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7fics · 6 years

Note

Jackbam; Jackson and Bam are in realtionship, they always bickering, teasin each other so their friends are wondering why they are a couple because they act like friends, but they share cute moments (that only they know)a lot of fluff!! I love your writing ^^ (and sorry for my english lnao)

Warning(s): a little (a lot of) swearing

Author: val

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: Hey guys! This took forever wOw but I’m finally here with my first fill! I’m a casual writer val who joined at the start of this year and is amazing at procrastinating but I hope you’ll enjoy this, even if the tenses might be hella inconsistent because I suck. Also, fun fact, I’m the youngest here!!

“Bambam!” Jackson Wang’s shrill scream pierced through the room like a knife.“You’re an absolute fucking shithead, you know that?”

In situations like these, the boys had learnt to keep themselves as busy as possible and try not to pay any mind to whatever attention-seeking announcement Jackson had for the rest of the group. Or specifically, for his shithead (his words) of a boyfriend.

“What did he do now?” Yugyeom whispered sardonically.

“He ate my fucking chips!” Jackson screeched back.

“I did not,” Bambam replied resolutely, eyes never leaving the movie that was playing on the television screen.

“We are literally the only two people who live here. Who else could have taken it?” Jackson demanded, his already-high pitch rising ever so steadily by some miracle of God.

“Pudding,” Bambam replied without missing a beat.

Jackson looked like he was about to explode.

“I’ll get you more chips, Sseunie. Sit your ass down and stop blocking my view of Chris Hemsworth,” Jinyoung appeased, rolling his eyes as he inched over on the couch to make room for the newcomer. Begrudgingly, Jackson plopped down, and silence fell over the room once more.

It barely lasted for a minute.

“I swear you took it!”

Everybody groaned.

“I didn’t.” Bambam sounded almost bored.

“You always do this! You always lie to me! Our relationship is all based on lies!” Jackson insisted hysterically, leaping back onto his feet and pointing an accusatory finger at Bambam.

“Our relationship is based on lies,” Bambam imitated, his face scrunched up in comical manner as he raised his voice to a high-pitched squeak.

Jackson gasped, seeming offended. “I do not sound like that! Take it back! And give me back my chips, too!”

“I do not sound like that,” Bambam continued to squeak in a manner that genuinely did not sound like Jackson. “Take it—” was all he could manage before he began to choke on his own laughter.

“I said I’ll get you new chips, please sit down Sseunie,” Jinyoung pleaded almost desperately, patting the spot next to him on the couch.

“Fine,” Jackson’s shoulders slumped in defeat, slinking down to the couch and snuggling closer to Jinyoung.

“How the fuck are they even dating?” Yugyeom grumbled softly from the other end of the room, stuffing another handful of popcorn into his mouth. Next to him, Jaebum shrugged.

And then, the only sound that could be heard in the room was the droning of the actors on television.

Oh, and Bambam cackling hysterically while simultaneously hacking up a lung. But that was a minor detail.

——————

By the end of the movie, Bambam had fallen asleep, Jackson’s lips were still arranged in a pout and Jinyoung was about to fling himself out the window into the depths of hell.

Bambam hadn’t stopped laughing for ten minutes straight, and Jackson wasn’t as quiet in his death threats as he thought he was. Although, Jinyoung would admit, the numerous methods Jackson had fabricated to murder the Thai boy were extremely amusing, if not slightly terrifying. Maybe Jackson could consider a career in homicide.

Jinyoung picked up the TV remote and aimed it at the screen.

“Time to go, everyone,” he announced as the screen turned dark. “Thanks for having us, Sseunie,” he waved half-assedly, one foot already out the door. The other boys trailed after him, some yawning tiredly as they mumbled their goodbyes.

“We’re leaving, Bam,” was the last thing Jinyoung hollered before slamming the door shut and leaving Jackson with silence and a sleeping boyfriend.

Oh, an awake boyfriend now.

Bambam blearily opened his eyes as he glanced around the room, trying to make sense of what was happening. When his sleep-addled brain finally managed to decipher that the movie was over, everyone had left and Jackson was still sulking on the other end of the couch, it told him to move. What kind of a boyfriend would he be if he didn’t?

Bambam blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he crawled towards Jackson, whose signature Wang Gae eyes were about to be the death of him. He flopped down next to his boyfriend, snuggling closer until any space between the two were practically nonexistent.

“I’m sorry for taking your chips,” he mumbled, voice muffled from his face being pressed into Jackson’s chest.

All of a sudden, Jackson’s demeanour seemed to shift.

His entire body relaxed into the couch, as if he was melting into a puddle of syrup and honey and all the love he held in his heart for Bambam. If Bambam was looking, he would’ve seen Jackson’s eyes soften and his lips turn up in the brightest of smiles.

“It’s fine, Bam,” Jackson whispered, even though they were the only two people left in the house. He ran his hands through Bambam’s hair comfortingly, fingers gently massaging the younger boy’s scalp. “We can get more. I’m not mad anymore.”

