and alexei get back from their mission. val wants everyone there for a debrief."
yelena grins, "perfect. fries and milkshakes it is."
but just as the team starts heading towards the door, it swings wide open— nearly hitting john square in the face. the same man from earlier steps in, a little out of breath and his smile stretched too tight.
"where are you guys heading off to?" he asks, looking around with almost frantic eyes.
the team stops in their tracks like they've been caught sneaking out after curfew. they exchange glances with each other as if he'd just asked them a trick question.
"uh..." ava blinks, "home?"
the man laughs— a loud, guffawing laugh that echoes throughout the hallway and collectively sends the team leaning back a little. "nonsense! come on, the band wants to meet you."
bob's stomach twists. the band wants to meet them? his brain scrambles to keep up, to figure out another meaning to the mans words. a strange curtain of dread settles over him when he finds there's no double meaning.
john's brows shoot up in disbelief. "they want to meet us?"
"of course!" the man says, "they're huge fans."
mel steps forwards, trying her best to be polite with a firm tone. "we actually have to be back before—"
but the man waves her off entirely, already gesturing for them to follow him down the hall. "it'll be five minutes. they're just backstage— follow me!"
and because they have nothing better to do, the team follows.
mel exhales through her nose, muttering something that sounds a lot like "val's gonna kill me." before she follows suit.
the man leads them through a series of hallways and odd rooms, each one narrower and quieter than the last. strange equipment hums in dark corners and staff scramble when they see the team approaching. it feels like a backstage labyrinth.
bob falls a few steps behind the others, heart hammering in his chest. he catches his reflection in a window and pauses for a moment, studying the face that stares back as if seeing himself for the first time. his hand reaches up to tussle at his hair, then smooths down the creases in his sweater, trying to make himself look presentable.
does he look good? does he smell good? does he look like he's about to throw up his lunch? because that's how he feels.
finally, they reach a large door marked with a simple, official-looking sign that reads 'performers and crew only'. the man knocks lightly, waits for a moment, and then opens the door.
the smell that hits them is pungent— cigarette smoke and something sweet and artificial, like a fruity perfume or an energy drink. it's warm inside, the faint buzz of laughter humming through the air. mirrors line most of the walls, smudged with fingerprints and lined by dim golden globes that illuminate the room. it's clean chaos— kind that reflects the team's own living quarters.
there's a drummer perched on the arm of a couch, a bassist sitting at a dressing table with a can of soda, and the vocalist near the mirror, half bent over as she reapplies her lipstick. they all look up when the door opens, eyes widening and expressions flickering somewhere between shock and excitement.
"holy shit—" the vocalist turns around with a wide smile, straightening up so fast that the tissue from her hand falls to the ground.
bob sees the vocalist, the drummer, the bassist, but no you. he isnt sure whether he's relieved or disappointed.
the band inches closer like they're testing out whether or not the team are some sort of hallucination. bob shifts awkwardly under the weight of their stare, their collective awe boring into his skin.
john raises a brow. "you sound surprised."
"uh, yeah. we are." the drummer perks up from his seat, "we thought this was a prank our manager was pulling. we didn't think you were actually coming."
ava points a finger behind her back, "but this little man said that you guys—"
she pauses as she turns around. the little man in question is nowhere to be seen, the hallway behind them empty and the door comically flailing behind them. it swings back and forth on its hinges before slowly coming to a stop.
john leans over to peer out. "wow. he houdini'd out of here."
"that little man is our manager. he probably set up this meeting just for a little publicity." the bassist takes a sip of her drink, her words casual like she's said them too many times before, "he does that a lot."
ava turns back with a downturned lip. "right."
it's silent for a moment. the team and the band simple stand there and stare at each other like they've forgotten how conversations work. the eagerness is certainly there, but there's not much that a world-renowned band and a world-saving team have in common unless you count exhaustion and overbearing managers.
"oh right— forgive our manners. we don't usually get visitors." the vocalist says quickly, brushing her hair out of her face as she hurries towards a small fridge. "do you guys want something to drink? we've got water, soda, and lots and lots of red bull."
"and iced tea." the drummer adds.
"and iced tea." the vocalist nods. "pick your poison, avengers."
yelena shrugs with a smile. "i'll take an iced tea."
the vocalist grins, "coming right up!"
mel sighs, voice still so firm in the face of the band's charm. "we can't stay long."
