#littleredwrites

[fanabout]

I’d like to think that Aggro Penny is all of Pam’s inherited rage but stilted through a Doggo like restraint.

Extrapolated from: Find the Courage to Hope by LittleRedWrites on AO3

[absentauthor]

Too Attached: Part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Chubby!Reader

Summary: You make a decision about Bucky and the presence he should have in your life due to your shared extenuating circumstances. An unexpected morning leads to changes at the farmhouse.

Warnings: None that I can think of. Cursing.

Words: 3600+

You had been staring at the ceiling so long you could've sworn you'd begun to see constellations on the white canvas above your head. 

You were restless, mind drifting. You wanted to fall asleep, you did, it wasn't healthy to mess with your sleep cycle while pregnant. You were growing a person; you needed your rest for it to have a good chance of coming out a healthy one. You tried not to consider how you'd gotten here, in bed, mulling over heartbreak. Odd as it was, you used to wish for it; heartbreak. 

At least it was a feeling. 

Something you could only experience at the hands of someone else. It was a connection, however tenuous, and it meant something to you, back when you were just a lonely girl who'd only ever been kissed. It had been a time when the nights grew long and lonely and your mind began to drift to a solemn, consuming place, that you'd always come to a certain conclusion. You'd never find someone who noticed you. You'd end up alone forever, adopting kids if you were able to and dogs if not. You'd never know love or romantic connection. Back then, you were certain you would never know passion, lust, heartbreak. . .love. Those were nights when you wished for it, any of it. But now it was all you had. Love and heartbreak. You loved the man who stepped onto that porch two days earlier, the one who's child was growing inside you. It was damning, it was wrong. You shouldn't love him. How could you when he'd treated your heart so recklessly? So recklessly, in fact, that he hadn't even realized it was his to hold. You wished that knowledge didn't stick with you; didn't pull you from bed in the middle of the night. Clint had prefaced his news the day before with a simple: I don't think you'll like what I'm about to tell you. You'd braced, winced at the sight of his blue-black eye. Nothing he said could have really surprised you, simply pushed you into something else you weren't prepared for. No level of research could prepare you for your none-the-wiser baby daddy punching the guy he thought was your baby daddy. "Got a call from my guy over at the Sheriff's station. Apparently some dude has been living in his pickup at the end of our road for the past couple of days and he's about to get towed." That had been a day earlier and you'd snuck to the window countless times since, peeking out the window every so often to see of you could spot the offensive truck. You could. A spot on the horizon that came and went every so often (you assumed for food) and parked most often beside the mailbox. Needless to say, you weren't the one to go to get the mail. It kept you awake at night. To the point where you'd paced the rug in Clint's hallway threadbare, and ate almost all the food in the fridge. The aforementioned man not too happy about his wandering house guest was easily calmed by a FaceTime call earlier that night with Natasha, your generous benefactor and his girlfriend. It was a call that ended up being enlightening for you. You'd been intently listening to Nat, who cohesively defended her choice in giving Bucky the address to her farmhouse. "Half-yours, according to my boy Clint here," You pointed out, gesturing to Clint with a flourish. His gasp had been soap-opera worthy, complete with a hand thrown across his forehead, "Baby, I would never! You own this house and my ass!" Nat rolled her eyes, a reluctant smirk evident in her pretty features, "I don't know why I ever thought putting you two in a house together could ever result in a serious conversation." "We can be very serious now that we're facing a very serious issue!" Clint pointed out, leaning back against the couch you found yourself frequenting when the last thing you seemed to be able to do was sleep. "Bucky's arrival and subsequent sucker punch?" You shut your eyes at Nat's words, bracing under the shameful weight of. 

Why he'd come here and what he had unfairly found out. "No," Clint deadpanned. "House-wide starvation at the hands of Pint-sized Preggo over here." "Rude." Your pout deepened. "Barton, Precious Preggo!" Nat had playfully snapped. "Focus!" Your collective focus came reluctantly, but when it did, you couldn't have known what she was going to tell you. "I can't say much. It's not something I can be the one to tell you, Y/N." "Why?" You asked, even though the answer was clear. "He was distraught when he found out you left. He knew he hurt you, he just didn't know he'd successfully pushed you out of his life." You shrugged, "It wasn't about him." "Come on,” Clint scoffed. "What?" "You have taken every child psychology class there is. I've seen you on all those clinic websites. I have seen you hide the books. Jeez, the way you listen to Dr. Montgomery. . .you're reading up on everything that can possibly happen to this kid. You already know what is good for them and bad for them to some degree. It is about him because shutting him out completely goes against everything you believe in when it comes to parenting." You wished that he hadn't seen all your research; the Romanoff-Barton coupling was far too observant once they knew a secret like that. You had spent years in school, years that involved a number of classes that you loved to take. Psychology being high up on that list. These classes had taught you many things, including what it meant to be a parent. Because a romantic relationship could crumble easily, but a parenting bond lasted forever. Not for you, not for him. . .but for your child. "You want to get this right, I know you do," Clint said. "So?" "You know it's not just about you and Bucky anymore. You have for awhile and that's good." "What's your point, Clint?" "Set rules. Do your obsessive planning thing. But give Bucky a chance to be a part of those plans. Because it's not just the two of you anymore and he deserves his part of the equation." "You don't have to be all lovey dovey with the guy. Just. . . co-parent." Natasha chimed in, "He took leave to go find you. Permanent leave, which is as good as quitting here. Fury is well, furious." You stared at him, then the computer screen. Why did you have to end up tag-teamed by the most cohesive couple in history? You wished it didn't matter to you. That you could see that truck and feel nothing, that you could know how much he was giving up and have it not matter, but it was impossible. The truck's apparent occupant held a piece of your heart and was half responsible for the pre-human taking up residence in your body. You loved your baby. You already loved your baby. So much so that you knew no piece of history could hold a candle to it's existence. No fling, no love affair, no heartbreak. Motherhood had always been a word in your vocabulary, an inevitability. You loved kids and always wanted them, making plans when you were young to adopt when were certain no one would ever love you enough to want them with you. You always thought romantic love would matter in motherhood and it was your mistake. Well, maybe an oversight. You were a young and unmarried woman, pregnant with a baby from the man who was your best friend. Despite that latter fact, you had no true commitment to him, apart from the baby. Your non-committal sexual relationship, your fractured friendship, the heart that seemed to ache every time you considered what would have happened if you'd never told him the truth? None of it mattered anymore. None of it was what truly stuck in your mind when you saw that truck. Because your heart may still beat for Bucky, despite every fact, but did not beat for him alone. It beat for your baby too, and if your baby's father was willing, you were going to give him a chance to be a part of this experience. . .no matter how wary you were of this conclusion. ____ Later that night, clad in a too-big sweatshirt and pajama pants, feet pushed into your bunny slippers, you made the walk down the long drive to the edge of the property. Towards that damn truck. Fueled by your restlessness and on-the-mend heart, you slowly approached the truck belong to the man who broke it. He was asleep in the cab of the truck, leaned across the front seat, head resting on a sweater. He looked uncomfortable. The fact that he was enduring it only made one thing clear. You sigh, resting a hand on your belly before whispering to your stomach, "Your Daddy is a stubborn mule." Said stubborn mule was in a deep sleep, but you couldn't allow yourself to let that fact deter you. You knocked on the passenger side window twice. Bucky shot up inside the cab, messy-haired and dreary-eyed. He blinked, rubbed his eyes. . .pretty much made certain that what he was seeing was actually real. You open the door and step into the truck, sitting down on the passenger side. "Did you walk all the way out here?" He asked, sleep still in his voice. "We do what we want, okay? Besides, this little cutie in my tummy is apparently very, very stubborn." "I can only imagine," he chuckled sleepily. "Probably just like their Mama." "Funny, I said the same thing about you." Silence falls between you. "You didn't tell me." "I tried," you replied softly. "When?" "Three times altogether," you admitted honestly. "Before you left on your last mission, for one." He was visibly crushed. He was exhausted. You could see it in his face, in the way he held himself. You wanted to comfort him, to chide him for not leaving. You had told him that, hadn't you? Maybe if he had you wouldn't feel the need to be in the truck at all. Maybe you'd be back in the farmhouse, reading over more articles online and trying to forget the man who knocked you up. It's not just you anymore. "I was wrong. I should have tried harder to tell you. I should have let you know what was going on despite what happened between us." He was silent at the admission. "This is not an apology. I don't have to apologize, but I thought you should know." He opened his mouth to say something, but for fear of it, you continued. "Bucky, we need to make this work. And to do so, we need ground rules."

