is-human-i-think

[is-human-i-think]

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[is-human-i-think]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Eight

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3777

Warnings: Soft angst, bad language words

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your patience. I know it's been 4 years since I last updated this, but because it's so near and dear to my heart, I couldn't leave it unfinished. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

 “Have a good day, Bryson!��

You watched as Bucky carefully balanced your drinks and pastries in his hands, a shit-eating grin gracing his lips as he walked closer. He sauntered to the table you’d picked, his hips swaying with each step. You quickly glanced over Bucky’s shoulder at Bryson, trying to gauge their whispered conversation. Whatever it had pertained to, it left Bryson looking like he’d seen a ghost. 

“He has a set on him,” Bucky remarked, chuckling softly as he approached the table. He set your drinks and food on the tabletop and pulled out the chair closest to you, plopping down ineloquently.

Your gaze quickly flicked from Bucky to Bryson and back again. “Why? What did he say?”

Bucky distributed the food items between you before smirking slightly. “Oh, y’know, the whole ‘if you hurt her, I’ve got a shovel speech.’”

Your lips parted in speechless silence, eyes darting back over to Bryson to find him nervously wiping down the espresso machine. Was he that dumb? Had he honestly threatened a super soldier? “So, why does he look like he’s seen the Chitauri pouring out of another wormhole from space?”

“Probably because I gave him the Winter Soldier version of ‘they’ll never find your body’ spiel,” he said casually, sipping his to-go cup.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You didn’t?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, his smile slumping into a half-frown, half-grin. “He shouldn’t have talked to you that way, regardless of who or what you were discussing. Punk needed to be put in his place.”

Your heart pitter-pattered at the thought of Bucky defending your honor. Despite no longer being in the 40s, those manners were still ingrained in him. His mama had raised him right. 

You wondered what it would have been like to have seen him in his prime. Before the war. Before Hydra.  A dashing yet charming James Buchanan Barnes, making all the girls swoon, would have been an incredible sight.  You smiled like a love-sick fool at the image in your head. 

Resting your hand on his knee, you squeezed his leg. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

He shrugged again.

“Wait—was this what it was like growing up with Steve? Always coming to his rescue?”

Bucky barked a laugh. “That kid was trouble. Always startin’ fights he knew he couldn’t win.” He looked off into the middle distance, nostalgic. “Always stickin’ up for the lil’ guys, even though he was one himself.”

You smiled, trying to imagine Captain America as some scrawny kid fighting for justice. You squeezed his knee once more. 

“You reminded me of him, y’know, just now. With everything you said back there,” Bucky commented, waving his hand toward the register. 

The realization of what was said to Bryson finally sank in; you placed your head in your hands, elbows propping you up on the table. “Oh, my God. I’m gonna need to find a new coffee shop now.”

“What?” Bucky asked after another sip of his coffee. “Why?”

You groaned in exasperation before begrudgingly ripping off a chunk of your scone and shoving it in your mouth. You savored the raspberry and chocolate flavors melding on your tongue. You were going to miss this. “Because Bryson seems like the type to spit in your coffee for being an Avenger sympathizer.”

Bucky grimaced, understanding the implications of the earlier interaction. He tore off a piece of his croissant. “I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to cause you any grief.”

Your heart skipped a beat the second it slipped from his lips. Doll.

A breath caught in your throat. Nah, he’s an entirely different James, you thought, trying to convince yourself.  It was just a coincidence, right? Your James would tell you, wouldn’t he? 

Wait… since when was he your James?

You picked at your scone as you attempted to recall any similarities you may have noticed between the two men.

“(Y/N)?” You looked up from the plate your pastry rested on to find Bucky looking at you quizzically, realizing you must have zoned out. 

You flapped a hand at him, dismissing his earlier apology. Before any words could leave your mouth to explain it wasn’t Bucky’s fault, your fingers caught the lip of the lid on your iced mocha, flipping the plastic cup onto its side and spilling the cold contents into your lap. You jumped up with a squeal as the light brown liquid and sticky whipped cream soaked through the skirt of your dress. 

