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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

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Hi Jen! Congrats on the 1K ❤️ You deserve them all and so much more!

I’m sorry that I’m a little bit late with sending in a request but would it be possible to do “The grumpy one is soft for the sunshine one” with Mr. Bucky 🥺 All the love and hugs to you!

AN: Hanna, my love! I hope you enjoy this!

ANd this brings my celebration fics to a close. You still have plenty of time to write your own Challenge Fic for inclusion on my celebration masterlist.

Beta’d by @lfnr-blog-blog-blog. Dividers by @firefly-graphics, moodboard and banner by me

Main Master list | Challenge Master list

Summary: You’re perpetually chipper and happy. The steely-eyed brunet you run into outside your work is not.

Relationship: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

CW: Grumpy Bucky, Meet Cute, Fluff and flirting.

You’re always happy. Nothing ever seems to get you down. So much so, that even your friends call you ‘Sunny’. Que sera, sera was your motto. No use crying over spilt milk, etc. Life is what you make of it, so you choose to make it joyful. Your best friend thought that your receptionist job would eventually wear you down and turn you into a cynic, like her, but no. It was like being upbeat was your superpower.

It was therefore a normal morning as you walked down the sidewalk, humming along to the music pumping through your earbuds, on your way to work. The subway hadn’t been packed, the sun was shining out from behind the clouds and you knew it would be a wonderful day, especially once you’d picked up your hazelnut latte from old Frankie, the street coffee vendor half a block from your office. He always had your drink waiting for you and you always had just slightly more than the exact change, rushing away without taking the change, no matter how many times he’d tried to either catch up with you, or insist the next one was on the house. Thinking about that first sip of nutty-sweet milky java had you almost salivating. Unfortunately it also distracted you.

You registered the bump, followed by a curse that was loud enough to pierce through the music pulsating straight into your ears. You turned to see a man in a leather jacket, with short brown hair, swiping at the patch of wetness on his jeans with a gloved hand, while an empty paper coffee cup lay on its side on the ground. You pulled out your earbuds and then, without thinking, pulled a handful of paper napkins out of your purse. You dropped to a crouch in front of him and started to pat at the dampness.

“I’m so sorry! I was just distracted by the beauty of the day and the thought of my first coffee, and I just didn’t see you, and I hope you’re okay and…”

Your brain kicked in as two things happened. Firstly, you realised that you were patting very close to the stranger’s crotch. Secondly, the napkins were being pulled out your hand very firmly and you were being pulled to your feet.

Blue.

That’s what you noticed first.

Icy, steely blue.

His eyes were like diamonds and momentarily you couldn’t look away.

“...I said, do you always make a habit of accosting and groping strangers first thing in the morning?”

You snapped back to reality as you realised that ‘blue eyes’ was talking to you. Well, actually, it was more like growling at you. What a sourpuss. You flashed him one of your trademark smiles.

“Not everyday, I’ll admit - the police might have something to say about it.” The man ‘harumphed’ and continued glaring at you. Obviously not a fan of your brand of humour.

“...Anyway, let me get you another coffee, it’s the least I can do to apologise.”

You turned toward old Frankie and his cart, and bless his soul if he didn’t already have your drink, and what you could only assume was a duplicate of Grumpy’s order.

“The refill is on the house, Sunny. And no arguments. Accidents happen.”

You smiled at the old man and bent down to place a kiss on his cheek.

“That they do, Frankie. And, if you’ll excuse the blasphemy, it’s only coffee.”

He shook his head at you with a smile and waved you away so he could deal with his next customer. You turned back to the object of your unanticipated morning interaction, only to find that he’s gone. You turned in a circle, seeing if you could spot which way he’d gone, but nope, he’d completely disappeared. Well, his loss, and now you had a spare coffee. With a small shrug you continued on your way.

Ten am, and you were settled into your day. You loved your job as a receptionist at the VA. You got to help some of your nation’s greatest and bravest citizens transition back to civilian life, which you felt was the least you could do to show your appreciation. When you weren’t greeting those coming to use the various services offered at this centre, you were phoning veterans to organise appointments for physiotherapy, counselling and group support sessions.