"that's alright." the bassist says, "we've got a plane to catch in three hours so we aren't gonna be here long either."
even from this short encounter, it's easy to tell why the mary janes are topping the charts. not only is their music really fucking good, but their charm and character is are magnetic— effortless in a way that only people born for the stage can be.
bob finds himself looking around the room again. his eyes glaze over scuff marks on the floor, the empty cans of red bull sitting on the coffee table, and your cherry red fender that sits in its open case. you're not even in the room and somehow it still feels like you are— like the air hums with your presence and the walls hold your sound.
he exhales softly, the last of his hope draining from his body like a poorly tightened faucet. you're probably somewhere more important than here— packing your things and heading towards the next big conceft in a far off city.
is this what a parasocial relationship is? is he a weird stalker fan now? god, he hopes not. he used to make fun of these types of people and now he's practically one of them—
"hey, is someone there? i can't get the door—"
the voice comes from behind him, light and a little breathless, muffled by the wooden door. bob turns before he can think, hand reaching towards the handle. it clicks open and groans as it opens, and there you are, half-hidden by the door you're trying to nudge open.
bob practically leaps out of the way, muttering something he isn't quite sure off— maybe an apology, maybe a random burst of jumbled words— before he sidesteps and awkwardly presses himself against the nearest wall as you slip past.
"oh, i'm sorry, i didn't—" bob stammers, his voice catching your attention and stopping you in your tracks. he's barely caught his breath before you're looking at him with those pretty eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the room fades away until it's just the soft hum of amps and the warmth between you two.
you look different now. you're wearing different comfier clothes, the faint smudge of eyeliner staining your waterlines, and your guitar pick necklace dangles from a thin chain around your neck like a small reminder of the life you live. you look a little different than you do on stage— less rockstar and more human.
you look around the backstage, surprised to see people you don't exactly know. their faces are familiar, but nothing you can place yet. you glance up, still a little exasperated from being locked in the dressing room, eyes catching his for the briefest moment before offering him a small, apologetic smile.
"it's all good. it's not the most obvious door, so i can't blame you." your voice is casual, but there's a warmth there that makes his chest tighten. "i might need to take this up with the staff though. what kind of dressing room has a lock on the outside?"
but bob doesn't reply to your little rhetorical question. his mouth opens and shuts again like his mouth and his brain are having two seperate conversations. he just kind of stares like a weirdo, because it's you, and you're standing right there, talking to and looking at him.
your smile falters just slightly, replaced by a small crease in your brow. "you okay?" you ask, your voice soft.
he blinks. words refuse to leave him, his hands clenching awkwardly at his sides. his pulse beats in a ridiculous rhythm, pounding in his ears.
don't embarrass yourself. dont embarrass yourself. don't—
"i'm bob."
oh god. what an idiot. you hadn't even asked for his name.
much to his dismay, it takes you a moment to respond. your face softens like the nervous energy he radiates catches you off guard. your eyes scan him like he's some sort of shiny new object for you to ogle, and he feels like putty under your gaze.
"hi bob." you finally smile. "i saw you in the VIP box."
you'd actually spotted him from hundreds of feet away?
bob blinks, "you did?"
you huff out a small laugh, "the box is a huge glowing square in the middle of a dark stadium. it's kind of hard to miss. i noticed your sweater." you say, tilting your head slightly. "it's really blue— matches your eyes."
holy shit. were you flirting with him? there's no way that wasn't you hitting on him. what does he do? does he ask for a picture? an autograph? should he bare his chest to you? ask you to sign his chest and then get it tattooed? should he panic and make the awkward confession that he knows more about you than he does his own teammates? what the hell does he do?
"bob?" you gently judge him.
bob hums, blinking like he'd just been in a trance.
“you okay?” you squint. "you kind of just… zoned out there."
"sorry, i just—" he swallows, the words sitting heavy on his tongue. "i'm actually a really big fan. of the entire band. not just... you."
"really?" your eyes lights up, amusement flickering over your face. "what's your favourite song?"
bob pauses like he’s thinking even though he's known the answer for longer than he can remember. "i used to listen to ‘between the bars’ on a loop when it first came out. it’s engraved in my brain, that’s how much it played.”
your face brightens with recognition. “between the bars? wow, i didn’t think anyone even listened to our second album. they don’t really like the more melancholy songs.” you pause for a moment, warmth spreading across your face, “y’know, i actually wrote that one.”