Bucky sprang from his seat with an exclaimed, “Oh, shit!” He scrambled for the stack of napkins lying on the tabletop. Thrusting half of the napkins at you, he knelt to mop up the slurry that managed to miss your thighs with the remainder.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you heard a loud grumble coming from Bryson’s direction. If he hadn’t thought about hocking a loogie into your coffee before, he was definitely feeling it now. 

You blotted at the wet spot, in vain, knowing full well it would stain. Why did it have to be your favorite dress? And in front of the cute Avenger? 

The dabbing to your dress became aggressive the more you continued to think about what a horrible impression you’d made on Bucky so far. First, the teasing the other day, and now, your clumsiness.

You looked up from your skirt as you felt Bryson approach your table. He threw a rag down on the table and held a mop in one hand. The glare marring his countenance made your belly swoop. Yeah, you were getting a snotball in your coffee. 

“I’m sorry about this,” you mumbled to Bryson as you returned to cleaning your dress. He pushed the mop around your feet, absorbing the spilled coffee without saying a word.

You caught Bucky’s eyes as he swiped at the splattered table surface with the damp rag Bryson tossed over. The compulsion to apologize to him overcame you. You didn’t know why- it was an accident, but it was still there nonetheless. “I’m sorry about spilling my drink. I didn’t enjoy much of it, so I feel like I wasted your money.”

Bucky stopped wiping as the words sprang from you. His blue eyes shone in the overhead lights. “Hey, don’t worry about it. It was an accident,” he soothed. He picked up the wet cloth again and kept cleaning the table. “Besides, I don’t think Bryson here minds making you another. Do ya, pal?”

Imagining the various bodily fluids you’d find in your new mocha, you instantly protested, ”No, that isn’t necessary! I’m okay.”

“Don’t be silly, (Y/N)! He doesn’t mind.”

Bryson halted his mopping for a second, giving Bucky a hard side-eye. Bucky quirked an eyebrow at him, narrowing his gaze slightly. 

You observed the power struggle between the two men as warmth bloomed in your core. Were you getting turned on by this? Was watching Bucky assert his dominance really doing it for you? A blush crept to your cheeks, heating them further than from just the embarrassment of spilling your drink. Your breath caught in your throat as the mild standoff continued. This was most certainly doing something to you!

A flush traversed your whole body as you watched Bucky straighten to his full height. He wasn’t taller than Bryson, but his shoulders were broader, and he was just beefier. You could easily see why the guy was seen as intimidating. He was stoical and phlegmatic when he wanted to be—a brick wall of control.  

Without a peep, Bryson peevishly swiped the mop across the last remnants of iced mocha before snatching the dirty dishcloth from Bucky’s hand. He turned back to the counter with a huff. 

Your body expelled the air you held in, and your eyes followed Bryson’s back as he stalked away. Your stare quickly returned to Bucky as you heard Bryson grumbling at the espresso machine, and you gave Bucky a shaky smile. Bucky returned your smile with one of his own and winked. “It’s the least he can do.”

A few moments later, as you uselessly continued to wipe off your dress—mostly for pride, since the damage was done—Bryson returned with a fresh iced mocha and a dry napkin. You murmured your thanks and something about caffeine-related betrayal, trying to play it cool despite the fact that your soul had exited your body ten minutes ago.

Bucky held up another napkin for you, this amused little crinkle forming at the corners of his eyes like he couldn’t decide if he should laugh or apologize on behalf of the drink. You really hoped it wasn’t the former. You didn’t know how much more your dignity could take tonight.

The wet fabric clung to your skin, and you gave a tiny shiver—part chill, part embarrassment. The liquid that hadn’t been sopped up was now soaking through the front of your dress in cold, sticky patches that made you want to shrivel up and dissolve into the floor.

Without a word, Bucky shrugged off his jacket and held it out to you. “Here,” he said softly. “You’re freezing.”

You hesitated for half a second, which was long enough to overthink absolutely everything. Wearing his jacket? Was that allowed? Was it too much? Would it smell like him? Would you ever be normal again?