“Hey, Sunny!” You looked up from your computer to see Joe, one of the support group leaders smiling at you as he leant on your counter.

“Morning, Joe! It’s a lovely day today, and made even better by you being here!”

“Sunny, you keep flirting like that, I’m gonna have to insist you come out for a drink with me.”

You chuckled. This was your regular banter with him.

“Joe, you know this ain’t flirting, this is just me. And you’re as old as my dad.”

He clutched his hand to his heart, theatrically. “You wound me, Sunny. I may just expire, as I’m apparently that old. Anyhow, you got me the expected attendance list for the meeting?”

You rifled through the papers in the folder on your desk.

“Sure thing. Here it is. I can see you gotta few new names on here, so hopefully it will be an interesting one.”

“You know that’s an old Chinese curse - ‘may you live in interesting times’?” He gave you a wink as he took the paper from your hand and walked off towards the room he used, with only a slight limp giving away the fact that his right leg was a prosthetic.

Half an hour later and the vets for the Joe’s group started to arrive, all of them being amputees of some description, some sporting prosthetics and others not. They all came together though, to talk about the trauma of losing a limb in combat, the long road to recovery and issues associated with having a prosthetic or a missing limb, both physically, mentally and socially.

The regulars came up and used the computer screen on their side of your desk to log their arrival and get a printed photo sticker-badge to wear. The newbies, however, had to go through you for their first time, which is why you always recommended they turn up 15 minutes before the start of the session so you could double check their identity, the information you held and then get them a computer profile set up for all return visits.

You’d just completed all the paperwork with one newcomer, and sent him off with an old-hand to the meeting room when the doors to the building slammed open. You looked up and couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face.

“It’s you! I’m afraid I drank your replacement coffee, cos you disappeared so quickly.”

Grumpy just glared at you. You noticed there was still a slight stain on his jeans. You tried a different tack.

“Can I help you with anything? Are you a vet, or looking to support a vet? We’ve got lots of programmes and support groups.”

Still without saying anything he tugged the glove off his left hand, revealing the metallic sheen of the most advanced prosthetic you’d ever seen. Understanding dawned.

“Ooo! Are you here for the amputee support group?” You looked down at your copy of the attendance list, noting that only one vet, one of the new guys hadn’t yet checked in. “Are you James Barnes?”

“Sergeant.”

A look of puzzlement marred your features.

“Pardon?”

“Sergeant Barnes.” You got it then. Some guys, especially if fresh out and still adjusting, preferred to be referred to by their military rank.

“Okay, Sergeant Barnes. I’ve just gotta get you set up here. What’s your date of birth?” You glanced up from your computer to find he was still staring at you.

“Seriously? You’re asking me that?”

You were confused by his tone; this wasn’t normally an issue.

“Absolutely. Gotta make sure I’ve got it all correct.”

“Like you don’t already know.”

Your almost permanent smile started to falter under his intense gaze.

“I really don’t. And I need it for the records.”

Barnes let out a resigned huff.

“Fine. Play your games. Seventeenth March, 1917.”

“1970? Gotta say, you don’t look like you’re over fifty. Good genes I suppose.”

“No, doll. 1917. One Nine One Seven.”

Now you were really confused.

“How is that possible? That would make you…” You paused while you did the maths in your head…. “One hundred and six. And like I just said, you don’t even look fifty.”

“Look, doll. Either you’re a really good actress, been hiding under a rock, or just dumb.”

Normally you could keep your cool, laugh and brush off negative comments, but something about the grumpy sergeant was rubbing you up the wrong way.

“That’s not very nice, Sergeant. Just because you don’t like the questions and don’t want to answer them properly, doesn’t mean you have to be mean to me.”

He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you really telling me that you don’t know who I am? Even with having my name in front of you, seeing my arm and me telling you how old I am? Don’t you ever watch the news?”

