For the drunk confessions, number 5 is definitely Bucky. Do you think any of them are Buck? I loved your fic with tipsy Buck 🙂
You're right, it's him!! It could also be Buck tbh but since you asked, I think he could also be 11 🥰
Modern AU, not Such Stuff related, established relationship, pure fluff
The wedding celebrations are well underway. The tables are still overflowing with food and sparkling wine, toasts and congratulations mix with the music in the warm evening air and many guests have forsaken their jackets, loosened their ties or exchanged high heeled shoes for more comfortable ones, and almost everybody at the function is drunk.
Bucky is certainly among them, a glass of champagne held loosely in hand as he stumbles through the crowd, patting shoulders and kissing cheeks at every corner. He feels light from the alcohol, everything around him a little blurred, a little golden on the edges like there's a light shining on them from somewhere only he can see; it's a happy feeling, warm and fuzzy at the center of his chest. He's happy, drinking to celebrate something and not to escape from the shadows in his mind, happy for himself and happy for his friends. Happy for Buck — or, better, happy to have Buck. If only he could find him in the crowd, that's it.
“Curt! Have you seen Buck?” He asks, his voice definitely louder than it should be but his friend barely winces — he's quite drunk too, half-lidded eyes and a loopy grin on his face. He shakes his head, grabbing Bucky's glass from his hand and downing in one go. “Can't say I have! How did you lose him, you're always together!”
Bucky shrugs, too light inside to actually be worried. “He stepped aside to greet Benny's parents and then I lost him!” He says and before he can add anything, excited shouts raise from the gathered crowd as it parts to let the newlyweds walk to the dance floor. It's time for their first dance, John looks at them with fondness as they take their place at the center of the wooden platform, giggling and whispering things into each other's ears like there's no one else around, just the two of them celebrating the happiest moment of their lives. They do a quick round of rock-paper-scissors to decide who's gonna lead, the guests laughing tenderly around them; Benny wins, and swiftly wipes the frown off Brady's face with a kiss before taking his hand, gently as if he's holding a crystal jewel, and then they start to dance. John has heard the song billions of times, they always used it when he was trying to teach Benny how to dance, but it's just white noise to his ears now, it could be anything. He watches them proudly — his dance lessons did work, after all — and then stumbles back through the assembled crowd: he needs to find Buck, like, right now, and convince him to grant him at least one dance.
The sky isn't completely dark yet, hues of deep pink and purple are still breaking it on the horizon, but the first stars are already shining in the firmament and something tells him that Buck has found his place somewhere he can watch them in peace.
Indeed, that's where he finds him: sitting on a bench tucked away near the trees, his face to the stars. He's still wearing his jacket, perfectly pressed and polished as when they arrived that afternoon, and even his tie. There's not a hair out of place on him, and John loves him maybe a little more for that.
He plops down on the bench next to him, sure that Buck has already felt him. “You missed the first dance,” he tells him.
“Did Benny take the lead?”
“Mh-mh. His dance tutor should be proud of him, he was moving those feet like he was born to do that,” John answers, a little slurred. Buck is still looking at the star but John can't stop staring at him; he knows his face so well he could draw it by memory even now that he sees it slightly blurred — the moles on his cheekbone, the curve of his lips, his long eyelashes, the way his fringe falls softly over his forehead.
Maybe worried by his sudden, uncharacteristic silence, Buck forsakes the stars to look back at him. He blinks a few times, like he's readjusting his eyes to a human, non intergalactic view, and smiles sheepishly at John. “What?” He asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer.
John grabs his cheeks, squeezes them softly with his fingers and smiles, all lopsided and toothy. “You're cute. And a bit blurry. But definitely always so cute.”
Buck's smile widens, John feels the stretch of his cheeks where he's still holding them. “Did someone drink too much sparkling wine?” He asks, teasingly, and John scoffs. “It was so sweet! And the glass kept refilling by itself, I swear.”
Buck chuckles, freeing himself from the cradle of John's fingers. “Maybe it was because you kept emptying mine as well, how's that?” He says. He sounds more relaxed than usual, John figures it's probably the same happiness he's feeling for their friends. “Are you happy for them?” He asks him, and Buck nods.
“I can't believe that will be us in three months,” he says, almost conspiratorially. “The party, the food, entertaining guests... and we won't be able to escape on a bench in the middle of the party either!”
Bucky laughs, quietly, even if his heart has started racing at the thought: three months from now, almost to the day, it will be him and Buck saying their vows, exchanging rings before their family and friends, and it feels surreal to even think about it. Not to mention-
“And the dance!” He exclaims in delight. “Buck! We're gonna have our first dance in three months and we haven't even started practicing!”
“I thought you were a natural,” Buck deflects but the damage is done, John is already jumping to his feet — a bit wobbly, indeed, but he manages to keep his balance.
“I am, but you're not and I know you'll want everything to be perfect, as always,” he says, holding out a hand to him. “C'mon, Buck! Don't keep a guy waiting.”
With a resigned sigh Buck relents and grabs John's hand, who hauls him up. He expect Buck to stand gracefully as usual but instead he stumbles, losing his footing and falling forward against him.
“Buck!” John exclaims, hands going to the other's waist to hold him up. “You good?”
“Perfectly fine,” Buck answers, his face now really close to John's; this way, he can't miss the waft of citrusy alcohol in Buck's breath hitting his face.
“Buck!” He exclaims again, with delight this time. “You're drunk!”
“I absolutely am not,” Buck responds, defiant.
“You are. You're drunk!”
“And hopelessly in love with you,” Buck says, going for flattery when his credibility fails. John snickers at that, but he can't deny his cheeks are feeling warmer all of a sudden.
He steadies Buck on his feet, holding him gently by the waist, and gives him a peck on the lips. “Were you hiding here all by yourself because you didn't want me to discover you're drunk?” He teases.
“No,” Buck says, frowning. “Benny's uncle offered me a shot of his homemade limoncello, it smelled like paint thinner but it was actually good, it tasted like nothing at all, it was just hot. And Benny's cousins, they told me it wasn't strong and convinced me to take another shot. Or maybe it was two. Anyways, when I realized I was in trouble you were nowhere to be found, there were too many people around so I figured if I found a place outside to look at the stars you'd find me, like you always do,” he explains, his voice not even slurred, just a tad lower, his southern drawl thicker than usual. He looks up at Bucky, smiles softly. “And you found me.”
“Of course I found you, Buck. You're my... what's the star you always tell me to look for to know where North is?” John asks, racking his brain in search of the answer that remains hidden in the fog of booze.
“Polaris,” Buck provides because of course he knows his stars even when he's plastered — limoncello homemade by some Italians, John thinks, good Lord, he's gonna have a hell of a headache tomorrow morning. But he looks so beautiful and sweet in his arms, he's surely not gonna complain.
“That. You're my Polaris. My True North,” John muses on making Gale laugh, a sound that bubbles up like a glass of champagne. “I've found you once and I'll find you forever, I promise.”
He couldn't care less about the cosmos above them when he can watch the galaxies in Gale's eyes as he stares up at him, happiness painted clearly on every line of his face. “You should keep these things for your wedding vows,” Buck teases.
John leans in for another kiss, then grabs his hands as gently as he can and puts them on his shoulders; instinctively, Buck snakes to the back of his head, thumbs rubbing softly at the damp curls there.
“I'll worry about those when the time comes,” John says, stealing yet another kiss. “For now, let me just teach you how to dance.”