He looked hurt. You wished it didn’t matter to you. That his blue eyes didn’t pierce your heart, weigh heavy on your soul.

"This isn't about us. It can't be," You stated when it felt like you'd crack. "We can't screw up this kid by making this about us." He surged closer to you, eager and hopeful, "No, I know. Doll, I would never--" You cut him off with a raised hand pressing against his chest. 

"No, understand this. No nicknames. No kisses, no sex. No relationship between us other than co-parents." Your heart was in crisis, screaming at your head, this is crazy. You loved him, god, you loved him. It hadn't gone away, not truly. You'd pushed it down and tried to deny it, but it was still beneath the surface and no set of rules could ever dampen the flame. But you had to do it. You had to. "We are going to do this for the baby. It's not about us anymore and looking back on what happened between us isn't going to benefit our child." You steadied yourself with a shaking breath in, "Understand?" "Yes, Doll I--" He shut his eyes, a silent correction. "Y/N. Yes, Y/N. I understand." The silence isn't awkward a second time. It falls seamlessly as you take a deep breath, hand subconsciously brushing your stomach. "Come on." You reached over and turned the keys in the ignition. The truck roaring to life. "Where are we going?" Bucky straightened in the driver's seat, eyes intent on you. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. "You're driving me back to the house. You're going to come inside, sleep on the couch, and apologize to Clint in the morning and thank him for not letting the county sheriff tow your ass after you gave him a black eye. But first, you are going to shower." You finish confidently, crossing your arms over your recently enlarged chest. "Because you smell." Bucky nodded. If he was trying to hide his amusement, he wasn't doing it very well. "You're also coming to my doctor's appointment on Tuesday." His smile was soft. Enduring. It spread across his face gently and you had to force yourself to look away before you gave in altogether. "Yes, ma'am." This wasn't going to be easy.   ___ Bucky woke up the next morning on something softer than his pickup's front seat. He recalled the events of the night before, how he’d never been happier to be ordered around by you. He'd have to thank Barton for picking this particular couch too, because he was sure he'd never slept on anything softer. Except, well, maybe you. He tried not to think about the mornings when he would wake up beside you, often finding himself half sprawled over you and waking to the sound of your sleepy giggle and followed with a 'get offa' me, ya big lug.' His already heavy heart was betraying him. He sat up and tried to push it away. He had a to-do list, after all. He'd showered the night before, putting on a change of clothes he'd kept in his go-bag which he'd been extremely thankful he'd thrown in the truck when he left the Compound. That item had been an easy one to check off. Sleeping on the couch? An item he gladly checked off. The only thing left on the list was to apologize to Barton. Bucky walked into the kitchen at the sound of a gurgling coffee maker, half sure it couldn't have been you. You'd always been one to sleep in, it was why you often scheduled your grad school classes later or took them online. You loved your sleep, it was true. Barton was pouring coffee into a mug, back turned to where Bucky entered the room. Bucky knew Clint was partially deaf, so he assumed he would be surprised to his quiet entering of the room. You know what they say about assuming. "Knew we had a new houseguest." Barton turned, holding up his own coffee mug, "Want coffee?" Bucky chuckled as he read said mug. Will I ever stop being a sarcastic asshole? Find out on next week's episode of 'I Think The Fuck Not.' "Sure, thanks." Bucky watched as Barton grabbed another mug, poured him some of the coffee left in the pot. He didn't know the best way to say what he had to. 

He had been sorry. 

Two days stuck in a truck unsure of what he was waiting for if you didn't want him around because of his tendency to go off half-cocked gave him plenty of time to consider it. Barton had done a good thing and he knew it. You were hurt, heartbroken and that had been Bucky's fault, no one else's. You didn't feel like you could stay in the same place you'd had been and Barton had taken in 'the crazy hormonal pregnant lady.' 

Bucky would always be grateful for it. . .when he wasn’t regretting making you feel the need to flee altogether. "I know she probably told you to apologize to me. You don't have to." Okay, Clint's a mind reader now. "I-I want to. I'm sorry for punching you." Barton sat across from Bucky at the kitchen counter, shrugging as h sipped his coffee. "I get it. If I thought I lost Nat to some other guy the way you thought you did. . . rational thought would've been out the window." Bucky was grateful for Clint Barton for way, way too many things. "Doesn't mean I'm okay with what you did to her." And he respected Barton for the little shit he was. Bucky heard you before he saw you. Disheveled and messy haired, you padded into the kitchen in your too-big sweatshirt and PJ pants, fuzzy socks muting your footsteps. You tried to be stealthy, sneaking a mug and a short walk to the coffee maker, but Clint stopped you in your tracks. "You know you can't have that." "Buzzkill." "Your hot OB will thank me." Clint said through a mouthful of muffin. He raised an eager eyebrow. "When's your next appointment?" "You know damn well it's Tuesday." You huff. "What would Nat have to say about that, anyway?" "Oh, I sent her a picture after your last appointment. She agrees." Bucky watched the reaction in silence, chewing on a piece of his muffin. He was always fond of you. Your humor, smart mouth. 