Bambam hummed softly, and Jackson could feel the vibrations travel through his body, through his veins, sending tingles down his spine and turning his heart into gooey, syrupy mush. “I love you, Ja-” Bambam’s words slurred, sleep enveloping him before he could even finish his sentence.

Jackson smiled fondly, fingers tingling with warmth at the sight of Bambam cuddled close to him, body rising and falling steadily with every breath he took. He gathered his boyfriend into his arms and heaved, pushing the both of them off the sofa and Bambam safely into Jackson’s embrace. He padded to Bambam’s bedroom and gently set Bambam down on the bed, brushing back a stray strand of hair on his forehead and leaning down to kiss the younger sweetly on the cheek.

“I love you too, Bambam.”

——————

Yugyeom let out a long, drawn-out groan on Jackson and Bambam’s couch, leaning his head back and slinking down in his seat.

“We’ve been waiting forever, now,” he lamented, reaching a lanky leg out to kick the man sitting opposite him. “Jackson, where’s your boyfriend?”

In response, Jackson hollered, “Yo, Bam! We’re all waiting!” He glanced over at Yugyeom and rubbed his calf ruefully, before tacking on completely out of spite, “your best friend’s complaining!”

Yugyeom kicked him again.

“I’m coming,” was the frustrated screech that rang from the Thai boy’s room. “You guys always fucking rush—”

Crash!

“Fuck!”

From his room emerged a frazzled, but nevertheless dolled-up Bambam, hopping awkwardly on one foot as he clutched his toe. “You guys always rush fashion! Now look at me, you fuckers—I stubbed my toe!”

Admittedly, Bambam looked incredibly dashing. His hair had been parted in the centre and rested artfully in strands down his forehead. His eyes were framed by deep red eyeshadow, accentuating his bright blue eyes (which were clearly contacts, but Jackson digresses). There was only one word he could use to describe his boyfriend—sexy.

Or handsome. Or gorgeous. Or hot. So maybe there were more words.

“Sucks to be you,” Jackson snickers instead, and jiggles his car keys in his hand. “Now let’s go—we’re actually late now.”

Bambam grins, picking up his phone. “I call shotgu—”

“I think the hell not!” came Yugyeom’s screech as he interrupted the Thai boy before he could even complete the word. “I had to wait a whole hour for your crusty ass to get ready, you bitch, I’m going to ride shotgun.”

Bambam’s eyebrows furrowed, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side as he fixed his gaze on Yugyeom. There was a pregnant pause, and then Bambam swiveled around to face Jackson.

“Jack,” he implored, tone sickly sweet. “I’m your boyfriend, right? Don’t you think I should ride shotgun?”

Jackson pretended to think, even though a smirk was beginning to spread on his face. “I don’t know, Bam,” he drawled. “Yugyeom has a point…”

“Oh my god,” Bambam gasped, aghast that he’d be betrayed this way by the one person who was supposed to be by his side through thick and thin, the one person who was supposed to—

“Yeah, I think Yugyeom should ride shotgun, instead,” Jackson concluded smugly.

“I think he should not!” Bambam fired back indignantly.

“It’s my car,” Jackson pointed out levelly, which all the more made Bambam fume.

“I’m your—”

Yugyeom groaned into his palm, burying his face in his hands as he tried to block out the couple’s bickering. He honestly didn’t get how they’d gotten together when all they seemed to do was argue—let alone how they hadn’t broken up yet. While he did love to spend time with each of the boys, not to mention he’d been best friends with half of the couple since their diaper days, being in the same room as the couple on his own was enough to give him a migraine.

“He’s going to ride shotgun,” Jackson declared with a note of finality, and Yugyeom felt a hand grab onto his wrist and pull him up sharply.

Whatever protests Yugyeom tried to weakly splutter out were promptly ignored as he was dragged out of the apartment all the way to Jackson’s car, with Bambam loudly complaining as he trailed along behind.

Oh, why did he ever try to butt in between the couple?

The door slammed as he was shoved into the passenger seat and Yugyeom winced, meekly pulling on his seatbelt. From behind him, Bambam continued to grumble as he crawled in the back.

For the rest of the journey, Bambam never stopped.

——————

When Bambam awoke, it was to low light and a fluffy blanket pulled over him.

Granted, his head was pulsing and he felt like he was about the throw up. Scratch that—the taste of bile was lingering on the tip of his tongue—maybe he already had.

A sliver of light sliced through the room as the door was slowly pushed open, a head popping in to reveal his boyfriend.

“Oh,” Jackson whispered, a bright grin on his lips. “You’re awake.”

Bambam could only groan in response.

“Bad hangover?”

Bambam nodded.

“Hangover soup?”

Bambam nodded again, a small smile beginning to spread across his face.

“Go wash up,” Jackson said fondly, cocking his head in the direction of their bathroom.

Bambam let out a noise that could only be described as a cross between a groan and a whine, and pulled his blanket over his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a sharp breath, trying to force his vomit back down.

