F.R.I.D.A.Y. I'm in Love (Bucky Barnes x Reader)
Summary: While singing 'Friday, I'm in love' by The Cure in the kitchen to yourself, a certain AI thinks you're talking to her. She tells you something you didn't know, and decides to play matchmaker on Christmas morning, because why not?
Genre: christmas fluff :)
Song: Friday, I'm in Love by The Cure
Note: Merry Xmas! This is my last fic before vacation! This is also my first one shot in a while. Hope you like it!!
You were the first one awake at the compound, but that wasn't anything out of the usual. You always wake up at least half an hour earlier than anybody else in the compound without fail, every single day. It was simply an old habit you can't seem to get rid of, no matter how tired you were or how late you slept the night before.
The only thing that made a difference was that it's the day before christmas. Since you and Bucky were the only people with no family to celebrate it with, the two of you stayed behind to keep an eye on the compound. You had somehow convinced Bucky to agree on helping you set up decorations today. Besides, you also need help setting up the realistic-looking artificial pine tree at the corner of the common room. You already had a vision: green, white, and red ribbons filling up the ceiling and fairy lights as far as the eye can see.
But that was your plan for later in the afternoon. Right now, the sun had just barely began to rise.
You made your way to the kitchen, thinking of making pancakes for breakfast. You hummed a tune as you opened the cupboards for a pan and ingredients. You eyeballed the flour and sugar, sifted them in a bowl and went to the fridge to get the rest of the contents needed.
Lost in your own world, the tunes you hummed turned into cohesive words, an actual song that you had been listening to lately and can't seem to get out of your head.
"I don't care if Monday's blue," you sang, cracking the eggs, making sure the shell stayed out of the batter, "Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too."
You poured the milk and butter, "Thursday, I don't care about you," you grabbed a whisk and pretended it was a microphone, "It's Friday, I'm in love."
"May I guess with who?" FRIDAY quipped suddenly.
You yelped in shock and dropped the whisk into the batter, some of it splattering to your shirt and face. Just a little, but enough to piss you off.
"What?" You asked, slightly annoyed.
"You told me you were in love," you heard the AI say through the built in speakers of the room, "may I guess with who?".
You let out a lighthearted laugh, "First of all, it's just a song," you rolled your eyes with a smile, amused by the misunderstanding of the supposedly smart AI. "Secondly," you continued, "I am not in love with anybody at the moment."
FRIDAY then said, in a matter-of-factly manner, "But you are."
Furrowing your eyebrows, annoyed, you stubbornly told her, "No, I'm not."
"You are," the AI insisted, and before you can deny it once again, she told you, "You show all physical and hormonal signs of being in love— increased levels of dopamine, adrenaline, and norepinephrine, increased heart rate, and dilated pupils— in the presence of Sergeant James Barnes."
Your mind stopped just enough to catch up with what FRIDAY. was telling you.
"What?" You asked, flustered, as blood rushed to your cheeks, "No!"
"It's true," said the AI calmly, then displayed a panel of hologram on the island kitchen, usually used for mission briefings— your vitals, including your hormone levels. "These are your average body scans whenever you are in the same room as Sergeant Barnes," she said.
"That's enough, Friday!" you exclaimed, almost squeaking, embarrassed. She then took down the hologram, to your relief.
You admit, you have always been fond of Bucky, and dare you say, quite attached to him, but it never occurred to you that you loved him, mostly because everytime you even thought of the four-letter terrifying word, you pushed it to the deepest, darkest corner of your mind, lock it in a glass box and throw away the key, never to be seen again. The subject of love terrifies you, though the thought of being romantically involved with Bucky did give you a certain feeling of satisfaction and comfort, and maybe, just maybe, hope of it being able to work out.
Oops, there's the thought again.
Time to bury it six feet underground.
"In case you're curious, Sergeant Barnes also—" the AI started, but you shushed her furiously, "Fri, I don't want to hear it."
"But—" she began, but you cut her off again, "Please don't."
Sensing your discomfort, she stopped saying whatever she was about to say.
You continued to make your pancakes in peace, if there was ever any.
You hummed the tune of the same song, careful not to say the actual words to it. You turned on the stove an put a frying pan on it measuring your batter out for an even and fluffy pancake.
The automatic door opened, and Bucky entered the room, yawning. He was wearing a grey shirt and shorts. As he smelled the sweet aroma of the batter cooking, his gaze turned to you.