From the moment you became friends, he'd always loved just listening to you talk. The warmth in your voice, the soft smile that often remained after a particularly good joke.

He like looking at you, too. You always had this peculiar beauty about you, this inherent adorable air to everything you did. The sight of you brought a smile to his face that he had to stamp down because friends don't look at friends like they turn their world. 

Hell, you weren't even friends anymore. If his fondness had flagged some deeper feeling within him, the giddiness that came with a simple glance your way earlier, none of this would have happened. Suffice it say, it had ruined almost everything. Except for you. . .and his baby. Because you were strong. Still were and always would be. With or without him. Well, not without him entirely. Co-parents. A role that left Bucky in his future child's life, but on the outskirts of yours. He was already wary of this arrangement. He couldn't say that, however. So he went with: "Morning, Y/N." You looked up at him and smiled, but it didn't reach your eyes. 

Would he ever get to see your sweet smile again? He didn't have time to mull it over as you sat down, visibly wincing. Clint noticed it too. "Y/N? You okay?" Bucky didn't realize he had stood from his seat until he was beside you, kneeling to meet your keeled over form. "Yes," you said softly, eyes closed. Your hands found your belly as you wiggled a little in your chair. "N-no. I, uh, I don't know." You were shaking. Bucky didn't like it, not at all. "Doll, you gotta calm down. What do you feel?" "Like my stomach is. . .I don't know! Light? Sinking? Fluttering! I don't know, it's just--" Your eyes met his, breath coming quickly. "What if it's a late miscarriage or a disease?" Bucky couldn't answer that question. He looked to Clint, who looked as lost as he did, kneeling on your other side. He sighed, taking charge. "Okay, where's your research?" He asked you, taking your hand in his. "What?" You asked, breath evening slightly. Bucky couldn't tell if you were calming or just shocked. Had he said something shocking? "Your books, articles, list of web links in alphabetical order?" He asked, tilting his head a little to the side in his confusion. "There's no way you can know about those too!" You groaned, leaning back in your chair. Bucky's confusion only deepened, "What?" "How did you know about those?" Clint asked, half-chuckling. "Did Nat tell you?" "Nat only gave me an address." Bucky answered before turning back to you. "I-I guess I just assumed. You always did research on just about everything. Figured you'd have some about this." Your eyes never left his, something resembling fondness behind them. You let out a long exhale; relief evident in it, "I know what this is." "What?" Bucky and Clint asked at the same time. "Grab my computer, Bucky." You smiled softly, tears welling up in your eyes.  "Search 'quickening'." Bucky rushed to the counter and your laptop, opening it and typing the word into Google. Clint came up beside him and both of their eyes wandered from link to link. First fetal movement. It can often feel like a flutter or a lightness in the stomach. The moment a mother can begin to feel her baby move. Bucky was sure his heart would burst. He grinned, looking up at you. He could only chuckle fondly when he saw your watery grin, a hand pressed against your stomach. You walked over to him, reached out for his hand, but he retracted when it happened to be his left. He offered up his right in turn. You smiled softly, placing it on your now rounder stomach. "You probably won't be able to feel it yet, but it's happening. . .there." He grinned, content to hold his hand to your soft skin, basking in the knowledge that his kid was moving. That you were the one he was getting to share this with, no matter what got you two to this point. Your voice was a whisper then, and not one directed to him. "I knew you could hear me already." ____ Clint Barton was always an observant man. 

A true champion of the human condition. 

Okay, okay. . .he was a total softie. And the sight of his friend and her baby daddy bonding after being estranged for almost five months? That shit made his heart melt. Nat was the hard ass; he was the romantic. Cynical romantic, yes, but a romantic nonetheless. Which is why he stepped from the kitchen in silence, leaving you and Bucky and Baby Barnes to your little moment. He pulled out his phone, dialing his better half. "Nat? I have an idea, but I'm gonna need your help." ___

A/N: I’m sorry this part took so long. School has been a little crazy for me. I changed my major, cried a bunch, had a couple of panic attacks. . .needless to it has been a week and a half™. But I finally got this together and have the last parts partially prepped. I hope you like it! 

Links are messing with posts, but I tagged all of the parts for Too Attached as #Too Attached. If you haven’t read the others and would like to, you can search that tag or Masterlist (all parts are linked there).

Feedback is always appreciated and PART 4 IS COMING!

Also, here’s some background for this part: 

I’ve been really doing research on pregnancy to make sure I get the reader’s symptoms and description right. The reader is twelve weeks along in this part. She’s experiencing 12 week symptoms (quickening, mood swings, cravings), but is described as looking further along (which can happen if the baby is going to be big or is actually twins). It’s why Bucky could see her bump when he first arrives and why she says she looks like she’s five months instead of three in the previous part.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel or MCU characters. 

Too Attached Taglist (sorry if I missed anyone!): @lovely-geek @imaginecrushes @prettybubblesintheair @wassupbitchesssss @gravedollie666 @bumblebeedaddy @jessieray98 @lilulo-12 @athroatfullofglass @chipster-21 @hiddlestonstansworld @francezka10 @janineabad @gracelynn318 @pineapple-hemmings @chipilerendi @klmpun @queenophelia @calicokitkat @yallgotkik @lillovin84 @nishanki1 @lookwhatyoumademequeue @thetimidsarcasticcat

[absentauthor]

Halloween Homebody

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You spend Halloween alone every year, eating candy, baking, and watching scary movies. This year, Bucky invites you to come along with him, Steve and Sam to Tony’s Halloween Bash. Things don’t end the way you hoped they would.

Warnings: A bit angsty. The reader is a bit insecure.

Words: 1400+

Halloween was always your favorite holiday. As a kid it meant dressing up and trick-or-treating, coming home to get into pajamas and watch spooky movies while sorting your candy with your siblings.

Once you grew up, it became about scary movies and baking sweet treats. You didn't really do well with the parties. You loved everything about Halloween; just not the parties. You had a few bad experiences with them in the past and after a while you never got invited to them anyway, so creating your own traditions maintained your love for the day. Even when you joined the Avengers and received an invitation to Tony's yearly Halloween Haunting bash, you still chose to sit out the party.