But your fingers closed around the soft fabric before your brain could stop them, and you slipped it over your shoulders with a quiet, “Thanks.” It was warm, still holding his body heat, and—yep—of course it smelled unfairly good. Like cedarwood and clean laundry and something a little darker underneath, like smoke or spice or…sin. Great. Perfect. Go ahead and carve “perished via handsome boy smell” onto your tombstone.

You glanced up at him again, only to find him watching you with that same open, concerned expression that somehow made everything worse. Or better. You weren’t sure.

There was just something deeply cruel about being this flustered in front of a man who looked like he could lift a motorcycle and recite poetry by candlelight. You were never drinking iced mocha again.

The moment stretched—quiet except for the soft hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. Why was it suddenly so awkward? Not bad-awkward. Just… charged. Like the air before a storm.

Bucky leaned back a little, eyes still gentle despite the tension, and said softly, “Is this weird? This feels weird. But in a good way. Just… haven’t done this in a while.”

He offered you a crooked smile—tentative, but genuine. “And, for the record, you wear mocha like a champ.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. Heat climbed from your neck to the tips of your ears like it was personally offended by your dignity. You groaned and dropped your forehead to the table with a soft thunk. “Oh my god. Just bury me under the sidewalk. Right now. I’ll leave instructions for my iced mocha-themed headstone.”

Bucky chuckled—quiet but real—and nudged another napkin your way, the motion unhurried, like he was trying not to spook you.

You peeked up from the table, eyes narrowed as if bracing for impact, expecting a teasing remark or some smug little quip. But he didn’t say anything else. He just watched you with that tilted smile and that annoyingly earnest face, like he saw right through you and wasn’t scared off by the mess underneath.

A nervous laugh bubbled in your chest, but you swallowed it down. “You sure this isn’t some kind of setup?” you muttered, voice low. “Like… a hidden camera experiment to see if I can survive catastrophic public embarrassment and flirt with an Avenger in the same hour?”

He leaned forward again, forearms resting casually on the table, gaze never wavering. “Could be. Or maybe I just got lucky enough to sit across from someone real.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how sincere that sounded. Then—almost involuntarily—you laughed. Not the nervous kind. The surprised, disarmed, actual kind. “You’re smooth for someone who claims he’s out of practice.”

“I’m winging it,” he said, tone half a shrug. “But you’re making it pretty easy.”

There it was again—that swoop low in your belly, like your insides had decided to defy gravity. He was looking at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your smile, the color of your eyes, the exact moment your breath caught. And worse, he didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed about it. Like you were worth studying. Worth the pause.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the intensity coiling between you, but it lingered. It liked the attention. He finally blinked—slow, deliberate—and reached for his Americano, bringing the cup to his lips.

Your skin still buzzed from the warmth he left behind. But this time, it wasn’t embarrassment. Not even close.

Your skin still buzzed from the warmth he left behind. But this time, it wasn’t embarrassment. Not even close.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. The moment teetered right on the edge of too much—his eyes still on you, steady and soft, like he hadn’t even noticed how long it’d been. Like he liked looking.

“Would you rather…?” you squeaked out, voice cracking slightly under the pressure of his attention.

A grin slid slowly across Bucky’s face, hitching higher on one side. “Would I rather?”

“Yes, it’s a game,” you said quickly, stretching for your iced mocha like it could ground you. “Would you rather fight a hundred duck-sized Hulks or one Hulk-sized duck?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, then leaned back in his chair like he was actually weighing the options. “A hundred duck-sized Hulks,” he repeated slowly. “So… ankle-high green rage monsters. Still strong as hell, just… bite-sized.”

You nodded solemnly, pleased with his seriousness.

“Or one Hulk-sized duck,” he continued, brows furrowed in concentration. “So like… seven feet tall? Eight? Big enough to knock me over with one flap of its wings, probably loud as hell but… not actually smashing through buildings.”

Another pause.

“I’m gonna hafta go with the Hulk-sized duck,” he decided. “At least I wouldn’t have to fight in every direction at once. Ducks don’t know jiu-jitsu.”

Your lips twitched. “Are you sure about that?”

He angled his body closer to yours, face mock-serious.

“There’s a lot I’ve seen in my life. But a duck with combat training would break me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’ve really thought this through.”

