harrysgoldenline - Tumblr blog

harrysgoldenline · 2 months

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friends (b.b.)

𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚒 - 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 2356

warnings: NO SMUT, just cutesy fluff, maybe just a tiny bit of angst but not really, nothing really to warn about. might be some typos and shit but at this point y'all should be expecting this from my dyslexic ass.

summary: After being friends with Bucky for years, you finally get the confession you've been dreaming of.

Being Bucky's friend isn't really as great as Steve made it seem. Sure, Bucky is caring and funny and fiercely protective of the things and people that he loves. Yes, he's funny and charming and everything good in the world, but he is also arrogant and cocky and so emotionally repressed that you're not even sure he knows what feelings are anymore.

Being Bucky's friend means that you're also the Winter Soldier's best friend and that is a horrible feeling. Not because of the fact that he is the Winter Soldier but more so because the Winter Soldier has a fucking martyr complex. Despite the fact that Bucky is an amazing person who you think encompasses every good aspect of the world, he's an incredible dumbass. Not just a regular dumbass, the kind of fucking idiot that thinks everyone else, everything else is more important than him. The kind of idiotic person that thinks everyone but him is worth saving, the kind who runs head first into danger because he genuinely doesn't care if he lives or dies as long as he saves someone. Bucky is the type of imbecile that would run into a building, knowing it was rigged with explosives just to save a cat.

Bucky may be one of the best people you've ever met, but being his friend is horrible.

It's caring so intensely for someone who doesn't even care about himself. It's not being able to see or even speak to him for weeks or months because he's off on some insanely stupid mission to save the fucking world or something stupid like that. It's him constantly thinking he's some kind of invincible god and you having to remind him over and over and over that he's not. No matter how much he might look like one. It's trying to convince someone that hates his entire fucking existence that he deserves every soft, sappy thing in the world no matter how much he thinks he doesn't.

But worst of all it's being in love with a complete fucking idiot who doesn't even think he's worthy of love. You'd take all the anxiety, the panic, the dread, the crying and worry a million times over if you could just not be in love with that complete fucking dumbass. Or if you could maybe convince him that he deserves all the love in the fucking world.

—

You can't sleep, never can when he's gone. Some stupid romance movie you've seen about a hundred times plays on your tv—a feeble attempt to keep your mind off Bucky. To keep your mind from imagining what he's doing on his mission and all the ways it could go horribly wrong.

It doesn't really work.

It's almost impossible to keep him out of your mind. When you're not worrying about all the ways he could be killed, you're pining after him in the worst fucking way.

Just staring mindlessly at the screen daydreaming about him and the way his clothes always fit just right, just enough to give you a good view of his muscles without being too tight. And the way he looks in his stupidly attractive one armed outfits he wears on missions—which shouldn't be so fucking hot, but it is, it really fucking is. And his lips, just everything about them, their shape, their pretty pink color, the way they look so fucking soft all the god damned time. And that boyish, way too endearing, smirk of his that makes your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest. And his hands and the way they feel against your skin, rough calloused fingers with a touch so soft it sends chills down your spine. And—and, God you're so fucking fucked about him.

He's your best friend, really one of your only friends, and yet you can't stop thinking about him doing filthy things—that he would probably never do—to you. It's horrible and dirty and disrespectful but you just can't stop, thinking about Bucky's mouth and if it's really as soft as it looks.

You smell him before you even hear him, woody smoke, and honey, mixed with sweat. You smile softly to yourself as he drops his bag to the ground with a little grunt. Your mind moves slowly, struggling through your lack of sleep to put pieces together. You're clumsily climbing over the back of the couch the second you realize he's really there.

"Bucky," You start to say, stumbling a little at the ungraceful way you dismount from the back of the couch. "What the fuck?" You ask, waving your hands up and down in his general direction.

He's not sure if you're questioning his appearance or his presence...maybe both. You're not really sure either.

"I just got back," He mutters, words dripping with exhaustion as his arms slip lazily around your waist, making you trip over your own feet as he pulls you into his chest.