Instead, dressed in Jack-o'-lantern printed pajama pants and a Halloween poster sweatshirt, you ignored the raucous race to get ready for the party and hid in the residential kitchen, baking cookies and listening to your ‘Spooky’ playlist. Complete with songs like The Monster Mash and Bette Midler's I Put a Spell on You.

The latter being the one you were currently dancing and singing along to while baking slutty brownies. Sliding across the floor in your fluffy socks and singing into your ice cream scoop, Halloween was already shaping up pretty okay.

"I put a spell on you, and now you're-"

"Nice moves, Doll."

You jumped at the sound of a voice, yelping like a heroine in a horror movie. You dropped the ice cream scooper you were using as a microphone, staring up at the reason for your surprise.

You were a generally klutzy person. Bucky Barnes (and your immense crush on him) didn't help that fact. Especially when he appeared in doorways, all smirking and clean cut, dressed like he'd just stepped out of a 1940's recruitment office. Decked in an army uniform from the 40's, Bucky was increasingly meta and undeniably gorgeous.

You couldn't pinpoint when exactly you fell for Bucky, but it was moments like this that you wished you knew how to function like a normal frickin' person instead of some lovestruck moron.

"What are you doing here?" You ask abruptly. "Shouldn't you be leaving for Tony's party?"

He came to stand beside you, glancing over your shoulder at all the baked goods you had spread out on the counter. His sudden proximity wasn't doing much in the way of keeping you calm and collected. He smelled good. Looked good too, especially up close.

"Just waitin' on Sam and Stevie. They're dressed as soldiers too," he said with a smile, stealing one of your already baked cookies. You giggled as he popped it into his mouth, eating it whole.  

"You'll have all the girls swooning and wishing they were born in 1942," you mutter before you can stop yourself.

"According to Sam, that's the plan."

You tried not to dwell on his response, focusing on cleaning your ice cream scoop and returning to your latest batch of pumpkin shaped cookies.

"What's with all the baking?" He asked. "Aren't you dressing up for Tony's party?"

"No. I'm not going."

His surprise was undeniable, clear in his strained and shocked, "Why?"

"Halloween parties aren't really my thing."

He had that cute little crinkle between his eyebrows, his confusion resembling a puppy. "But you love Halloween."

"Yeah, just not the parties. I was never really invited to them and when I was I always ended up disappointed. So now I decorate, buy candy and bake, all before sitting down for a spooky movie marathon."

He leaned back against the counter, taking another cookie before meeting your eyes. You swallowed hard and looked away, unable to handle the intensity of his bright blues eyes on yours.

He smiled, "That actually sounds fun."

Should you ask him to join you? No, he has plans. Why would he want to join you?

"I-I'd ask if you wanted to join me, but Sam and Steve would probably kill me for messing up your lil' group costume."

"Yeah, you're probably right," he chuckled. "Why don't you come and hang out with us at the party? If anything can make your night interesting it would definitely be watching Sam strike out again and again and again."

You considered it, you honestly did. But part of you knew that watching Sam hit on girls left the possibility of watching Bucky hit on them too. He was very much single and a real flirt. He was just being nice in inviting you; you weren't a factor in his love life and you knew it.

But he was a factor in yours and you knew your ego couldn't really take watching him flirt with another girl right in front of you.

You shook your head, "I don't want to be a fourth wheel on your guy's night. And besides, I don't have a real costume. Just these pajamas."

"Doll, you wouldn't be a fourth wheel. And I bet you've got somethin' in that closet that looks like a costume."

You heave a sigh. He's just being nice. Stick to your guns.

"Bucky, it's okay. I love Halloween. And I've been spending it like this for years and that hasn't changed. Don't worry about me. Just go and have fun!"

He opens his mouth to protest, only for Sam and Steve to walk into the kitchen before he can.

"Y/N! You're baking?" Steve asked with a furrowed brow. Bucky may use the confused puppy-dog look from time to time but Steve had it down pat.

"She's not going to the party," Bucky blurted before you could even attempt to answer Steve.

"What? Why? You've had your Halloween decorations up since September!"

You sigh and glare a little at Bucky. He seemed frustrated now and you couldn't understand why.

"I have my own little traditions, boys. Including baking the cookies Wilson is currently stuffing in his mouth and pockets because he thinks I can't see him."

"Shit," Sam mumbled through a bite of sugar cookie. "Run!"

He took off for the door, handing Steve a couple of cookies from his pocket, only for the Captain to follow suit, running out with a ghost cookie sticking out of his mouth.

Soon enough it was just you and Bucky, locked in a disagreement you didn't fully understand.

"Your friends are waitin' on you, Sarge," you said, trying to break the indescribable tension.

It was his turn to sigh. He fixed his hat on his head, stepping towards you again. You didn't step back this time.

"Doll, if you change your mind, I'll be there. I'd love to see you there." He stepped in your space again, this time leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Happy Halloween."

He turned and left, leaving you standing there with a hand over your suddenly warm cheek and a racing heart.

"Happy Halloween, Sarge."

---

Sometime during your viewing of Orphan you came to a decision.

You'd give Tony's party a chance. You'd put the effort in and maybe it would pay off. The prospect of spending the night talking to Bucky was a powerful notion, especially when it felt like his kiss was imprinted on your cheek. Maybe you'd misread a signal, maybe he saw you as someone who could be more than a friend.

You rushed to your closet, searching for something resembling a costume.

Everything looked pretty plain, until you came across the full-skirted red dress you wore to your friend's wedding a year earlier. Tea length and satin, it was the prettiest dress you owned. It gave off an old Hollywood glamour vibe; one that you could maybe pass off as some starlet from the 50's. . .maybe even the 40's.

You dressed quickly, pinning back your hair and applying your favorite red lipstick. Your nerves were returning, the anticipation of disaster returning in droves.

But you pushed them away. You let yourself hope. You walked into the Tower's intricately decorated lobby with your head held high.

It only took a moment for everything to change.

Some naive part of you hoped you'd been missing out on something, especially when the man of your dreams was the one encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone and show up to a type of party you never enjoyed.

You ignored every warning and every inkling that came to you, everything that protected you from the usual disappointment that came from a once eventful night for you.  

You showed up at the party. You took a chance, a risk.

Only to be faced with Bucky locked in a passionate kiss with a girl dressed as a frilly-skirted maid.

You turned and left. Maybe you’d be back in your pajamas in time to watch Jennifer’s Body.

You realized that maybe you were just better off spending your favorite holiday alone in your bed after all. 

___

Part 2

A/N: So, I wrote this lil’ oneshot. I hope you all like it; I do have a part two planned, if you’re feelin’ it. Happy Halloween, witches!