Bucky lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, trying—and failing—to look modest.

“Hey, I take my hypothetical battles seriously.”

You tried to hold it in, really, but a laugh slipped out anyway.

“A duck with combat training would break you?”

“Mentally, yeah,” he said, tapping his fingers against his cup. “There’s no coming back from that.”

You burst out laughing mid-sip, nearly inhaling mocha through your nose.

“Jesus—Bucky! I don’t need more mocha on me. Let alone, up my nose.”

He gasped, eyes wide with mock horror. “Not the nasal mocha! That’s the most dangerous kind!”

You wheezed.

He leaned forward conspiratorially, like he was about to reveal a dark secret. “One time, Sam sneezed coffee out his nose during a debrief. Couldn’t stop smelling hazelnut for days.”

You were losing it again, and he grinned proudly, clearly delighted to be the cause.

“So really,” he added, gesturing at your drink like it was a loaded weapon, “sip at your own risk. I come with a warning label.”

You snorted, reaching for the tag of his t-shirt. “Oh, yup. It says right here… ‘May cause laughter, intense eye contact, and spontaneous iced mocha accidents.’”

He blinked—then turned pink, color creeping up his ears like it had no business there. “Eye contact?” he echoed, clearly short-circuiting. “That’s… that’s a side effect now?”

You grinned, sipping smugly through your straw. “Only the most dangerous kind.”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in his coffee cup.

“Right. Uh. Good to know. I’ll try to… dial down the retina intensity.”

You leaned in just a bit, voice low, eyes gleaming. “Please don’t. That’s my favorite part.”

He made a small noise—possibly a squeak—and immediately changed the subject. “So! Uh—would you rather have fingers for toes or toes for fingers?”

You blinked. Then blinked again.

“Bucky Barnes,” you said, trying not to laugh, “did you just panic so hard you turned me into a science experiment?”

He pointed at you with faux confidence. “Answer the question. It’s life or death.”

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until the café started to quiet around you. One question turned into ten, then twenty. The awkwardness that had clung to you like your spilled mocha slowly dissolved, replaced by laughter and easy conversation.

You talked about irrational fears (he confessed to hating mannequins—“too quiet, too still, too smiley”), sleepwalking mishaps (you once tried to fold laundry in your sleep), and which Avenger would survive the longest in a horror movie (you both agreed it’d be Natasha—no contest). Somehow, the sting of your earlier embarrassment faded until it felt like part of the charm of the day, not the curse.

Eventually, Bucky walked you to the subway stop, the city humming around you in that in-between moment before night fully takes over. The air had cooled, but his jacket still rested on your shoulders like a borrowed memory.

“Despite my clumsiness, I had a really nice time,” you said, glancing up at him.

“Yeah,” he murmured, smiling gently. “Me too.”

At the steps, you began to slide the jacket off, fingers brushing the collar. “Thanks again for this.”

But Bucky held up a hand, stopping you. “Keep it.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ll get it next time.”

Your heart tripped a little in your chest. “Next time?”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “Unless you’re plannin’ on disappearin’ on me.”

“Not a chance," you replied, a little too quickly. 

His grin turned roguish. “Then, I’ll see you soon, doll.”

You boarded the train with a stupid, breathless smile stuck to your face like static. You were still wearing his jacket. It smelled like his cologne and somehow felt warmer than it had all night.

Once you found a seat, heart still racing like you’d just outrun a small stampede of duck-sized Hulks, you pulled out your phone and texted James:

You: Just got done. Despite a spilled coffee and a grumpy barista… it went really well 😊

You stared at the screen, smiling like an idiot. The lights of the subway blurred past outside the window as the train rattled forward. You hugged Bucky’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, still faintly warm, and tucked your phone into your lap—until a small but annoying realization landed.

You: Wait. Shit. He never asked for my number.

The typing dots appeared instantly. Then disappeared. Then came back.

James: …Seriously?

You: Yup. Just realized it. Whole charming date and I casually left without giving him a way to contact me. 

James: …That idiot.

You snorted out a laugh right there in the train car. A man across from you looked up, startled. You smiled apologetically and glanced back at your phone.