"You didn't text," You whisper, matching the soft tone of his voice as you slide your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He doesn't respond right away, he pulls you closer instead, grabbing onto your shirt to keep you there as if you had any plans on letting go. He makes a soft, barely audible noise, as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. His arms are tight around your waist, holding you to him like he's scared you're just gonna disappear and the thought makes your chest ache. You tilt your head, squeezing your eyes shut as your nose presses into the top of his shoulder, your lips just barely touching the leather on his jacket. Your nose floods with his scent, and you find yourself wishing you could capture it and keep it forever. He smells like camping in the summer, like searching for bugs and plants and pretty rocks in the woods, like staring up at the sky and pointing out the prettiest ones.

He smells likehome, warm and cozy and safe.

Slowly it feels like every ounce of worry and dread is leached out of your body. He's home, he's safe, he's here in your arms and nothing else fucking matters. This is the good part, this right here, all the worrying and sleepless nights are worth it just for this feeling. This happy sort of peaceful relief you get every time he comes back safe.

"M'sorry," He mutters after a few seconds, his words muffled in the crook of your neck. "Jus' wanted to get home."

Your stomach twists at that, a giddy sort of feeling floating around in your stomach at his words. He came straight from his mission to you. Didn't stop at his place, didn't go to the compound, he came straight to you. Straight home to you.

"Took ya long enough." You whisper against his shoulder, voice light and teasing as his grip on your shirt tightens.

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell this one must've been rough on him. It's obvious from the way he's clutching your shirt like a lifeline. Holding you to his chest like he thought he'd never see you again, like he's scared to let go. You don't ask him about it, he'll talk when he's ready, but you do hold him just as tight as he holds you. Rub your hands along his back, over his shoulder, up the back of his neck, lingering the softest touches everywhere you can reach because you know it calms him down.

"S'good you came home, you were gone so long I was about to come lookin' for you." You tell him, smiling softly against his neck at the little snort he lets out.

He's quiet for a bit longer, just standing there with his arms around your waist, his hands clutching at your shirt like he's terrifiedyou're going to vanish. After a while he relinquishes your shirt and before you can even think about pulling away, not that you would, his hands are running down to the backs of your thighs.

"M'sorry," He murmurs into your neck, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist like you weigh absolutely nothing. "Came as quick as I could, darlin', didn't even get to shower or anything."

"Did you eat?" You ask softly, holding onto him a little tighter as he hooks his arms back around your waist.

He shakes his head and you start to offer to cook him something while he showers but he's walking in the direction of your bedroom before you can get a single word out. He nudges your bedroom door open with the toe of his boot without saying a word and it makes you frown because Bucky is never silent around you. Talks so damn much you started to think he just liked the sound of his own voice (really he just loved the sound of yours but he's not about to admit something that sappy).

"Do you want to eat?" You ask, voice all soft and sweet in a way that makes his head spin.

He shakes his head again and without even letting go of you, he falls forward onto your bed, sandwiching you between him and your mattress. He's heavy, dense, thick muscle directly on top of you, but you don't complain. You wouldn't dare tell him that he's crushing your fucking chest because then he'd let go and you don't want that.

He settles with his head on your chest, his ear pressed up against the center of it. Listening closely to the sound of your heart like he didn't believe it was real. His hand slips a little under the hem of your shirt but stays resting on your hip as if all he wanted was just to feel your skin.

He's silent for a while, laying so still that you almost think he's fallen asleep. You don't say anything either because what could you possibly say? You could tell him about work or something but you're almost certain he doesn't want to hear that.

"Thought you were dead..." He whispers as he nuzzles his face against the center of your chest. His hands squeeze at your hips and you can't shake the feeling that he's trying to make sure you're real.

You don't really know what to say to that either. You stroke your fingers through his hair and you swear you feel your heart break a little at the pain in his voice.