"i didnt know that." he did. of course he did. "it’s really good. feels honest— personal— like it’s saying everything you’re too scared to say out loud without saying much at all.”
you smile at that— a genuine, warm smile— the kimd that feels like sunlight through stained glass. “that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about one of my songs.”
and god, your smile is the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. it hits him like waves against a cliff side, wearing down the earth and tearing into something softer inside of him. he’s not sure what to do with the warmth that curls within his chest and huffs out a small laugh.
before he can reply, a voice calls from the sofa. the drummer holds his hands up like he hasn’t seen you in years, "dude, where've you been?"
that’s when you turn on your heel, eyes playfully rolling that says stuff like always happens.
"i was locked in the dressing room. i've been calling out for the past ten minutes." you cross your arms, playing offended. you tilt your head towards the brunette beside you, "good thing bob was here to save my ass."
the vocalist wastes no time in pointing towards the team, a wide smile on her face like she still can’t believe what’s happening. "these are the new avengers! manny wasn’t joking.”
"the avengers?" you raise your brows, eyes darting between the heroes in wrinkled sweatpants and oversized hoodies, and then to bob. you give him a simple smile and then nod once. “cool.”
“oh, wait—“ the vocalist rushes over to a dresser and grabs a notepad and pen. she glides over to ava first, extending the pad like it’s some sacred form of text. “would you guys mind signing this? just right there, if that’s alright.”
ava raises her brows, surprised by the vocalist’s sudden animated enthusiasm. her mouth twitches into something between a smirk and a confused smile.
“sure.” she says, finally taking the pen. “didn’t think i’d be giving out autographs at a concert you were headlining.”
it doesn’t take long for you to lose interest in their conversation. you turn back to bob, eager to learn more about this non-avenger avenger, but when you do, you find that he’s already looking at you like he’s trying to study every detail on your face.
you stammer for a moment— something you never do.
"so, uh... are you… apart of the team?" you ask, trying to divert his attention away from the way your pupils are definitely dilating and betraying every ounce of nonchalance you try to portray.
bob purses his lips, trying to think of an answer that didn't completely out everything about the arrangement val had set up.
"kind of." he rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting elsewhere. "mostly clean up duty. i don't do much of the fighting or the saving people. but the team is kind of like my family, so i don’t mind.”
you laugh softly, the sound curling around bob like a ribbon of warmth. "that's a shame. you look like you could pull off the whole superhero thing."
bob's brow twitches in surprise, a half-grin tugging at his mouth despite the small pit of doubt welling in his stomach. "yeah?"
"yeah." you nod, studying him with a faint smile. "you've got the face for it— all heroic with that sharp jaw and pretty smile. people love that kind of thing."
heat crawls up bob's neck. "you think i'm heroic?"
"of course. i mean—" you gesture to the door you'd been trapped behind before he'd saved you, lips curving into a playful grin. "you saved me from certain death by poorly designed infrastructure. that counts as heroic, doesn’t it?”
bob swallows hard, his chest tightening. he wants to make a funny retort, to make another joke, to do anything but just stare at you, but all he can manage is a small awkward nod. heroic? the word is ridiculous in any other context, but hearing it come from you has him rethinking his entire stance on the word.
and suddenly bob realises how close you two are standing. you’re so warm and so close that he can smell the floral perfume you wear and the marks that dot your face, and it makes him unreasonably nervous. the feelings he’d felt when he saw you on his screen only amplify, and now he knows what he wants.
he wants to get to know you— to see who you are without all of the cameras and stage lights, to hear the laughter that isn’t for an audience, to know the thoughts you keep tucked away, to understand what makes you you.
but you’re a public figure and he’s the reason that therapy rates in new york had skyrocketed over the past two months. you’re not exactly a match made in heaven. standing here— fleeting as the moment may be— feels like the closest he’ll ever get.
“oh shit, we have to go.” mel mutters as she stares at her watch. “bucky and alexei got back earlier than expected. val thinks we’re already on our way back and wants to know our ETA.”
“don’t stress, mel.” john says, “we’ll just tell her that the band wanted to meet us and we can’t exactly deny that kimd of request.”
mel nods with a loud sigh. “thanks, but we really do have to go now.”
“way to ruin the vibe.” yelena groans as she pushes herself up from the sofa arm, “i don’t understand why she can’t just do stuff on her own.”
