For your consideration: Bucky trying desperately to flirt, thinking he's apparently managed to lose all of his charm because you don't even seem to acknowledge it. In reality you're just bad with hidden meaning and social cues.
poor thing wouldn't know what to do
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Bucky Barnes could flirt once.
He knew he could.
He used to be smooth — charming enough to make dames blush across smoky bars, confident enough to wink and know it’d land. But lately? Lately, he was starting to think he’d lost his edge somewhere between the 1940s and now.
Because every single one of his attempts to flirt with you went up in flames.
“Y’know,” he tried one morning in the Tower kitchen, leaning against the counter in what he hoped was a casual way, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you make this place brighter just by walking in.”
You looked up from your coffee, blinking at him. “Oh — thanks! Tony installed new light bulbs yesterday.”
And that was that. You smiled, took a sip, and walked out while Bucky stood there, mug halfway to his lips, blinking like he’d been personally victimized by your literal interpretation.
That had been a week ago. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.
He tried again two days later.
He brought you a coffee, your usual order. You’d been buried in work all morning, brow furrowed, lip tucked between your teeth. He thought maybe it’d make you smile.
“For you,” he said, setting it beside your laptop with a grin. “Thought you could use something sweet.”
“Oh, thanks!” you said brightly, then reached into your drawer and handed him a muffin. “I’ve got sweet stuff too if you want some!”
He took it, because what else was he supposed to do? Say no? He bit into it in stunned silence while you kept typing, oblivious to the way he was short-circuiting beside you.
Steve found him in the gym later that night, throwing punches with a little too much force.
“What’s got you so riled up?” Steve asked, ducking under a swing.
Bucky scowled. “I think I’m broken.”
“That’s a bold statement, Buck. Wanna elaborate?”
“She—she’s immune to me, Steve.”
Steve blinked. “Immune?”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, throwing his gloves off. “I’ve flirted with her six times. I’ve smiled, I’ve complimented her, I even tried the coffee thing, and she—she just thanks me like I’m delivering mail. I used to be good at this.”
Steve snorted. “You sure she’s not just… y’know, missing it?”
Bucky scoffed. “How do you miss ‘you make this place brighter just by walking in’? That’s poetry, Steve.”
“Maybe she’s not great with hints,” Steve offered.
Bucky stared. “Hints? That wasn’t a hint, that was practically a declaration of affection!”
“Then maybe she needs it spelled out,” Steve said, clapping his shoulder. “You’ve met her — she’s literal.”
Bucky grumbled but couldn’t shake the thought.
The next morning, you were in the kitchen again, humming to yourself as you poured cereal. Bucky came in, determination written all over his face.
“Morning, Buck,” you greeted.
“Morning, doll,” he said. (He hadn’t called anyone that in years, but it slipped out before he could stop it.)
You smiled faintly. “You okay? You look like you’re about to defuse a bomb.”
He huffed. “Feels like it.”
“Did Tony do something again?”
“Tony’s fine,” Bucky said quickly. “I, uh… I wanted to ask you something.”
You looked up. “Sure?”
He took a breath. “I think you’re really great, you know? Smart, funny, pretty—”
You smiled, sweet and oblivious. “Thanks, Buck. You’re great too.”
He stared. “No, I mean, I like you.”
“I like you too!”
He groaned, running a hand over his face. “No, I mean I like-like you. As in — I want to take you out.”
There was a pause.
“Oh.”
You blinked, spoon halfway to your mouth. “You mean like a date?”
“Yes!” he said, exasperated but relieved that you were finally catching on. “Like a date.”
You stared down at your cereal, cheeks flushing. “Oh. Wow. I didn’t… I didn’t realize that’s what you meant before.”
Bucky laughed — actually laughed, tension melting off him in waves. “Yeah, I kinda picked up on that.”
“I just—” you waved your spoon helplessly. “I’m not good with… subtext. Or flirting. Or any of that.”
He grinned. “I noticed.”
“I thought you were just being nice!”
He stepped closer, smile softening. “Doll, I’ve been trying to flirt with you for weeks.”
You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh no. Oh no, Bucky, did I embarrass you? I did, didn’t I?”
He gently tugged your hands away, chuckling. “Nah. Maybe a little.”
You peeked up at him, shy. “I really had no idea.”
“I figured that out somewhere between the light bulb comment and the muffin.”
Your laugh bubbled out, bright and unguarded, and he swore he’d bottle the sound if he could.
“Okay,” you said, grinning now. “Let’s pretend I’m caught up. You like me. You wanna take me out. What’s next?”
He tilted his head, stepping into your space until the counter pressed into your back. “Now I ask properly.”
“Oh?”
He leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Can I take you to dinner, sweetheart?”
You blinked up at him, heart hammering. “You’re… asking me out for real?”
He smiled. “Yeah, for real this time. No hidden meaning, no old-fashioned lines. Just me wanting to take you somewhere nice.”
You bit your lip, the corners of your mouth twitching. “Only if you promise to warn me when you’re flirting next time.”
He laughed — warm and easy. “Deal. But I might make it obvious enough you won’t need the warning.”
“Good luck,” you teased. “I’m a slow learner.”
He grinned, leaning closer until his breath brushed your cheek. “Guess I’ll just have to keep practicing.”
Your smile faltered — not from discomfort, but from the sudden, dizzying realization that he meant it.
“That,” you said softly, “was flirting, wasn’t it?”
“See?” he murmured. “You’re learning already.”
By the time Steve saw them later that afternoon — you laughing at something Bucky said, hand brushing his as you passed him a mug — he only shook his head.
“Guess you cracked the code,” Steve said.
Bucky grinned. “Turns out the trick was saying what I meant.”
Steve smirked. “That and a lotta patience.”
Bucky shrugged, gaze flicking to you again — cheeks pink, smile soft. “Worth it.”
That night, when he walked you home, you stopped him on the sidewalk.
“For the record,” you said, eyes bright, “I think you’re great too. Like-like great.”
Bucky’s grin was helpless. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “And I’m really looking forward to dinner. But I’m gonna need you to explain if you do that ‘doll’ thing again. Just in case.”
He laughed, slipping his hand into yours. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll know exactly what I mean this time.”
And for once, you did.