"God, I thought you were fucking dead..." His voice cracks a little this time and his arms wrap around your waist tight, too tight but you don't say a thing. You're happy to just let him squeeze the life out of you if it makes him feel even a little bit better. "They...they got in my head, made me see things...and all I could think about was that I never got the chance to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You ask and you think your voice comes out a bit strained because he immediately loosens his grip.

"That I'm fucking in love with you," He forces out, voice rough with emotion as he shifts a little so that he's looking down at you.

Your heart fucking stops at his words and all you can do is just stare up at him like a complete fool. Cheeks flushing bright red and eyes wide as you stammer and choke on 16 different failed attempts at speech.

He loves you. No. He's in love with you.

"I thought you were dead and all I could think about was that you didn't know I loved you." He tells you, voice softening some as his eyes scan over your face. "All I wanted to fucking do was hold you and kiss you and just fucking touch you again and I know that's so fucking selfish of me but...fuck."

"You...love me?" Your voice comes out all meek and unsure as you look up at him. You're not even sure if your heart has started beating again because it feels like you could, very well, drop dead at any fucking second.

"Of course I do you fucking idiot." Bucky laughs and the sound is utterly heart wrenching to you. He tries to smile but it just looks so fucking sad that you want to cry.

And maybe he's right and you are a fucking idiot because you can't think of anything to say. You want to tell him you love him too but the words won't come up, they stick in the back of your throat and make you choke. All you can manage is to reach out, grab his face, and pull it down to yours in a pathetic excuse for a kiss.

He kisses you back instantly, taking control of the kiss, somehow calmer than you. His lips are soft and sweet against yours and nowhere near as clunky and uncoordinated as you but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. He smiles a little against your near frantic lips, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face.

It's not your first kiss, not even close, but you're so clumsy with it that it damn near feels like it. He hums against your lips like it's the best damn kiss he's ever had, strokes his thumb over your cheek and laughs when your teeth hit his.

You think he'll pull away, you would if you were him, but he doesn't. If anything he kisses you a bit harder, trying to take control of the kiss and guide your lips to work with his and it works wonders, you practically melt into it. He makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat when you finally relax and then his tongue slides over your bottom lip and you melt all over again.

You've never been the biggest fan of tongue kissing, it's always just so wet and slimy and forceful. But there's something about the way Bucky's tongue slides so so softly across your bottom lip that has you parting your lips without a second thought. And you don't fucking regret it at all.

It doesn't feel all slimy and gross like you're used to. His tongue is soft and wet and there's a faint hint of sweet mint as he kisses you. One of his hands squeezes at your waist under your shirt and he fucking groans like kissing you is the best thing he's ever experienced.

He kisses you until you're both breathless, until your lips are raw and swollen and slick with spit.

His forehead presses against yours and his voice comes out all hoarse and raspy as he says, "Fuck, I could kiss you for fucking ever,"

You laugh at that and the noise is so soft and sweet that it makes his breath hitch. You flutter your eyes open, thumbs stroking at the side of his neck as you look up at his flushed face.

"I love you too," You whisper and God, the way he smiles sends a jolt of warm heat through your body. "I didn't say it earlier, but I do. I really fucking do."

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harrysgoldenline · 11 months

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I am so obsessed with this series it’s a problem

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 | 𝐉.𝐁.𝐁

Pairing ✯ Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Word Count ✯ 3.2k Warnings ✯ Swearing, pet names, fluff, extreme spicy tension, there are special additions and appearances Author's Note ✯ I couldn't leave him alone, and he's such a smug bastard. Beta'd by ✯ @smutconnoisseur

His Girls Masterlist

Time was irrelevant when it came to Bucky – he was gravity, and you were helplessly pulled to him like a moth to a flame. When it finally came time to collect your car from his garage, you walked away with much more than just your keys.

It was funny how fate worked. Yesterday, you were cursing to the high heavens that your bucket-of-bolts car wouldn’t survive the drive home. This morning, you were counting your blessings for the fact that your car chose that moment to come to a stop outside of Barnes Classics Restoration.