“because the last time she tried, she ordered a tank.” mel deadpans, already ushering the team towards the door.
the team starts heading out and the band starts gathering their things. the room shifts, and suddenly the fragility of the bubble you had created with bob becomes painfully obvious. people move around you, goodbyes and thank you’s being exchanged, but it all feels distant, like someone had turned down the world down just enough for you to hear the way your own heartbeat stumbles as you look at him, but also the way it breaks a little.
this wasn’t something easy you could indulge in. not something you could chase just because it made you feel good inside.
you were you and he was him, and the lines between your worlds didnt so much as brush fingertips before drifting apart again. bob would go back to missions and training and whatever chaos the avengers faced and you would go back to sound checks and tour buses and cities that never stopped blurring past you, and the harsh reality was that you probably wouldn’t be seeing each other unless it was through a screen.
bob’s mouth parts and your hands flex awkwardly at your sides. both of you choke on the words you want to say, ones that feel too big for a first meeting but too small for a goodbye.
“c’mon, bob.” john calls over his shoulder, hand on the handle and already halfway out of the door.
the bubble pops. bob swallows, eyes flicking helplessly between you and the door— on what he wants and what he should do. but he gives up, choosing the safer path, the one that’d hurt less.
“it was nice meeting you.” his voice is soft, careful, like being an louder might break whatever fragile thing you two had built.
“yeah.” you give him a tight lipped smile that doesn’t dare reach your eyes, “see you.”
bob forces himself to turn, to walk, to leave you and the band behind. he tells himself it’s stupid, that he’d known you for minutes yet his heart sinks like he’s known you for years.
he trails behind the team as they make their way through the winding backrooms and back to the car. yelena mutters something about how bob looks like a little kicked puppy, but he doesn’t hear it. he’s too busy replaying your voice, your smile, the way you look at him like he’s the only person in the room.
he’s halfway down a dim hallway when he hears it—
"hey bob— wait up!”
he turns to find that you’re jogging towards him, jacket flailing behind you as you catch up to him. you’re out of breath and your eyes are wide with something that looks an awful lot like hope.
you roll to a stop right in front of him, an almost childish grin plastered onto your face.
“hi, i’m sorry, i just—“ you huff out an exhausted breath, the words trying to climb their way out of your throat. “could i have your number? or maybe…. do you want mine?”
bob blinks, fully convinced he’s hallucinating. “my number?”
“yeah. i mean— if you want. no pressure. just… i think you’re really cool and i don’t usually—“ you gesture vaguely between the two of you, cheeks warming, “do this… but i didn’t want you to walk away and then regret it for the rest of my life.”
holy shit this is really happening.
bob opens his mouth, ready to give you his number, to do anything you want if it means the possibility of seeing you again, but all that comes out is;
"i actually don't—“ bob winces, because god, this is the worst timing on earth, “i don't have a phone."
you blink once, twice, and then a third time— but then your smile flattens out to something simpler, understanding. "that's fine."
before he can explain himself or die in a hole of his own embarrassment, you’re already digging through your bag, pulling out a black sharpie.
“here— give me your arm.”
and he does— because of course he does— and you take his wrist gently, pulling the cap off of the pen with your teeth. your fingers are warm against his skin as the sharpie presses into his skin, and bob is pretty sure his soul leaves his body.
you lean in, focused, lips parted slightly as you write a neat string of numbers across his skin. your handwriting is so pretty and so neat. of course it is. he didn’t expect anything less.
when you finish, you blow lightly across the ink to dry it out. it takes everything in bob not to combust right then and there.
"there. you can save this until you get one.” you grin as you click the cap of the pen back on. “i'll be waiting."
he stares at his arm— at your number in your handwriting, at the small crescents your nails leave in his skin— like it’s some holy scripture. he watches you walk away with a little pep in your step. you look over your shoulder once, then twice, and a third time like you’re checking if he’s still there.
and god, he is— rooted to the ground, completely undone.
bob stares at his arm for the rest of the night— all the way through the stadium, on the way to the car, during the entire car ride home, in the elevator in the tower, throughout the entirety of the debrief— up until his head hits his pillow, and even then, he’s sure he dreams about it.
the next few weeks are torturous.
bob hears of your tour— or more searches for it in every piece of media he consumes— every update, every post, every blurry fan-filmed photo from the pit, and he watches onwards like a lovesick puppy, so stupid devoted and soft for you.
should he be watching a fuzzy six second video of you doing the same riff over and over again until it’s been engraved in his brain? no, but he does it anyways because it’s you.