“Not really. It’s too depressing and sad.”

Another sigh.

“Okay, okay. My full name is James Buchanen Barnes, 107th. Presumed KIA in February 1945, but in fact taken captive by Hydra. I survived traumatic, unintentional amputation of my left arm via snowy mountainside, and was given a replacement by them when they brain-washed me, turning me into an assassin, and was kept cryogenically frozen between missions, spanning over 70 years. I was known as the Winter Soldier. My conditioning started to break in 2014 when I was commanded to kill Captain America, but as Steve was my childhood best friend, my brain rebelled. I went on the run for two years until I was framed for the assassination of King T’Chaka of Wakanda and captured by Shield, then triggered into my Winter Soldier state by a disgruntled Sokovian Baron, wanting revenge on the Avengers for the death of his family during the Ultron incident. I then spent a further two years in Wakanda, having my programming broken, recovering mentally and physically, and given this new arm, before fighting Thanos and getting dusted with half of everyone else. Came back in the Blip, and now supporting Sam Wilson as the new Captain America. I was pardoned for my past crimes and have to attend court mandated therapy and it’s been suggested that attending a support group could be good for me. Know who I am now?”

It was your turn to stare, eyes wide and mouth open as you absorbed all the information from his monologue.

“Soooo, what I’m getting is that you really are 106 years old and for some reason you have a pardon and court-mandated therapy for things you did while you were brain-washed. Seems hinky to me, but who am I to question it?”

A snort left Barnes’ nose, a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“That’s what you take from my story. No questions about Hydra, no histrionics about the fact that a famed assassin is standing in front of you?”

“Why would I? You’ve told me you’ve been ‘deprogrammed’, you’ve been referred to us for group support, and if you were that dangerous I’m sure I wouldn’t have survived the coffee incident this morning.”

His lips twitched, and his face transformed. The lines in his forehead disappeared and migrated to the corners of his eyes, eyes that were now less steel and more spring sky coloured.

“Nothing phases you, does it?”

“Nope. That’s why everyone calls me Sunny. And is that a smile I see, Sergeant? Don’t tell me that somehow I’ve broken through that stoic facade of yours?”

His smile grew wider.

“I’m sure you’re just imagining it. I’m still really annoyed.”

“Uh-huh?” You smiled back. No, you grinned back.

He leaned his crossed arms on the counter, his stance now far more relaxed.

“What other information do you need for that computer system of yours, Sunny? My telephone number perhaps?”

Oh, wow! He’d gone from grumpy to flirt in less than 60 seconds. Now he was fully smiling you had to admit he was kinda cute. Or rather hella hot. You resisted the urge to pull at the neckline of your top to let the steam out.

“I’ve already got a record of that here already, Sergeant.”

His arm reached over the countertop and he snagged your pen and notepad from next to you.

“Well, just in case you need it again for your records, or for any other purpose, I’ll write it down for you.”

If it was possible, your grin got wider.

“Why, Sergeant Barnes, that’s very… helpful of you.”

“Call me James, doll. Or Bucky, if you want.” The tip of his tongue peaked out from between his lips and you were mesmerised.

“Of course… James.”

You swore you saw him shiver as you said his name.

The clock above your head gave a ‘ding’ as it struck the hour, and you realised that his session was about to start. You gave a little cough and dragged your eyes away from Barnes’ James’ face and back to your computer.

“I’d best get this all finished off, so you can go join in the group. It’s really good - Joe is so lovely and supportive.”

You finished typing, directed him to stand in front of the camera (which he scowled at) and printed off his sticker ID.

“When you finish, just peel off the sticker, place it in the bin and note on the system that you’re leaving. That should be around midday.”

“And when do you get your lunch break, doll?”

Oh! How were you supposed to cope in the face of his megawatt charm? It had been a lot easier when he was grouchy, even though you’d wanted to tease him.

“Why, James, are you asking me out?”

“Well, you do owe me a coffee.”

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#bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #jen's 1k follower celebration #jen's 1k challenge #Hanna 📔

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