You: Think it’s a dealbreaker?

James: Nah. Just proof he needs a second chance to get it right.

You: Another chance or another date?

James: …Both 😟

You chewed your lip, rereading that one. Then again. That little nervous emoji sat there like a confession in disguise.

You: Peter knows him. Maybe I can get his number from him. 

You: Does that make me look desperate??

James: No, doll. 

James: But, he’s an Avenger, right? Maybe he’ll surprise you.

You slipped into your apartment, kicking off your shoes with a groan and shucking Bucky’s jacket off your shoulders-throwing it on the arm of your sofa. You padded toward your bedroom. The mocha-stained dress clung uncomfortably in places, the fabric stiff and crusted where the coffee dried. You peeled it off with a wince, wrangling it over your head like it personally wronged you, and dropped it straight into the hamper.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” you muttered, glaring at the lid like it might spit the dress back out in apology.

From behind you, a soft mrrp broke the silence.

Catniss Everclean strutted into the room like she paid rent, hopped effortlessly onto the closed hamper, and sniffed the air with visible disdain. She sat with her tail curled neatly around her feet and gave a single judgmental sneeze—more of a statement than a bodily function.

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “It smells like regret and espresso.”

That poor dress never stood a chance.

A long, hot shower later—filled with mental replays of Bryson’s audacity, Bucky’s protectiveness, and that look he gave you at the café—you wrap yourself in your coziest robe and wander into the kitchen. One glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. Maybe two.

You poured a healthy amount of cabernet into your favorite stemless glass, flopped onto the couch, and pulled your phone from where it had been charging. Your fingers hovered over James’s name for a beat before you tapped it.

You: Just spent ten minutes trying to convince my cat that the wine bottle wasn’t a threat to national security.

James: Was it making suspicious noises?

You: Worse. It rolled.

James: Unforgivable. Immediate exile to the pantry.

You: I’ll consider your punishment proposal.

James: I have excellent judgment. Just ask my toaster. It hasn’t betrayed me in days.

You: Days, huh? What happened last time?

James: We don’t talk about it. There was smoke. Feelings were hurt.

You: You have a very emotional kitchen.

James: Appliances are people too, doll.

You: You’re such a menace.

James: But I’m your menace.

You sip your wine, a soft smile curling your lips.

You: I think I needed this.

James: Wine, or me?

You: …Both. 

James: Then mission accomplished.

You tuck your legs under yourself, glass in hand, the night wrapped around you like a blanket. The tension from earlier melted beneath the warmth of your shared silliness.

You: You always know how to make me laugh.

James: That’s the goal, sweetheart.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, a dozen unsent replies flickering through your mind. But instead of typing anything else, you let the moment linger—phone in one hand, wine in the other, a smile tugging at your lips and a flutter blooming quietly in your chest. One you couldn’t quite name yet.

James, what are you doing to me?

Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine

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[is-human-i-think]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Seven

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2684

Warnings: ANGST, bad language words

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your love and support for this series! Everyone who has liked or reblogged this week after week means the world to me!

A/N 2: I split their date into 2 parts because I wanted to give perspective from both sides. Enjoy Bucky’s POV first!

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

An anxiousness bubbled up inside Bucky as he and (Y/N) stepped out of her office building and onto the crowded Manhattan sidewalk. It was five o’clock, meaning every other yuppie in New York was trying to get somewhere as well. Walking shoulder to shoulder with her felt like a feat in itself. Everyone around them seemed to be heading in the opposite direction, and they were fighting against the current like a pair of spawning salmon swimming upstream.

With his size and stature, most passers-by gave Bucky a wide berth. But with (Y/N), they didn’t. They jostled her like a small boat caught at sea during a storm; they gave her no mind in their rudeness. She fought to stay astride him as businessmen shouldered past her like a runningback fighting to make it to the endzone.

A feeling of protectiveness washed over him. Longing to whisk (Y/N) away from her place on the dirty cement increased with every step. The defensive surge fizzing right below the surface wanted him to tuck her into his side and glower at anyone who dreamed of coming close.

Bucky couldn’t, of course. He had to play it as if they’d only met a few days ago, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he grasped her empty hand and led her through the swarm of fellow New Yorkers.