"Mornin' doll," he smiled lazily, greeting you. He seemed to be in an especially good mood today. Ever since you joined almost a year ago, he had given you the nickname, and you adapted to it quickly.
"Morning, Buck," you hummed, flipping the pancakes. Bucky walked towards you and took in the smell exaggeratingly. "Hope you made some for me."
You chuckled, "Of course."
You stacked the first three pancakes on an empty plate and handed it to Bucky, who gave you a chaste kiss on the side of your head.
This type of casual affection has been going on for a while now, a little over five months. He'd kiss you on the cheeks or forehead whenever he said thank you, hello, or goodbye. You'd also cuddle against him on movie nights and lean on his shoulder while sitting on the dinner table, but neither of you ever spoke about it. You never wanted to think much about these flirtatious exchanges. You assumed this was just who he was, and you were just playing his game. He was a ladies' man in the 40s, after all, and you were just all-all round playful person.
You stacked your own pancakes and turned off the stove.
You sat next to Bucky on the couch, who was currently pouring a shit ton of maple syrup on his pancakes, squeezing the bottle with his metal arm.
You chuckled at his behaviour, and he raised his eyebrows at you.
"What are you laughing at?" He tried to pretend to be serious, but he can't help but show a hint of a grin on his adorable face.
"Nothing," you shook your head playfully and started eating the sugar-filled breakfast.
Deciding it was too quiet, Bucky decided to ask FRIDAY a favor. "Friday," Bucky called, "play some music, please."
FRIDAY complied almost immediately, and the tune of the song she played was too familiar.
Your cheeks turned bright red in a matter of seconds. Why would she play that?
"I don't care if Monday's blue
Tuesday's grey and Wednesday, too
Thursday I don't care about you
It's Friday, I'm in love"
Bucky stuffed pancakes in his mouth as he listened to the song, "I've never heard this song before," he mentioned, his head moving subtly to the tempo of the song, "It's nice."
"Uh, yeah," you managed to nervously blurt out.
Bucky turned his head to you, "You cold, doll?" He asked, concern in his voice.
"You're red," he pointed out worriedly, "Are you sure you're not sick?"
"No, I'm just—" you started, trying to find an excuse, but nothing comes to mind. You couldn't tell him you're embarrassed, and you already told him you weren't cold, "—I don't know."
As the song continued playing, Bucky placed the back of his hand on your forehead to check for a fever, but he was met with a normal, cool skin. He tried not to think too much about it. He shrugged and told you, "Just let me know if you feel unwell, okay? I know where Scott keeps his emergency cold medicine."
You managed a nod, and tried to distract yourself by eating your pancakes.
You started to feel relief wash over you as the song came to an end, but when it did end, it started to play again, as if FRIDAY had it on loop.
"Yeah, weird," you said, a little quieter than usual, "Friday, please play another song," you said, but Bucky cut you off, "No, I want to listen to it again," he said, "One more time? I really like it."
You sunk into your seat, having forced to suffer through this song again.
That afternoon, Bucky helped you set up the ribbons and lights, and now he was helping you with the tree ornaments.
The time you spent together were spent in laughter and joy, playfully teasing each other. He told you a lot about his old family traditions, how his little sister Rebecca and him would use their spare money to get their mother a gift every year. In return, you made him hot chocolate, made from your grandma's special recipe.
"Bucky," you called, "give me a boost so I can get the star on top of the tree."
You showed him the star. It was brilliant red. He chuckled to himself, wondering if you intentionally got it to match his old logo.
Without warning, he grabbed your waist, and spun you around playfully. You yelped in shock, steadying yourself by putting a hand on his shoulder. You laughed a little, "The tree, Buck," you reminded him, and he chuckled, rolling his eyes. "okay, okay."
You placed the star on top, and he set you down gently. You were facing him, and for a split second, you nose touched his and you were looking straight into his icy orbs.
You looked away, pretending it didn't happen.
"Help me with the ribbons," you quipped. Bucky grabbed the box full of colorful decorations. "Okay," he replied. You weren't sure, but you could've sworn he sounded a little bit disappointed.
The rest of the afternoon was spent decorating the tree, and it was all fun and games until Bucky started humming 'Friday, I'm in love,' under his breath, a song that seems to be stuck in his head.