val had said she would get bob a phone, but it had yet to come. at first he didn’t mind and thought that a few days cool-down would help, but every day that passed felt like a chord was tightening around his heart.
the number that had sat on his arm for three days after the concert— protected during showers and the eyes of the team— had finally begun to fade. the moment the last stroke of ink began to run, he’d panicked like he was losing his lifeline. now your number lives on a crumpled piece of paper that he keeps in his nightstand like a love letter from a lover in the war.
one morning, bob emerges from his room, sleep still in his eyes and his pajamas sticking awkwardly to his body, only to find mel standing in the kitchen with a small package in her hands.
mel gives him a patient look as she hands the box over, “here. val finally came through on the phone you asked for.”
bob takes it like it’s the holy grail, hands ripping the box apart like a kid on christmas morning. the phone that stares back at him is shiny and pristine, but he’s not focused on that. he’s focused on the possibilities it holds— how it could bridge the distance between you and him.
he rushes through the set up as fast as he can. he fumbles through the settings, skips downloading irrelevant apps, and does everything he can to get to the only thing that matters; a way to reach you.
"oh hey, isn't this the band we met? the— um—" yelena says from the living room, clicking her fingers like she's trying to jog her memory.
"the mary janes?” john says.
that catches bob’s attention. he twists his head, eyes darting between the team to figure out what they were talking about. his hands tighten around his new phone as he inches towards the team, trying to act causal but failing miserably.
yelena points at john. “yes, them! the janes.”
bucky’s brow creases like the idea is odd. “you met them?”
“it was PR.” ava tells him with a shrug. “they’re fans.”
bob leans against the back of the sofa, one hand digging into the fabric like he might fall over if he didn’t. he swallows, “what’s up?”
john shrugs, “i don’t know. i put on the tv and they just popped up.”
“looks like a live show.” mel steps forwards until she’s standing next to bob, sharing the same interest in the television. “i heard they were releasing a new album.”
bob nods, not even bothering to hide anymore. “they were.”
the team watches as the vocalist steps to the side, the crowd cheering after the song finishes— and then there you are, walking into the centre of the stage, bathed in a warm light with your guitar around your torso. your usual rockstar persona is softened, and there’s something in your eyes— focused, searching— like you’re reaching out for someone just beyond the lights.
the crowd cheers. you rarely sing— everybody knows that— so seeing you step into the spotlight with the microphone in front of you feels like a gift nobody expected.
you lean into the microphone, a small smile on your face. “hello. this is the sixth and final song from our new album.” you say, voice clear and warm. “it’s called ‘in my room’. enjoy.”
and then you start singing, and holy shit bob’s knees turn to jelly.
“i want your things in my room, i miss you all of the time, i stalk myself on the internet just to see what you’d find.”
your voice is raw, far from the polished studio version your manager feeds the fans with. this is honest and alive, and bob can feel the tremor in every syllable that leaves your mouth.
“i want your things in my room, i miss you all of the time, you make it look so easy leaving everything behind”.
the lyrics hit him in a way nothing else ever has. gentle and confessional. the hallways backstage, that stupid stubborn door, the number drawn into his skin, the hope you were too scared to voice out loud. he feels it all.
something twists in his stomach. a part of him wants to believe that he’s making stuff up in his stupid parasocial mind, that he’s projecting, that there’s no way you’d write a song about him.
but then he watches you a little closer.
you’re not doing your usual crowd work or putting on your rockstar guitarist act. you look vulnerable— focused— like every word costs you something, like every lyric is a pathetic confession of everything you’ve been holding onto for weeks.
and when you sing the next line, you close your eyes like the thought of the person it’s about hurts.
“not asking for much man, thought maybe you’d call me, i’d slit my own throat just to see if you’d mourn me.”
bobs sits through the entire performance with his phone clutched in his hand as if letting go might sever all ties he has to you.
every chord, every lyric, every tremor in your voice, every glance you send towards the crowd, feels like it’s being transmitted straight into his chest. he doesn’t dare move a muscle because he’s afraid of missing a single detail that could confirm what he’s been trying not to hope for; that you wrote this song for him.
by the last chord, the crowd is cheering. alexei claps his hands in enthusiasm and the team nod in approval. something in yelena tells her to turn around, to poke and prod at the oddly bob-shaped hole in your lyrics, but by the time she does, bob is gone.
he’s already in his room, door clicking behind him. he rushes forwards and pulls out the drawer of his bedside table. his hands shake slightly as he rifles through it, searching for your crumpled piece of paper, the small lifeline thats felt incredibly fragile the last few weeks.
he finds it, his fingers tracing over the familiar ridges and tears before he opens it up and adds you as a contact. with a shaking breath, he starts typing.