(Y/N)’s hand was warm inside his, and the very thought of him touching her made his pulse quicken. The reaction wasn’t unpleasant. Though, it fuzzily reminded him of his teenage years. He was nearly one hundred years old! He shouldn’t be acting like a lovesick fool.

But here he was- swooning over a girl like he was fifteen again.

Bucky felt a yanking on his arm as (Y/N) pulled him from the stream of rushing bodies. Unmoving, at the edge of the rush, he found it was easier to breathe again. The fretfulness bled away once they were standing still.

Keep reading

[is-human-i-think]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Six (part 2)

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1800

Warnings: ANGST, bad language words

A/N: Tumblr sucks. It forced me to split this chapter up because I exceeded the text block limit. That’s just how I write! 

READ PART 1 FIRST!!!

A/N 2: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

Ten minutes into the ride back, the staggering feeling of telling someone about your date consumed you. The one person you wanted to know above all others was the one you were finding difficulty telling.

James.

Guilt sat heavily on your chest. A feeling of something niggled its way inside you, but you couldn’t tell what. Was it disappointment? Regret?

With each passing day, you became closer with James. You were starting to care for him. And not just on a friend level, either. Was it leading to anywhere, though? So many unanswerable questions swirled in your head.

It was a mess.

You So I did a thing. 😐

The ellipses started blinking almost instantly.

James You didn’t eat from the hot dog cart I warned you about in Times Square, did you?! 🤢

Keep reading

[is-human-i-think]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Six (part 1)

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3293

Warnings: ANGST, bad language words

A/N: Tumblr sucks. It forced me to split this chapter up because I exceeded the text block limit. That’s just how I write! Link to part 2 at the end.

A/N 2: Thank you again to everyone for showing this story so much love! And thank you to everyone for your patience and support as I struggled to put this out. As you can tell from the multiple parts, it was a doozy. 🥰 divider credit- @firefly-graphics​

In case you missed the update, I will be publishing a new chapter every other Saturday from here on out. Schedule is in the Masterlist in my header.

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

Monday morning rolled around, and your good mood from the weekend followed you into the office. Spending all of Saturday and the majority of Sunday texting James had lent to this early morning cheerfulness. You couldn’t help the smile on your face. You had even managed to arrive before most of your team.  

You hummed a sweet melody as you booted up your computer and organized a few files for Timmons to peruse. They were statements intended for the press needing his approval about a particular prominent CEO or A-list celebrity client. The firm was not confirming nor denying any knowledge of said client’s whereabouts the previous week or why there was photographic evidence of them coming out of FlashDancers NYC. Other files included those seeking rebranding approval for existing companies looking to revamp their image.

Most importantly, today was contract signing day for Stark Industries. 

You had compiled the document from a generic template the company used for all its clients, manually plugging in Stark Industries’ information in the correct spots and changing or omitting any services rendered or not. E-signing contracts were not only environmentally responsible, but they also saved a lot of your time from printing out numerous copies of a single agreement.

All you needed now was Timmons’ go-ahead to email the contract, and Pepper Potts could plug in her Jane Hancock.

Seeing Timmons enter the workroom, tweed coat draped over his forearm and attaché in hand, you rose from the seat behind your desk. You shuffled into his office after him.

He hung his jacket from the coat rack in the corner near a bank of expansive windows and placed the small, leather case he’d been carrying on the sturdy oak desk. He pulled out a stack of papers and tapped the pile against the desktop to straighten them before setting them down. Looking up at you briefly, he tugged out his laptop next.

You positioned a mug of coffee on Timmons’ desk, turning the handle just so, making it easier for him to grab. You cleared your throat gently. He glanced up at you again.

“Here’s the media statements for today,” you said, handing him a group of manila folders. You smoothed down the hem of your cardigan, smiling at the reminder of Bucky. You wished there had been a way to apologize to him again. He had left your apartment with such a pained look on his face. Maybe you could ask Peter. “And the Stark contract pdf is ready to go. I can email it over to you for final approval.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Timmons replied absent-mindedly, lifting the organized piles on the desk as if looking for something.