Disclaimer: I do not own any character that is a part of the MCU or Marvel universe.

[absentauthor]

Halloween Homebody: Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Just when you think your Halloween can't get any worse, Bucky shows up at your door. . .drunk on Asgardian mead. This was gonna be one hell of a hangover.

Warnings: A lil’ angsty, a lil’ fluffy. Drunk Bucky (I don’t know if that’s a real warning, but I’ll put it). Some making out (nothing really smutty).

Words: 2000+

Part 1

You weren't one of those people who got tired when they were sad. You wished you were, sleeping it off was oh-so tempting, but you were wired.

Already back in your pajamas and finishing off Halloween (after Jennifer's Body and As Above/So Below), you felt like you were going over where you went wrong over and over. You had misread a signal. . .but where?

You felt like you were going over every interaction you and Bucky had ever had with a fine tooth comb.

It was keeping you up. You decided movies weren't going to lull you to asleep as thoroughly in your current state. You opted instead to curl up with your worn copy of Coraline and try to pretend that the pages weren't tear-stained.

That was when a knock came on your door.

Obviously, you were a little wary. Doors and Coraline will do that to a person, but you stood to answer it anyway.

Rubbing your now makeup-free, tear-streaked cheeks, you opened the door.

Only to find yourself face to face with the person you'd like to see less than the Other Mother at the moment; Bucky Barnes.

"Hiya, doll!"

Still in the army uniform, only more disshelved, he was glassy-eyed, sporting his supposedly long-lost Brooklyn accent and a little bit of a sway in his walk as he stepped passed you. Leaving you with only one logical conclusion.

"Are you drunk?" You asked, dumbfounded. 

Super-soldiers were supposed to be immune to alcohol. They could get buzzed, but not drunk. Steve always joked about it. Although, having a grinning Bucky standing in front of you, messy haired and bouncing, you were starting to believe there was an exception to the rule.

You asked again, "Bucky, are you drunk?"

"No! No! No!" He stated, shaking his head with each word.

"Why'd you say it three times?"

"Because there are currently three of you and I didn't want one feeling left out."

Oh, definitely an exception to the rule.

He plopped down on the edge of your bed, kicking his feet up childishly.

"Thor had this drink, right. And it was sooo good. So, so good. I just kept drinkin' it."

You pinched the space between your eyebrows. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Kidding! I'm not kidding. Unless you want to be kidding, than doll we can kid as much as you want," he said with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows and a little self-satisfied chuckle.

Your jaw dropped and you were certain your cheeks were warm. Damn it, that shouldn't be cute!

"Was that meant to be a euphemism?"

"Euph...a...euph-a-what?"

His look of confusion was too cute for you to describe.

You sighed. Your night had taken yet another turn. You couldn't just kick him out. He was still your friend. It wasn't his fault you had changed your mindset, begun to see him in a different light. He saw you as a friend and he had come to you when he needed help. You couldn't abandon him on his time of need.

"Take off that uniform, Sarge."

His grin was in megawatt territory as he clumsily began unbuttoning buttons and unzippering zippers.

"Yes, ma'am!"

You buried your face in you hands, "Underwear and undershirt stay on, Lothario!"

His pout is nothing short of a petulant child. 

Jesus, you were screwed. Your night had definitely taken a turn for the unknown. Good or bad, who knew in the Twilight Zone? At least you still had jokes. Mostly.

___

Bucky was a talkative, energetic drunk. It had taken about an hour to get him into your bed. And yes, that sounded dirty, but it wasn't.

Because there's really nothing dirty about a tossing and turning Bucky, shaking your bed every two seconds trying to get comfortable while you're trying to read.

"Bucky, stop moving."

He huffed, stilling beside you and taking to staring at you while you read. You could feel his eyes on you, even with your trained on the page in front of you. You tried to ignore the warmth you felt with his gaze on you, but it was near impossible. You slammed your book shut.

"Bucky, stop staring!"

That made him laugh. Then hiccup. Damn, how could one be a cute drunk?

"But doll, I just wanna look at ya. You're so damn gorgeous, I can't help myself." Apparently, Drunk Bucky giggles like a kid when he's adamant.

You frown. He couldn't have meant that and you couldn't shut him down completely. He wasn't all there. He couldn't be responsible for what he said. Even if it made your heart want to beat out of your chest.

"Go to sleep," you said, more gruffly than you intended to.

"Did I upset you?" He asked naively, tone rising involuntarily. "I did. I'm a clingy drunken lug, aren't I? I made ya mad!"

He smacks a palm to his forehead and it's almost comical. You can't stay. . .whatever you were before there was a drunken dork in your bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ruined your Halloween," he almost blubbered, hand still over his face.

"Bucky, stop. You didn't ruin my night."

You unintentionally hurt my feelings, because I read more into an invitation you probably meant in friendship and arrived to see you kissing another girl. But you didn't ruin my night.

"You just wanted to stay home and I was pushin' you to go out and you didn't want to. And I was dumb enough to drown my sorrows about it and try to be nice like you and end up getting slobbered on by this girl. . ."

"Slobbered on?"

That didn't exactly sound like a passionate makeout.

"I think she meant to plant one on me, but she just kinda drooled and it was gross and I just drank more after that."

Oh, no.

"Well, that wasn't responsible."

You weren't sure how respond when you knew what was coming. You didn't want to know what Bucky and frilly-maid girl got up to, but it looked like you were going to get a crash course.

Then, a surprise. "I didn't wanna kiss 'er. She didn't really wanna kiss me either. She was just hurtin'."

"Sounds like you two had quite the rapport."

"No, we just talked. You know I don't like that rapping stuff."

Oh, naive and drunk Bucky. He stressed you out and made you laugh all without even trying. Especially when he rambled. It was so uncharacteristic of the usual Bucky, who was usually so quiet and humble and often listening to you ramble.

This was a nice change, even if he was about to tell you about his makeout session with a drooling girl.

"She was upset. She got stood up. She was crying. I didn't know what to do." And the surprises just kept coming. "So, I asked myself what you would do."

Your surprise couldn't have been subtle. You probably looked like a puppy, cocking your head to the side in a questioning look. "You did?"

"Uh-huh. And I bought her her drink and listened to her when she talked. Cuz you're real good at listenin' and she needed someone to and all she had was me."

You stayed quiet; it was all you could think to do.

“And she took it the wrong way and just...kissed me. I pushed her off and told her that I had you. Well, wanted you. She got mad. But I-I didn’t wanna kiss her, I wanted to kiss you.”

The tears came unwarranted. Maybe it was the overflow of emotions from earlier, or the manifestation of newer and happier ones, but soon enough you were sniffling once again, wiping the tears away and trying to keep quiet about it. It was no use. Even drunk, Bucky noticed.