You and Bucky fell asleep on the couch after a Christmas movie marathon. You woke up in the same position you fell asleep: cuddled up against Bucky, you head on his shoulder and his human arm wrapped contently around your waist. You adjusted your eyes to the light coming in from the big glass windows, and tugged on Bucky's side, "wake up."
He groaned a little, his eyes blinking to life.
"Merry Christmas," you smiled, still leaning your head on his shoulder, too lazy to get up.
"Merry Christmas, doll," he replied, a sleepy but sincere smile on his face.
You mustered enough energy to look at the Christmas tree, and was shocked to see one small red box under the tree, decorated with a fittingly small green bow. It was empty the last time you saw it.
"Did you–" you turned to Bucky, who nodded right away, "How?" You asked curiously.
"I slipped it there before we started the movie," he admitted, a slightly rosy color on his cheeks.
"Is that for me?" You asked, and he nodded.
"I- I've got a present for you in my room," you told him, half-way panicked that you've forgotten his present in your quarters.
Rushing out of the common room, Bucky watched you as a sigh left his lips.
He found himself humming the song he heard yesterday again. He took the present from under the tree to give it to you first hand, then walked to the island kitchen to get some water. He doesn't remember all the words, except the ones at the very end of the chorus.
He mumbled a string of noises, but lightly sang the last part in his best singing voice, "Friday, I'm in love."
"I know," Friday said through the speakers. It surprised Bucky, but he didn't show it. Sitting down on the bar stool of the island, Bucky asked, "What?"
"I know you're in love, Sergeant Barnes," the AI said.
Bucky let a heavy breath out. Friday was right. He was in love. With you. "How did you know?"
"Your physical and hormonal body scans when you're around Miss (Y/n)."
Bucky only chuckled dryly. It was nothing he didn't already know, "Too bad she doesn't feel the same, huh?"
"Actually—" the AI started, but suddenly stopped when you rushed back in the room, a heavy box decorated with a patterned white wrapper in your arms. It was huge compared to the gift he got you. You put on the marble countertop and climbed on the stool next to his.
"Here," you said excitedly, "open it!"
Your excitement was contagious. He gave you a hearty laugh and ripped the wrapping paper. When he was finished, he realized what it was. A record player.
"Wow, (Y/n)," he said, twinkle in his eyes. He raised it so he could see it better, "I- thank you."
"You've been telling me about how you used to listen to music," you told him, "So I got you a more modern one."
"Your turn," Bucky said, giving you your present.
It wasn't wrapped, it was just a red box with a bow. You opened it and you looked to him for explanation.
It was a necklace with a dark silver star pendant.
"It's beautiful," you sighed, admiring the jewelry, "Thank you."
He gently took the necklace in his fingers, and looped it behind your neck, hooking it so now you were wearing it.
"I asked Shuri to make it from the scrap vibranium used to make my metal arm," he told you, a warm and loving smile on his mouth, "So you can have a piece of me with you."
Suddenly, you wondered if FRIDAY was right about you being in love with him.
"Ahem," said a human-like voice from the ceiling. It was FRIDAY, calling so you would look up.
The two of you saw a holographic mistletoe from the projector above you.
You smiled. It was a good excuse to kiss him, right? Wasn't that the rules of the mistletoe?
You reached up a little to press a short but sweet kiss on his lips, catching him off-guard.
"I-" Bucky turned beet red, "can you do that again please?"
Pleasantly surprised, you nod as you let him caress your cheeks, and pull you in for a longer kiss, his lips moving against yours in sync, like you were pieces of a puzzle. You melted into his arms and laid a hand on his thigh for support.
"I love you," Bucky said as he pulled away. Wait, he thought to himself, I love you?!
He meant to say merry christmas!
In his mind, you only kissed him because of his mistletoe. He was seconds away from apologizing, but then a content sigh left your lips, "I love you, too," you admitted shyly
He looked at you with a loving look that has always been there, yet you've only noticed it now. His thumb stroke your cheek softly, the contrast of metal and flesh strangely comforting.
He cracked a smile. "My dad used to spend christmas morning with my ma," he said, "She told me one day I'd find someone to spend it, too."
"Would she have approved of me?" You asked, curiosity laced im you silky voice.
"I swear to god she'd love you," he cupped both your cheek and pressed a kiss on the tip of your nose, "Merry Christmas, doll."
"Merry Christmas, James."
You made an internal note to self to thank FRIDAY later.
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