BOB: Hey I dont know if you remember me but it’s Bob from your concert in New York. I just saw you perform
BOB: It was amazing
his fingers falter, the pads of his thumbs hovering over his keyboard. he types out another message.
BOB: You’re amazing
he doesn’t expect you to respond straight away— after all, you’d just performed in front of two hundred people and thousands of others on live television. you probably wouldn’t even have the time to look at your phone— but then his phone buzzes, his screen lighting up.
Summary: He brings home a girl, and as happy as you want to be for him, you still feel hurt that it’s not you he wants. Right?
Wordcount: 2.6k
Warnings: hurt/comfort, thinking of unrequited love, idiots in love, mutual pining, fluff
Authors Note: Shout out to @buckytakethewheel for beta reading. Divider made by @/saradika-graphics. Turn on notifications for @sebs-babygirl-notifies for updates. Lemme know your thoughts.
Masterlist
The muffled voices of Bucky and the girl clinging to his arm come through the speaker of your phone. The music in the background almost overshadowing their soft words.
But you catch them.
Every sweet word. Every loving gesture. The softness in Bucky’s eyes when he watches the girl.
Your heart aches, cracking piece by piece while you watch his Instagram story. He looks happy, and you should be happy for him.
But you can’t.
No matter how hard you try, you can’t be happy for him as long as your soul craves him. As long as your heart beats faster around him. And your belly swoops at his soft smile.
His brown locks fall into his face, framing his warm features.
The girl brings her hand up to his cheek, brushing some of his soft strands out of his face and behind his ear.
His eyes soften even more when he looks at her, he laughs—wholeheartedly and real.
A single tear escapes your eye when you watch them further.
How much you wish to be her. To feel his hands on you, his lips against yours.
But you’re not her, you will never be her. Never enough for him.
However, you're not even sure who she is, how he met her or what he feels for her. You only saw a few Instagram strokes with her before.
They are always so close, so soft with one another. She’s one of the few people who make his eyes soften, his smile widen and the blue in his eyes lighter than usual.
You turn off your phone, pushing it to the side before you can get lost in the depth of their accounts. It wouldn't help the ache in your chest, it wouldn’t change the fact that he’s not yours.
With a soft sigh you lean back into the pillows on the couch. They smell like him, like almost everything in your shared apartment.
Falling in love wasn't in the contract when the two of you moved in together. You didn't even plan to, but somehow, you just fell in love with him.
Maybe it was the way he swayed to the living room after the prom, giggling and falling over everything standing in his way.
He was tipsy, maybe even more than a bit tipsy. But he made it look so funny, laughing at everything that made him stumble.
And even when he landed on the ground with a low thud, he only laughed, rolling himself back and forth on the ground before he fell asleep — ass up, head down, snoring onto the rugged floor.
Or maybe you fell in love while you watched him preparing breakfast for the two of you. Always coming up with new things to try, even if it was a form for pancakes or some weird mixture that landed on your plate.
You're not sure, but here you are. Heart clenching at the thought of another girl making him happy—making him feel loved and cared for.
Another deep sigh escapes your lips, reaching out for the remote before you get interrupted by the bright smile of Bucky on your phone screen.
A message. From him. For you.
For a moment you consider ignoring it. At least for a moment so it doesn't look like you're pathetically waiting for him to text you.
But your curiosity wins, you grasp your phone instead of the remote and tap on his chat.
Buck: Are you home, babydoll?
You swallow thickly, the nickname means so much to you and yet it looks like it means nothing to him.
It’s a nickname. Nothing much.
He's called you that since like forever. It started with doll, you were his doll. And then, when he didn’t think the name sounded cute enough for his sweet girl, he changed the nickname to babydoll.
You: Yep, you wanna bring someone home?
You: I can ask friends to go out. Or maybe lock myself in my room if it's what you asked for.
Bucky immediately reads the message, probably because he can’t wait to get home with the girl. The three dots that show you he’s writing a message.
Your roommate often reads and texts back like he’s impatiently waiting for your texts. But he isn’t, you know he isn’t.
He has a girl. One that makes him happy and fulfills all his desires, or so you hope.
Buck: No need. I would love to introduce someone to you.