"Are ya cryin'?" His voice was a groggy sort of panic you'd never heard. "Doll, please don't cry! You shouldn't cry ever!"

He reached for you, clumsily clutching your face in his large hands. You couldn't help but smile. It was watery and probably pretty ugly, but Bucky smiled that warm, dopey smile back at you anyway.

"You're the best. My best girl! I wanna be around you all the time. Wanna make ya laugh, hold your hand. . .kiss your pretty lookin' lips."

No matter how tempting it was, you knew the latter couldn't become a reality in that particular moment. Even if Bucky was closer, breathing your air, glancing down at your lips. He was of impaired judgement, not of sober mind.

With a steady breath, you pushed a hand against his chest, laying him back against your bed. He followed the pressure of your hand, resting back against the pillow again.

"Go to sleep, Bucky." You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "If you mean it tomorrow, you can plant one on me and I promise I won't slobber on you. Okay?"

"I'll still mean it tomorrow, doll." He chuckled, a smile still on his face as his eyes fell closed. "Happy Halloween."

He stayed facing you and you didn't turn away when you laid beside him.

"Happy Halloween, you drunken lug."

You drifted off into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.

___

The next morning, you woke up earlier to make sure you had sole control over the coffee maker. You left a snoring Bucky in your bed, pretending he wasn't the most entrancing person you'd ever had in your bed.

Coffee. A more cohesive focus, even in the wake of a night like the one before.

You tried to keep your expectations low, not let your imagination run wild. You always had your disappointing endings to Halloween and you were almost certain this one would make the list. Bucky was drunk. He probably wouldn't even remember everything that happened, much less what he said to you. 

It didn't take long for you to head the telltale pad of footsteps and you pretended that your heart had taken up residence in your throat. You didn't even know if it was him and you were almost gasping.

But then, Bucky was there. Complete with bedhead and furrowed brows, a picture of sleepy-eyed determination.

"Well, you look alive," you said nonchalantly, placing down your coffee mug. "No hangover?"

Your answer was a kiss.

He walked towards you with an air of a man on a mission and you felt like your mind was on delay. You had been caught up in some type of mental haze and soon enough Bucky's lips were on yours.

You could feel your eyes widen for a moment before you closed them, pressing into the kiss.It made your heart pound, your stomach flutter, and your lungs feel empty all at once.

When he pulled you closer at the waist and deepened the kiss, you were still having trouble remembering how normal people breathe. Not that you really cared too much. 

He pulled away. You didn't want him to, even though you were half-sure either your chest would collapse from lack of oxygen if you two continued.

"You kissed me," you managed, a little breathless. 

"Told you I'd still mean it in the morning, didn't I?"

He grin was infectious and you never guessed you'd get to taste his smile, but soon enough it was pressed against yours.

This kiss was more intense than the first and you couldn't help your gasp, nor your embarrassingly quick reaction time. You pressed into it, threading your hands through his hair.

You tugged a little on it when he gripped the back of your thighs, earning a soft groan as he lifted you onto the kitchen counter. You linked you ankles behind his back, pulling him close and kissing him back as intensely as he was kissing you. You were breathless, even light-headed, but you were also sure that you could kiss Bucky like that for the rest of your life and die happy.

He pulled away, damn him, resting his forehead against yours. 

"Be my girl, doll. Go on a date with me. No group things, no parties. Just you and me."

"Kiss me like that Barnes and you can take me anywhere," you laughed, brushing his hair back from his face.

He quirked an eyebrow.

"Even a Halloween party?"

You rolled your eyes, leaning in closer to him.

"Ask me next year,” you said softly, lips brushing over Bucky’s.

"I'll hold you to it."

All seemed to be right with the world. . .until Sam happened into the kitchen.

You pulled away from a reluctant Bucky, almost laughing when you spotted the

Part stunned and part annoyed, Sam walked over to the batch of cookies you'd left on the counter. He scooped up the tray without a word, staring you straight in the eye.

"Let me have the tray and I won't tell you why it's ten times of wrong that you’re mackin' on Barnes where we break bread!”

___

A/N: I was super surprised that so many of you liked Halloween Homebody! I based it loosely off my own Halloween experiences the past couple years and I was just really surprised so many people liked it. Writing part 2 was a lot of fun! Drunk Bucky was a bit of a delight to write, honestly. Feedback is always appreciated and I am gonna open my inbox up to requests for oneshots or drabbles, if anyone wants me to write something for them! Thanks so much for reading and Happy belated Halloween!

Disclaimer: I do not own any character that is a part of the MCU or Marvel universe.

Taglist: @stardustsoldierrook @lovely-geek @crazyminnesotagirl @karla-silva

[absentauthor]

Little Red Writing Hood’s Masterlist

Hi friends! 

I figured it was time for me make a Masterlist! It’s a little plain, I know. My Requests are OPEN; I write for pretty much every Marvel character. I write one-shots, blurbs, drabbles. Fluff, angst, smut. . .you name it and I probably write it. Send me an ask and I’ll take a crack at it. 

Read and enjoy! 

Bucky Barnes:

One-shots 

Halloween Homebody 

Part 1 - You spend Halloween alone every year, eating candy, baking, and watching scary movies. This year, Bucky invites you to come along with him, Steve and Sam to Tony’s Halloween Bash. Things don’t end the way you hoped they would.

Part 2 - Just when you think your Halloween can’t get any worse, Bucky shows up at your door…drunk on Asgardian mead. This was gonna be one hell of a hangover.

Steve’s Girl (Right?) -  Bucky’s got a crush on you. But he shouldn’t. No, really. You’re his best friend’s girl, obviously off limits. Right?

Something to Behold - Based on the song Georgia by Vance Joy.

Series / Mini-Series

The Right Kind of Wrong - You’re a vigilante hacker who was forced into retirement by the Supreme Court. After an incident on the subway leaves you facing assault charges, there’s only one way to keep your record unmarred; help Detective Bucky Barnes solve the recent homicide of a girl with ties to an illusive hacker you may have trained.Simple enough, until you start falling for your unofficial partner.

Masterlist

Too Attached - After the crumble of your friends-with-benefits relationship with Bucky Barnes, oh baby, are you left to deal with the consequences.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 

Part 4 (Coming soon!)

Part 5 (Coming soon!)

Epilogue (Coming relatively soon!)

[absentauthor]

Something to Behold

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Based on a post by @sebstanwassup and sent to me by the wonderful @chipilerendi . Based off the song Georgia by Vance Joy.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Mild smuttish activity/implied smut. Implied PTSD.