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Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Five

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3601

Warnings: ANGST, Bucky most definitely needs a hug halfway through this, bad language words

A/N: I’m flattered and frankly overwhelmed with the love and support everyone is showing for this little story. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🥰

A/N 2: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

In case you missed the update, I will try to publish a new chapter every Saturday from here on out. 🤞

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

Whistles and sirens were blaring inside Bucky’s head as he stared at Peter’s neighbor. Everything within him was screaming at him to run away. His anxiety ticked up. Could this really be (Y/N)? 

He would have recognized her voice anywhere. God only knew how many times he’d listened and relistened to her voicemail. He wasn’t obsessive; he just liked the dips-the peaks and valleys-in her voice and the self-deprecating laugh she’d made. And with his super soldier hearing- he’d learned a knack for these things.

Bucky stood unmoving and breathless while shaking (Y/N)’s hand in front of her door. All he could do was stare at her. He had never imagined in a million years meeting her face-to-face. It was like a dream. A weird but wonderful dream. 

He was stunned by her beauty as he gazed into her smiling face. Not that he’d ever pictured her being unattractive.

No siree.

It was a shock to have her here now, but to have her looking the way she did? (Y/N) was gorgeous. Her eyes sparkled with giddiness, and pink tinged the apples of her cheeks.

He must have finally died and gone to heaven. That was the only explanation he could think of right now.

Because there (Y/N) was, in front of him and in the flesh, still shaking his hand.

Still.

Bucky’s stomach swooped with the feeling of embarrassment. He could feel the skin of his face warming quickly. He was just like Lang meeting Steve at the airport in Germany. An overeager puppy. 

God, he was an idiot.

He caught an uncomfortable look flash across (Y/N)’s face but continued pumping her arm. Peter cleared his throat beside him, and (Y/N) grinned wider in response. 

A dazzling smile.

“Gonna need my hand back to unlock the door,” she said with a soft chuckle. 

Bucky dropped it like he’d been burned. He could see Peter giving him a goofy look out of the corner of his eye. Like that kid wasn’t awkward as fuck around girls. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand. 

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Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Four

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2960

Warnings: Itsy bitsy amount of angst, bad language words, mentions of phone sex and masturbation

A/N: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

“James?”

You held your breath after you uttered the name into the phone’s speaker. Your heart galloped at the thought of actually speaking to him. You’d be lying if you had said you hadn’t imagined how his voice sounded. You pictured something deep and raspy but drawled and sweet.

In the last five days, you’d imagined many things about James. Not just the sound of his voice, but his laugh, too. Rich and soothing. And of his scent- distinctly his own or a fresh, citrusy cologne of bergamot and tangerines. You imagined his rough, calloused hands sliding over your skin in slow motion.

And how he kissed. You daydreamed about that, too. Often. You couldn’t count how many times you’d stared at his sorry excuse for a selfie. You found yourself drawn to it daily. It was only part of his face, but what you could see was ruggedly handsome. His lips looked soft and delectable. You pictured yourself nibbling on his bottom lip, deepening its color to blush pink.

A sharp sigh escaped through your nose as you waited for his reply. Maybe he hadn’t heard you the first time? “James?” you asked again. “Hello?”

No response.

You pulled the phone away from your ear to make sure you were still connected. The call-time counter ticked ominously second by second on the screen. You tucked the device back under your hair to find the call was still active.

Did he get cold feet and change his mind last minute? He hadn’t hung up yet, so you weren’t exactly sure why he was waiting. Maybe he was tongue-tied? Or hadn’t expected you to pick up?

“Did you butt-dial me, James?” you laughed, trying to dispel some of your anxiety.

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Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Three

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1740

Warnings: Nosy (and well-meaning) friends acting like nosy siblings, angst, bad language words

A/N: After I originally posted this chapter on AO3, I got some comments that exacerbated the beginnings of a year long depression. Please be kind. I intended this chapter to come across as the gang being like siblings…always being in each other’s business. Is there a breach of privacy? Yes, but without the ill-intent. 