All night – you had stayed up almost all damn night on the phone with the broody, muscled, tattooed mechanic that had stolen your breath away. It started with texts – innocent enough, but then Bucky drove home and called you. You hesitated briefly before you recklessly swiped to answer his call, then… Well, it was all downhill from there.

For hours you got to know him, and he got to know you – his attention was addictive, not to mention the way his voice lowered every time he’d congratulate you on an achievement or how happy Bucky sounded when he talked about his career and fame in the collector’s industry.

“I best be gettin’ some shut eye, doll–need to be up bright and early to finish up your car before I come ‘n get you,” Bucky said, voice raspy from hours of talking, and it was two in the morning. “You sleep well, sweetheart. I’ll see you-” A pause; you suspected he was checking the time, “Well, I’ll see you in a few hours.” The breathy chuckle that left his lips and echoed in the speaker made your heart flutter.

You would do anything to hear it again.

“Sleep well, handsome,” you whispered, stifling a yawn. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

“Night, doll.”

The line clicked, and you sighed heavily, willing the pounding of your heart to calm. No good would come of falling too quickly, you knew this, but dammit all; you couldn’t help but feel attached to Bucky’s charm and swagger.

All too soon, the sun rose, and you with it. Excitement made you feel like you were vibrating out of your skin, the single good morning text from ‘Handsome’ saying a simple: “I’m on my way, sweetheart,” set the butterflies in your stomach aflame. You dressed nicely, casually – but nice, a flattering outfit and one of your favourites.

With your house tidied after breakfast, you moved to the couch, your knee bouncing in anticipation to hear the rumbling engine of Bucky’s car down the street – when you heard something. It wasn’t the Mustang you had fawned over yesterday, but it was similar. It cut out before you could ponder it further, and you heard footsteps up the path to your front door, then two solid knocks against the wood.

“Hey, doll, it’s me!” Bucky called, muffled by the barrier. Your stomach swooped, and you rushed to the door, pausing briefly to adjust your shirt. Deep breath, you intoned, filling your tightening lungs and exhaling.

The door flew open, and low and behold, Bucky stood on your doorstep – hair loose and falling to his shoulders, a black Henley with rolled up sleeves to show off the artistry gracing his forearms and hands, and the kind of jeans that made you praise the heavens for thighs like his. “Hey,” you managed, not in a squeak if you did say so yourself.

“Hey back,” Bucky smirked, allowing a glance up and down your figure. “You look beautiful.”

“This?” You glanced down at your casual fit, the compliment making the disconnect between your brain and mouth all the more obvious. “Um, t-thanks.”

“C’mon,” Bucky said, offering his elbow and tilting his head. “Your chariot awaits.”

Careful to lock the door behind you, you made your way arm in arm with Bucky down the steps and down the footpath when you finally tore your eyes from him to look at the Mustang in all her glory – only, it wasn’t the Mustang.

“What the-”

Bucky chuckled and gestured to the black as night Dodge Challenger parked at the curb. “This is my other baby,” he said, grinning like a fool. “I decided it was time you met her, and since you had such an adorable reaction to my Mustang–” You stood there, gaping like a fish out of water at the power before you, and like with the Mustang, you came to a halt and planted your feet, glancing between him and the Challenger. “Oh my god, you’re so fuckin’ cute, doll,” he purred.

“Cute?” You squeaked, what you wouldn’t give for the ground to swallow you whole – both your being and the cacophony of butterflies in your stomach at being called cute.

“Yeah, y’are, sweetheart.” Slowly, you took a few steps closer to him, and he threw an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close and taking the opportunity to say against the crown of your head, “So fuckin’ adorable, baby.”

“Oh, my god,” you muttered. You knew there was a pull to him the moment he smiled at you the day before, but hearing all this from his lips now? It took all of your restraint to not fall to the floor in a swoon – that would only inflate his ego, you thought.

A chirp sounded from the Challenger, and Bucky opened the door, urging you inside. “M’lady.”

“Such a charmer,” you said before the door closed, and you watched as Bucky laughed and strode to the driver’s side, slipping inside in one fluid moment.