Words: 1400+

He hid things.

He didn't mean to, it was never his intention. He never meant for his soul to be something he stowed away from you, pieces scattered behind his eyes, well-hidden beneath his stoic and often brooding facade.

He hid them in the morning, when he'd trek into your tiny apartment kitchen to find you dancing around inn his shirt to some soft, Sunday morning kind of tune.

He hid them at night, when he'd carry you to bed and spend hours kissing every inch of you, quietly hoping that if you're crying out his name, you won't ask why there's a crinkle in his forehead, a tell-tale sign that he's thinking too hard and has been for too long.

He kept the hiding places close, retreated to them when he would retreat into himself, drowning in post-nightmare panic or the unmistakable jolt he sometimes had when there was a loud pop; like fireworks or even a champagne cork.

You'd always been one to extend those little arms wide at those times, ask him if he wanted to talk about it. Never pushed hard enough to make him say anything, giving him the respect he wasn't sure he deserved. Because you cared and he knew it, but he wasn't sure if he was wearing down your sunshiny resolve, slowly making you lose the sparkle behind your eyes.

You waited for him anyway. And waited. You seemed perpetually prepared to wait for him. He was afraid the day would come when you would finally give up on him and leave for good.

It made him question the hiding places, why he always felt the need to choose them over you. Kind, warm, generous you. Maybe he didn't want those hiding places, could never be bound to them. Had never reconciled their existence, accepted their place in his heart as he had yours.

Because you are a part of his heart. He feels you with every breath he takes, has you on his mind with every racing thought, memorized to the best extent his memory will allow. The sound of your voice in the morning, when you'd coax him back into bed with your wicked yet innocent eyes; the dimple in your cheek you get when you're thinking; your brash and bold laugh; the way you make him laugh so easily (sometimes it only took a glance); the way you kissed him and he'd promptly forget everything save for his own name.

They were things he held onto, the things he would choose over the warm and worrying you that was often right in front of him, begging him to tell him what was wrong.

He knew it was better this way. He never wanted to burden you. He didn't want you to worry, didn't want him to become a prescient source of anxiety to you.

You're the good things, Bucky's decided. The smell that comes after a thunderstorm. The feel of the sun on his face. The warm feeling of laughing too hard. The safety of his journal pages, the only place he could ever seem to tell you the things he wants to without feeling the guilt of dampening your shine.

Because it's not like he didn't want to tell you when he came home all those nights, bloodied and bruised, only to find you waiting up on the Commons couch, wearing your adorable reading glasses with your nose buried in a book. Sat beside a pile of his clean clothes you'd put together for him and a first aid kit, ready to be there for whatever ailed him.

He wanted to accept your help, live in it, but he never could. He always flinched when you went to touch him, went to nurse the wounds he'd garnered in fighting things he never really wanted to.

He always wanted to keep you separate from this life.

From HYDRA, the Avengers. Part of him always had to wrestle the urge to amend that list with a third item: James Buchanan Barnes.

But he couldn't. He could only hold his problems close and urge you in the opposite direction. Because his demons were persistent; had walked beside him for decades. They'd taken up residence in his bones, ached every time he pulled a trigger or threw a punch.

He was a man with a talent for violence, for better or worse. You were a woman with an innate kindness and generosity, an elegance others would tremble to behold. One he felt privileged to touch, to feel.

Neverthless, he'd always been pushing you away, not that he truly wanted it.

He was biting at times, mean. He'd snap and yell or go silent altogether when all you would ask is how he was. He would see the way your smile would fall and the light would dim in your eyes. He'd chastise himself silently, watch from afar. Stop that! Don't treat her like that! Don't take her for granted!

He could never listen. God, he could never listen.

You were bold and bright, a jolt that had taken his life and lit it up. If he lost you -- had a hand in losing you -- his life would dull forever and he may never recover.

It was a powerful hold to have over someone and he couldn't bring himself to tell you that you had it over him. He knew you'd never take advantage of it, manipulate him like he had been for almost a century, but he was wary.

He couldn't tell you. He had to work it out. . .somehow.

So, he wrote it down.

He put it all into words. What he felt for you, the nature of his demons, your hold on his heart. It took up pages and pages in his journal, ensuring you'd have to read it straight from the book. He’d kept it forever and was finally ready for you to see it.

He wrote it all down, despite the voices in his head screaming.

Don't tell her. She's too good. You're going to ruin her, but with this, it'll be sooner rather than later.

And when he was finished, he sprinted from his bedroom and down into the garage.

He hopped on his bike with the note in his back pocket for safe keeping. Your apartment awaited.

___

He had a key. You'd given it to him with a timid little smile, making a joke about how he was much better security than the old field hockey stick you kept beneath your bed. He'd smiled back, kissing your forehead and attaching the keys to his others with a flourish, just to make you giggle. 

He'd been better at hiding the demons back then. Could summon his former self at will; the shameless flirt, the boyish charm. Part of him was convinced that was the part you loved, but he'd always known better. 

In his darkness, he was always inconsistent. Your response? Steadfast.

He heard your sobs from the moment he crossed the threshold of your place. He could've collapsed. The sound was too much for him, a prescient reminder of every way he'd done wrong by you.

He entered your room and there you were. Puffy eyes, messy hair. Your eyes met his and he wanted to go back. He wanted to revisit every moment you had every tried to get to know him, to memorize him and what made him tick, the way he'd been able to do for you.

You curled into yourself, hiccuping softly as he fell to his knees in front of you.

"Bucky, why won't you let me in? What am I doing wrong?"

He could tell you. He could push aside the demons, emerge from his hiding places and bolt them up forever. Because you were the love of his life. You were it for him.

And he'd always been right, without even knowing it; if he'd lost you -- had a hand in losing you -- his life would dull and he would never recover.

"Doll, read this." He wiped the tears from your soft cheeks. "Read this and I swear. . . I'll do better."

You took the letter from his hands, eyes remaining on it. You wiped them with your hand, reaching over to your nightstand for those big reading glasses. His chuckle was watery, half fond and half crying.

I hide things. I don't mean to, it was never my intention.

But there are demons I have that I want to keep you safe from. Things that sometimes are simply just. . .me. I go about it the wrong way, somehow find a thousand different ways to tell you to let it be. And I hope you can forgive me for it.

Because your are all the good things in my life, darling. My bold, elegant, brilliant girl.

I could easily lose my mind without you. I'm not easy, I have no illusions that I am. But I am trying. Struggling, but trying.

I love you and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and continue to be ever-so patient with me. I'll do better and I'll tell you the truth.

Forever yours no matter where you go (and if you stay),

Your James

He watched as you read, hoping and hurting, convinced he’d been complicit in breaking your heart and turning you off to him forever.