DO NOT copy or replicate without permission

Bucky clutched his phone in his flesh hand as he made his way down a long hallway to the communal kitchen and eating area. A soft, crooked smile rested at his lips as he entered the space. Natasha and Sam were sitting at opposite ends of the rectangular table separating the kitchen from the lounge, enjoying a late breakfast. Steve was at a kitchen counter fiddling with the Keurig machine. He pulled another mug from the cupboard when he saw Bucky approach. “Mornin’, Buck. Sleep well?”

Bucky’s grin broadened as he leaned his backside against the countertop. “I did, actually. Thanks for asking,” he answered, looking to his phone at the incoming text.

(Y/N) Would you rather have skin that changes color based on your emotions or tattoos appear all over your body, depicting what you did the day before?

He missed the way Sam and Nat looked at each other in suspicion at his answer to Steve. He was too busy pressing the keys on his touch-screen.

Bucky The tattoos would be awkward, speaking from a male’s perspective, so I think color changing would be better. Not by much, though.

Bucky Would you rather have edible spaghetti hair that regrows every night or sweat maple syrup?

Bucky saw Steve slide the new mug, now filled with coffee, across the granite-top toward him from the corner of his eye. He glanced up quickly from the screen and nodded. “Thanks, buddy.” Steve answered with a smile.

“What, no grunted thanks or mumbled acknowledgment?” Natasha quipped, standing from her seat to place her plate in the dishwasher.

“Yeah, man. You have been using way too many words lately. I miss the grumpy dude that would brood in the corner,” Sam added, crossing his arms at his chest. “Are we even sure this is the right Bucky?”

Bucky’s phone vibrated again.

(Y/N) I love me some spaghetti! Can you imagine sweating sticky, gooey maple syrup during a humid New York summer?? Your clothes would be toast.

(Y/N) Mmmm, french toast.

Bucky chuckled at the reply, drawing the attention of three sets of eyes.

Sam wasn’t wrong; he wasn’t the same Bucky.

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Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Two

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2921

Warnings: bad language words, blink and you’ll miss the angst, just some fluff

A/N: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

You awoke with a start, feeling as if you were late for work or something important and forgot to set your alarm. Your heart beat an erratic tattoo against your ribcage. Scrambling for your cell phone, you blindly reached across the side table near your bed in a panic. Unplugging the phone, you brought the device an ungodly closeness to your face. It was only 6:17. On Saturday.

Your pulse throbbed behind your eyeballs, and a strange stickiness coated the inside of your mouth. Did you drink that much last night?

How could you not? Timmons was a fair boss, and you enjoyed your job, but that dude loved the sound of his own voice.

The quarterly business dinners were mandatory for all employees, even for the P.A.s. Typically, they weren’t so bad, but last night, Timmons felt the need to toot his own horn for landing a massive contract with Stark Industries slash The Avengers. He went on and on about how great it was for the firm.

He was like a giant kid in a candy store with his ramblings. ‘We will be promoting the face of The Avengers and everything that goes with it,’ he spouted off like the firm was god’s gift to public relations.

You groaned at the reminder of last night’s presentation. The contract wasn’t even in effect yet, and you were sick of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Timmons could be a real buzz kill.

Rolling to your back, you brought your phone up to tap the screen to read the emails you received overnight. On display was a text from 11:04 by someone named James. It read: “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Your mind went back to last night again, trying to recall who this James was. He must be significant if you plugged his contact information into your phone already. Had you met someone last night?

Drawing a blank, you clicked on the text bubble to pull up the thread. Briefly scanning through the numerous texts, everything came rushing back. In an attempt to text your sister, Robyn, you mistakenly texted this mysterious, James.

You felt like an utter buffoon when you learned he wasn’t Robyn. You always did have a way with the cute boys. Probably why you were single. You groaned out loud as you read on.

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cure of ra

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buckynat + Take Me To Church by Hozier

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Durmstrang Hermione x Beauxbatons Draco

Commissioned by Chengbby for her fic The Black Card War

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Okay, headcanon accepted

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SHOOTING CIVILLIANS POINT BLANK. SHE WAS TRYING TO GET HOME AND THEY SHOT HER FOR NO REASON. GET THIS FOOTAGE OUT!