Once Bucky was settled in his seat and had the shifter in hand, he turned to you with a brow raised, a quirk in his lips that widened to be predatory. “I live to please.” The air in the car was sucked out with the statement, and you floundered, scrambling for a retort, but Bucky beat you. “Now, hold on.” The car rumbled to life with a roar, and you gripped the door handle and glovebox like a lifeline.

While not entirely unexpected, the drive to Bucky’s garage was filled with a lot of tire smoke and Bucky laughing at your iron grip on whatever you could scramble to grab hold of.

“That was too much, Bucky!” You gasped, swinging open the door and heaving for breath. “Too much, holy shit.”

“Nah, you can take it, doll,” Bucky replied, materialising out of nowhere next to you and offering his hand to help you out of the car – such a gentleman, even after scaring me half to death, you shrewdly thought. “C’mon, come inside, and you can meet the gang of idiots I have workin’ for me.”

Solid ground under your feet steadied the wave of adrenaline from Bucky’s antics. You followed close behind him as he walked – strutted into his garage office, only there was a red-headed woman with a wicked smile and watchful eyes perched in his chair.

She surveyed you, a critical gaze that morphed into a smirk of mischief before she glanced at Bucky. “What’s got you in so early, Barnes?” The chair creaked as she sat up, raising a brow. “And no coffee?”

“Get your own, Nat,” Bucky scoffed. He paused and looked between you and Nat. She looked expectant, with a quirk to her lips that only grew. “Doll, this is Nat–she’s the one that pulls these fools into line when I’m not here.”

You offered your name shyly, and she grinned at you, rising from the chair to reveal grease stained jeans and combat boots. “Nice to meet you. It’s not often Buck here is in at this hour–maybe you’re changing him for the better, huh?”

“I don’t-”

“Fuck off, Nat,” Bucky cut in, rolling his eyes. You glanced at him, but he refused to meet your gaze, and you swore he was fighting the urge to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Get back to work.”

Nat just winked and walked into the garage, her flaming hair bright amongst the colours of parked cars.

“So,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. “That’s Nat.” The quiet chuckle left your lips before you could stop it, and Bucky moved towards the desk to place his keys down. “D’you wanna meet the other idiots?”

“Why not,” you replied, grinning. “I like Nat; she’s feisty.”

“Not you, too,” Bucky groaned, staring at you with an exasperated frown. “I get enough shit from her as it is, do not join her side–you’re meant to be on my side.”

“Oh, there are sides?” Bucky only narrowed his eyes, suspicion plain as day on his rugged features. “Alright, I yield,” you rushed placatingly. “I’m on your side, Handsome, okay?”

Bucky stepped closer, and you suppressed the urge to shudder or move out of his shadow and away from that piercing gaze. “That’s my girl, now c’mon.”

The garage was bustling with activity as Bucky led you through the door. Quiet indistinct conversations could be heard over the lull of music from the overhead speakers, as well as the whirring of power tools and the sounds of metal on metal. It was strangely comforting, a hive of activity where things were working like a well oiled machine – which, you supposed, was natural.

“Steve,” Bucky called, and you watched a mess of blond hair peer around a popped bonnet – immediately, you recognised him as the blond you first saw yesterday. “Come meet our new client.”

“Ah, the sweetheart that had you showing off yesterday,” Steve replied, wiping his hands on a rag and walking over. “Good to meet you, honey.” His smile was soft, and his eyes flashed with the same mischief as Nat’s. “You can call me Stevie, and Buck here has had me slaving away over your car-”

“Rogers,” Bucky snapped, shoving at his shoulder, and Steve laughed. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I thought you were working on my car?” You piped up, raising a brow at Bucky, who in turn frowned at Steve.

“I asked this punk for one damn minute of help, and he suddenly thinks he’s God’s gift to me.” You stared between the two men squaring their shoulders, an unspoken threat to whoop one another’s asses, playfully, you hoped.

Steve started to walk backwards towards the front of the car he was working on, a smirk on his lips as he pulled the rag from his belt. “But I thought I was.”