You swallow thickly.
Amazing.
The guy you’re in love with brings home his girlfriend to introduce to you. You reply with a short thumbs up emoji, not sure what else to text.
Telling him you’re happy would be a lie. And to tell him you don’t want to meet his girlfriend would only cause trouble and you're in no need to tell him why you aren’t in the mood to get to know her.
You growl quietly, looking around to make sure there’s nothing laying around. Not a pair of boxer briefs of Bucky or a bra of yours because it was in the washing machine.
Only one of his sweatpants is thrown over the armrest of the couch, not really necessary to put away.
So you lean back and turn on the television, trying to get some distraction before Bucky stumbles into the apartment with the girl by his side.
To your surprise it doesn't take them long, you thought they would have a few more drinks or bring home some friends, but it looks like they went straight to your shared apartment.
Really amazing.
Bucky’s voice is audible first when he pushes the door open, his laughter follows and you can feel your stomach tighten.
Act cool. Act happy. Just smile and then it’s fine. It's what you try to tell yourself as you get up from the couch to greet him.
The girl walks into the hallway first, she’s beautiful. She wears a long dress and you can only imagine how much Bucky drools over her.
“Babydoll!” Bucky says loudly, his grin widens when he watches you walk out of the living room. You stop in the doorframe as Bucky pushes the girl further into your apartment. “Hi!”
“Hey,” you mutter, nodding at him with a smile.
Your head turns to the woman standing next to Bucky, she smiles sweetly. Way too sweet for your liking.
Be happy for him.
“This is Becca,” Bucky tells you excitedly, his strong arm wrapping around her waist to pull her into his side.
You smile at her, introducing yourself to Becca.
“Do you want a drink?” Bucky asks, already turning to the kitchen when you both nod at his question.
“Come in,” you say, forcing a smile onto your lips as you step into the living room to let her in too.
She follows, looking around the room. She inspects a few pictures of you and Bucky, before she points at one with a wide smile.
“Oh, he really framed that picture,” she giggles, showing a picture with Bucky half-drunken and a doughnut on his nose.
“He’s proud of it,” you chuckle, taking a closer look even though you know the picture better than anyone else does.
As much as you want to hate her, she isn’t as bad as you thought. Bucky really has a good taste in women, even when it means he’s with someone who isn’t you.
“Bet he is, silly boy,” she mutters and you nod in agreement, plopping down on the couch.
She takes a seat next to you, not too close to invade your space but close enough so Bucky can’t fit in between on the couch.
“He told me a whole lot about you, glad we can finally meet,” she tells you, her eyes holding so much softness that you can’t bring yourself to not like her.
“I hope only good things,” you laugh, turning your head to the door when Bucky grumbles something in the kitchen.
“Even as a kid he used to mumble to himself, mostly when he got frustrated,” Becca says before she notices that she forgot to answer your earlier question. “And of course only good stuff he told me.”
You chuckle and nod, glad that he at least dates girls that like you.
But it doesn't help the sting you feel.
“So! Orange juice for you,” he hands Becca the glass before he hands you a mixed drink, without alcohol.
You take the glass and take a sip, watching Bucky walk around the table to sit on the other side of the couch.
“So whatcha talking about?” He asks, tilting his head like a sweet little puppy.
“Oh, I only told her about that time when you were a kid when you shit—” Becca starts, getting interrupted by Bucky’s hand pressing on her mouth and the other on the back of her head.
“No! She doesn’t- don’t you dare,” Bucky mutters, his cheeks heating up as he searches your eyes.
Becca laughs behind his hand, throwing her head back and somehow it reminds you so much of Bucky.
It’s sweet, surely they fit together so well.
You get off the couch, ignoring their surprised expression when they are watching you.
“S-sorry just thought of some snacks," you mutter moving out of the room.
The moment you step into the kitchen you take a deep breath, running a hand down your face as you look at the countertop.
After a few more deep breaths you fill a few bowls with different snacks, before collecting them on a big plate to carry them to the living room.
“I didn’t tell her about the diaper accident. Neither did I tell her about your feelings,” Becca’s voice comes from the living room.
You didn’t mean to listen to their conversation but her words spark your curiosity.
His feelings?
“Don’t wanna lose what we have,” Bucky’s voice, rough and full of emotion follows.
“If you don’t tell her, someone else will take their chance and you will hate yourself. If the way she looks at you shows half the feelings she has for you, she’s just as head over heels in love with you,” she says, as she scoots on the couch to the place where you sat before, Bucky follows wanting to keep the conversation quiet.