Until you looked up, those teary and beautiful eyes finding his as you crawled into his lap, pressing a deep kiss to his lips. Warm, wanting. He felt scorched, a man on fire.

You were his. Thank god.

___

A/N: My first request! Super fun. Thanks to @chipilerendi for sending it to me. I enjoyed putting little breadcrumbs from the song in the prompt into this piece. I’m working on part 3 of Too Attached, which I’m going to do my best to put out tomorrow. Hope you all enjoyed this piece, you should totally give the song a listen, and my requests are still OPEN. Feedback is always appreciated!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Marvel or the MCU. Nor do I own the lyrics to the song Georgia by Vance Joy.

Permanent Tags: @lovely-geek

[absentauthor]

REQUESTS

It has been a while, friends.

Hello, how are you? I've missed you!

I've been drowning in self-doubt. I wish this upon no one, ever, bc it is the bane of my existence.

I am unable to finish any idea I have, but I want to write. SO. BADLY.

So, I'm hoping that you all can help me find SOMETHING to write and be excited about.

Guidelines:

I am accepting requests for one shots, drabbles, and headcannons.

I am gonna stick to Bucky Barnes x Reader for now, just so that I can back in the swing of things.

Fluff, smut, and angst are all acceptable.

Send me an ask or message me! Any request that can help me from my writer's block hell is much appreciated!

[absentauthor]

The Right Kind of Wrong: Prologue

Detective!AU

Summary: You’re a vigilante hacker who was forced into retirement by the Supreme Court. After an incident on the subway leaves you facing assault charges, there’s only one way to keep your record unmarred; help Detective Bucky Barnes solve the recent homicide of a girl with ties to an illusive hacker you may have trained.

Chapter Summary: While you were getting interrogated, Bucky was drowning his sorrows. 

Pairing: Detective!Bucky x Hacker!Reader

Warnings: Cheating (well, getting cheated on). Brief crude comment on cheating. Drinking. Getting arrested. Vigilantism. Brief and non-descriptive mention of sexual assault. Cursing? (Somewhere, probably.)

Words: 788 (Short, like me!. . .I’m hilarious, I know).

Masterlist

The September chill had finally grasped the city in it’s galvanizing reach. The air whipped past buildings and through the streets without prejudice, sending a shiver up the backbones of each of the five boroughs. 

Brooklyn was no exception, especially Red Hook. 

Surrounded by water on three sides, Detective James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes could have sworn it was one of the coldest places in the city. He had braved the cold at first; because he was off to see his girl.

The diamond engagement ring he’d begged his mother for had seemed so promising as it glistened from inside it’s velvet box. Under the light of the street lamps outside her Soho apartment, the precious jewel had sparkled with the same sort of excitement that foolishly fluttered in Bucky’s gut.

Those feelings were gone once he reached home and drowned them in whiskey. The liquid burned on the way down, as it always did, but tonight the burn seemed unbearable.

Tonight had been the night.

He was set to finally going to ask Dot Monroe, his perfect ace reporter, to marry him. For years he’d been a womanizing manwhore, content with one night stands and walks of shame, but then Dot came around. She changed his life, his world. She was everything he’d ever wanted and he was ready to spend his life with her.

If only he’d known.

He had to have known something was wrong. He walked into the place so unprepared, so oblivious to the reality of his relationship.

How was he so blindly content to walk into his girlfriend's darkened apartment? 

How hadn't he heard the sudden surreal silence blanketing her apartment as some sort of warning?  

How hadn’t he heard the sudden surreal silence blanketing her apartment as some sort of warning?

The sound of her bedframe banging against the wall, punctuated with a visceral moan from the other side of Dot’s bedroom door had broken the silence so completely. 

What waited for Bucky Barnes on the other side had broken his heart.

Not long after, he sat on his couch with his puffy red eyes, messy cropped hair, and a ruffled dress shirt, nursing a bottle of whiskey he always kept solely for celebrations. A waste to drink it now, really. Not like he had much to celebrate when he walked in on his now-ex riding her fucking boss on the night he’d been planning on proposing. The ring had seemed to weigh so much in that moment.

The memory threatened to bring the whiskey back up.

He picked up his phone, ignoring the plethora of texts from Dot. None of which were truly apologetic of her actions.

He clicked instead on the five texts from Sam.

Sam: Dude.

Sam: Wherever you are, turn on the TV.

Sam: BARNES.

Sam: Tell me you're seeing what I'm seeing!

Sam: Someone did it. They really fucking did it.

Bucky's alcohol dipped brain was slow on the pickup, dragging to figure what Sam could've meant.

He clicked on a voicemail from Steve.

"Hey Buck, it's me. I'm just callin' to wish you luck with Dot. She's gonna say yes, Jerk. Don't even--" Click.

He tried the next message.

“Buck, I know you’re probably busy, but Sam and I are freaking out. Someone took down HYDRA. The tapes we always thought they had? Someone hacked their servers and the videos. . .they’re out on the web.”

“They’re going down.”

Bucky lifted a bottle of whiskey and drank. There was something to celebrate after all. 

__

The chair you’re sitting in has one short leg. It wobbles, even when you’re sitting perfectly still.

You remember a scene from some cop show (one of the ones with a different case every week and the same actors plastering on their best brooding pout before they said something gruesome) where one of said cops boasted that this mundane little detail was a feature in most interrogations.

Make the suspect uneasy. Listen to how many times that chair creaks. It’s an admission of guilt every time.

The door opened to your left, slamming against the concrete wall. 

SSA Peggy Carter had walked into the interrogation room with her held high and her shoulders set. A vintage beauty, with red lips and perfect hair, she exuded power. You exuded… something even she couldn’t exactly place back then.

One.

You hadn’t meant to do it. Truly.

Two.

How did you even do it?

Three.

You still weren’t sure.

Four.

“It’s good to meet you,” Peggy Carter said primly. “The hacker who single-handedly took down HYDRA Industrial by red-foxing five men for sexual assault, including CEO Johann Schmidt.”

Five.

You sat perfectly still, a smirk spreading across your cheeks.

“Do you have another chair?”

__

A/N: Well, I’m shaking. Maybe it’s because it’s freezing today, maybe it’s because I’m terrified/excited that I’m actually posting a piece of my work.

In the words of John Mulaney, “Who’s to say?” 

I'm sorry this part is so short, I just didn't want to drag out the prologue. This is my first crack at writing and putting up fanfic, so feedback is thoroughly appreciated!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from the Marvel Universe or MCU, only my teeny tiny number of OCs. As of now, I think there’s one…in the whole series.