“Smug bastard,” Bucky muttered, loud enough so only you would hear, and you laughed. “Alright, enough of that.” You followed Bucky as he walked to another area of the garage, another bay where another classic car was parked, the bonnet up, and a pair of boots visible from the undercarriage. “Carter, get your ass up.”

“Gimme a minute, Buck,” Carter called, his voice muffled by the car. “Just gotta, damn-” A clink of metal on concrete made Bucky sigh. “Shuddup,” Carter said.

You were distracted by Bucky crossing his arms over his chest, the tattoos on his arms bright under the downlights hanging from the ceiling, and the muscles of his biceps flexed as he fidgeted. There were smaller tattoos amidst the bigger designs – scripture and patterns that entranced you, and you tampered down the urge to trace them with a finger, only just. “See somethin’ you like, sweetheart?”

Startled, you looked up from his arms to his face. A smug smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, and he raised a brow.

“Sorry,” you blurted, hastily looking down at your feet, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. “I-”

“I don’t mind,” Bucky said, pulling your attention to his face again, that smirk forming into a grin, and he winked. “Just don’t let those thoughts get to your head, doll. I wouldn’t want to have to bring you back down to earth again–at least,” Bucky had moved closer, close enough to whisper against your ear under the guise of looking at the tools scattered on the tray next to you. “Not here.”

“Oh,” you breathed before you thought better of it, and you clamped your mouth shut with a loud click.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. The boots that belonged to Carter finally moved, and a man, uncannily similar to Bucky, appeared on a wheelie board before he rose to his feet with a groan. “Almost finished with this one,” he said, looking at Bucky, who nodded before Carter turned to look at you. He was handsome, with a charming smile and bright eyes. “Now, who’s this pretty darlin’?”

You didn’t miss the way Bucky stiffened next to you, his smile becoming forced, and neither did Carter – his eyes drifted to Bucky, and he raised a brow and his hands in teasing placation. “This is our new client, Hal,” Bucky said, his tone only slightly clipped as he said your name. “She’s here to pick up her car.”

“Ah, so you’re the-”

“Yeah, she’s the one I was showing off for,” Bucky cut in, and Hal chuckled. “I already heard that from Stevie. Now,” Bucky paused, narrowing his eyes at the engine bay. “Get that pigsty cleaned up.”

“Buck- C’mon, I was playin’!” Hal huffed, deflating under Bucky’s stare. “Alright, alright, easy, tiger.” Hal looked at you and smiled, his eyes softening. “Good to meet you, sugar. I’m sure we’ll see each other more if Buck is this damn protective-”

Bucky uncrossed his arms and advanced, but Hal danced out of his reach with a cackle, his southern twang making it sound like a whoop.

“What is it with these idiots,” Bucky said as he rested a hand on your lower back to guide you away from a laughing Hal. “I swear-”

“They’re amazing,” you interrupted, laughing at Bucky’s incredulous stare. “They’re making me realise that you’re not all that ‘big tough guy’, and that you’re just a big softie!”

“I am not-” Bucky huffed. His lip suddenly curled in another predatory smirk, and you gulped as Bucky slowed his pace and leant down, his breath hot on your ear. “I can be big and hard, y’know, just for you, sweetheart.”

“Bucky!”

His laughter rang around the garage, and his shoulders shook as you stared at him, shock and astonishment switching your brain into betraying you by helping you picture exactly what he inferred. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” Bucky chuckled, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You followed numbly as he directed you toward a group of men, all of who were hovering at a rack of tools as they talked.

“Fellas,” Bucky called, and all three of them looked over, eyes moving from Bucky to you. You smiled as Bucky introduced you to them, offering your name while your mind still reeled from that damned comment that left your stomach in your throat. “This is Chris,” Bucky said, pointing at a man dressed in a denim jacket, his hair buzzed short and a goatee. “He’s broodier than me, and that’s sayin’ something.” Chris glared at Bucky but softened his gaze as he looked at you.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” Chris said, backing away and turning with a salute.