You wait a moment before you walk back into the living room, Bucky’s head shoots up, his eyes widen and lips slightly parted.
“Sorry, uhm, did I interrupt?” You mutter, placing the snacks on the table.
Becca shakes her head. “Don't worry I was wondering if I could crash in Bucky's bed.”
You smile, even though your heart breaks a tiny bit. You thought you could do some movie night, but you're pretty sure Bucky wants to go to bed with her now.
“Sure, ya know where the stuff is. Bathroom is opposite here. Sleep well, love you,” Bucky says, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he gets up and leaves the living room.
The whole conversation before you walked into the room wasn't about you, was it? They might have talked about some series or advice for anyone.
But for some reason Bucky doesn’t want to go to his room with her.
“Don't you want to join her?” You ask, plopping down next to Bucky on the couch.
He shakes his head, reaching for your favorite snacks and places them between the two of you.
“Nah, you wanted to watch a movie, plus I'm gonna sleep on the couch tonight anyway," he explains, handing you the remote.
“On the couch?” You wonder, earning a nod from Bucky.
“Yeah, don’t think she appreciates me snoring into her ear,” Bucky laughs, making you giggle softly.
You never mind when you cuddle on the couch and he snores into your ear. It’s not the loud kind of snoring but more soft ones that make him even cuter than he already is.
Bucky wraps his hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Your body tenses slightly, what if Becca walks in and sees the two of you like that?
“Buck, I don’t think we should-” you interrupt yourself at his confused expression, his thick fingers tighten around your shoulders to pull you even closer against his firm chest.
“What shouldn’t we do?” He asks, his blue eyes narrowing as he watches your expression carefully. “Don’t like cuddling tonight?”
“It's not it.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper, how can you explain to him that you don't want to be so close to him when his girl sleeps in the next room. How can you tell him that you crave him but he can't just cuddle you when he’s in a relationship.
“I don’t think Becca would appreciate it,” you mutter when he keeps watching you with that soft furrow between his brows.
“What? Becca wouldn't appreciate it?” He asks more to himself than to you. “Did she say anything? Babydoll, I'm sorry if she hurt you with anything she—”
You shake your head, leaning it against his shoulder. “But I don't think she appreciates it when we cuddle. You're with her, Buck.”
He makes a weird sound, something between a huff and a growl or anything. You're not sure, you have never heard a noise like that before.
“You think— We,” he laughs, his head throwing back as his rough laughter fills the room. “Babydoll, we don’t. We aren’t a thing. Becca, short for Rebecca, I call her Bec’s usually when we talk.”
You freeze.
Rebecca. Bec’s.
Becca isn’t a strange woman, not even to you.
“Your sister!” You say your thoughts out loud, ready to facepalm. “Oh- Buck, I'm sorry.”
Bucky chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before he leans back again.
“Oh, babydoll. You watched my Instagram story! And you were hurt, and yet you were still so nice to her, why?” Bucky mutters, reading you like a book.
Sometimes you hate that he can do this. But sometimes you also love that he can read you so perfectly.
“Mhm, you looked so happy. I thought you were happy with her,” you say quietly. “And if she makes you happy, then I would be happy for you too.”
“Babydoll,” Bucky whispers, sitting up to capture your face with his thick hands. “It’s not her I want. It's no one other than you I want. But I didn't want to ruin our friendship. But- I love you.”
The words echo in your head.
He loves you. You!
“You what?” You ask, eyes widen as you watch his smirk growing om his face.
“I.” He whispers, pressing his lips against your forehead. “Love.” He mutters pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose. “You.”
Before he breaks the distance between your lips he waits for your reaction, taking in the way your pupils grow, your lips part and your tongue darts out to trace the softness of your lips.
“I love you, too,” you mutter, leaning closer to press your lips against his plump ones.
Bucky doesn’t need another moment to kiss you back, his tongue tracing over your lips. It’s not heated, not rushed but slow and soft.
“Do you really want to sleep on the couch, I might be nice enough to offer you a bit of my bed,” you giggle before kissing him again.
“Of course you would, babydoll. But let’s watch a movie before we get to bed,” he whispers, peppering kisses all over your face.
He pushes you to lay back, his heavy body on top of yours before he turns the two of you and has you laying on top of him. Then owl with your sweets shattering down and making both of you laugh in amusement.