“Don’t mind him,” Bucky continued. “And this is Ari,” he said, gesturing to a giant of a man with blond hair – just like Steve’s and a kind smile.

“Hey there, honey,” Ari winked. “Buck here hasn’t shut up about you.”

“Goddammit,” Bucky groaned. “What is with you guys? I have one girl I show off to, and here the lot of you are-”

“Easy, boss,” Ari laughed. “Just telling her what you’re too afraid to admit, bein’ big and tough, an’ all.” He flipped a wrench in his hand and sauntered off, grinning like the cat that caught the mouse.

“Don’t listen to them, boss,” the final man said. He looked young – bright and bouncing on the balls of his feet with energy. “I’m Peter,” he offered, smiling widely. “I’m the apprentice.”

“Yeah, and the only one that has the sense not to be a shithead,” Bucky cut in, rubbing his face. “I still have the sway to intimidate you into behaving around finer company.”

“Good to meet you, Peter,” you smiled, shaking his hand. He didn’t hang around long before he rushed off after Ari. The moment of peace was a blessing, and you took the opportunity to look Bucky over – his cheeks were tinged pink, and he kept fidgeting, his hands unable to be still. “You okay, Handsome?”

Bucky looked at you and sighed, nodding. “I knew they were bastards, the lot of them, but damn them.”

You laughed and took his arm. “Take me to me hunk-a-junk, Buck,” you said, shaking it a little. “Then I can get out of your hair, and you can beat some sense into those rascals.”

“Bastards, you mean, doll,” Bucky sighed, grabbing your hand. “Alright, let’s see about your bucket o’ bolts.”

The office was empty when the two of you walked in, and Bucky gestured to a comfortable looking chair. “Sit down for me. I’ll get the paperwork and shit ready,” he said, smiling as you took it. “Good girl.”

“Why are you like this?” You whined, hiding your face in your hands.

“Like what, sweetheart?” Bucky hummed, rooting around in a filing cabinet before pulling out a sheet of paper with a flourish. He turned to look at you and leant against the desk, his body far too close to yours as he handed you the paperwork detailing the work done on your car. “Jus’ tryin’ to be sweet on you.”

Groaning with embarrassment, you glanced down the list, only to find no price written – not for parts, nor labour. “Buck, you missed-”

“I didn’t miss a thing, doll,” he mused, smiling softly down at you – the fondness in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“But I can’t accept this,” you rushed, pointing at the paperwork. “I can’t-”

Bucky shook his head once. “You’ll accept it because you’ll do as you’re told,” he said abruptly, and your mouth fell slack. He chuckled quietly and shook his head again. “Forgive me, sweetheart, I dunno about you, but I enjoy your company–probably more than I should. And- No, let me finish,” Bucky held up a hand to stop you from speaking. Disbelief was flooding you, drowning you the more he spoke. “I wanna explore whatever this is between us.”

“Bucky, oh my god,” you breathed. “Are you-” You gulped and cleared your throat. Dreaming – you had to be dreaming. “Are you asking me out?”

He just nodded, his gaze intense, unwavering. You fell back in your chair, staring at him with the sensibilities of a fish out of water. Silence echoed in the room, and you struggled to find words and articulate just how badly you wanted this.

Before you could speak, however, Bucky shifted, his mouth opening to speak, "I thought drinks woulda been a date, sweetheart, but…" He hummed, narrowing his eyes before they widened like a light bulb had gone off in his mind. "I know–be ready for me to take you out Friday night, 8 o'clock sharp."

"Bucky, I-"

"Nope," Bucky sang, the honeyed pull of his words too alluring to ignore. "Be ready at 8 o'clock sharp, sweetheart. Let a fella show a dame a good time."

After lingering for another few unplanned hours, you put the garage in your rear-view mirror when you realised what had just happened. Bucky had asked you out on a date, an actual date, and he was going to pick you up that Friday night, 8 o’clock sharp, with an order to dress comfortably.

There was no fathoming just what he had in store for you, and you found you didn’t mind that one bit – what was wrong with taking a leap of faith?