There was a soft pattering of footsteps and the blanket was tugged off. A gentle hand ran through his bed head and ruffled his hair. “You shouldn’t have drunk so much,” Jackson teased.

This time, Bambam let out a drawn-out whine, opening his eyes to gaze at his boyfriend and blinked sluggishly. “I know,” he pouted.

Jackson chuckled, the sound resounding uncomfortably in Bambam’s ears and making his head pound, but was still a bright, tinkling sound nevertheless.

Before he knew it, a pair of hands were snaking under his back and hoisting him up in the air, and Bambam almost yelped in surprise.

“You need to wash up, Bammie,” came the admonishing words, although Jackson’s tone held no meaning to it all. “You stink,” he teased playfully, wrinkling his nose in mock disgust.

Bambam swung one of his arms up to swat at Jackson’s face.

“I love you too,” Jackson cooed, screwing up his lips and making obnoxious kissing noises. “I love my baby Bammie so much, he’s so adorable, I love my itsy bitsy—”

“My head hurts,” Bambam whined again, squirming about in Jackson’s arms and effortlessly shut his boyfriend up, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he tried to balance the lanky boy in his arms.

Bambam felt himself being set down on a surface, and he hung his head as he felt his eyes drooping and his head was pounding and maybe the toilet wasn’t such a bad place to fall asleep on, you know—

“Bam,” came a gentle voice. “Come on, you can at least brush your teeth, right?” Jackson nudged his shoulder playfully, slotting a toothbrush in between his fingers. “Get yourself ready, and we’ll be out for your soup in no time.”

After the agonizing half-hour—in Bambam’s opinion—that it took for him to brush his teeth and slip his clothes on, Jackson was threading his fingers through Bambam’s as he tugged the younger out of their apartment and to his car.

Bambam felt the press of muscle against his own arm and warmth begin to spread through his body as Jackson began to walk with a light spring to his step.

“You okay?”

Bambam nodded, pulling his hand out of Jackson’s to wind his arm around the latter’s instead.

Jackson beamed. and Bambam’s heart fluttered. “I hope you had fun, even if you were pretty shitfaced,” Jackson chuckled.

There was a pause from him as Bambam let out a guttural noise, and then Jackson stopped abruptly in his tracks, causing Bambam to almost trip over his own two feet. Thank God for his boyfriend’s steady grip.

“Hey!” Jackson exclaimed in an accusatory tone, whipping to around to glare at his boyfriend. “You tried to make out with Yugyeom last night!”

Bambam’s heart stopped for a moment.

And then it was back to racing like a galloping horse, the loud thump-thump-thumps imitating heavy footfalls and laboured breaths as the horse thundered forward, on and on, ringing blaringly in his ears. Oh dear, what if Jackson was mad; Bambam swears on his life he didn’t remember any of the previous night’s events. What if Bambam did try to make out with his best friend, what if—

“Bammie! I thought you loved me!”

And suddenly Bambam was brought back to the ground. Suddenly Jackson’s words didn’t sound so horrifying, more like a harmless tease, something that was supposed to simply rile Bambam up, ruffle his feathers, jolt him awake just a little more. Maybe Bambam was overreacting—scratch that, he was definitely overreacting.

Suddenly, Jackson’s defiant gaze from below him seemed more like a pitiful kitten looking for their owner’s attention. It was almost identical to the way Latte would paw at his calves when he was hungry.

Bambam stroked his arm appeasingly.

“I do, Jacks,” he smiled warmly, and no matter how much shorter Jackson was compared to him, no matter how uncomfortable the position was to him, Bambam leant down, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder and tightening his grip around the elder’s arm every so slightly. “I love you so, so much Jackson, I’d never want to make out with anyone but you.”

Bambam almost saw Jackson’s eyes shining as the latter pulled him in for a tight embrace, pressing his face into Bambam’s neck and nuzzling in. “I love you too, Bam. I’m so sorry i don’t say it enough.”

They pulled apart, holding each other with bodies nearly pressed flush together, eyes twinkling, ghosts of smiles lingering on their lips.

And then it was over, way too quickly than Bambam would have liked. He wouldn’t admit it, but he adored these moments of sappiness he’d occasionally share with his boyfriend. The moments they hid away from their friends, the public eye. The moments that belonged to them.

Jackson was tugging on Bambam’s hand again, and they continued their walk to the car.

“For real, though, you actually did try to kiss Yugyeom.”

“I’m sorry, Jacks,” Bambam grinned, not sounding very sorry at all.

It barely took them a minute before Jackson’s car appeared in sight, and there was a beeping sound as Jackson pressed the button on his keys to unlock it.

“Ride shotgun today, please?” Jackson quirked his eyebrows hopefully.

Bambam grinned as he slid into the front seat.

And as Jackson started up the car, Bambam slipped his fingers in between Jackson’s.

——————

Bambam was supposed to be in charge of the new guy that day.

Being one of the employees who worked the longest at the coffee shop, he would know how things worked around there. Naturally, the role fell to him.

Well, it could have fallen to Youngjae, who’s worked just about as long as him. But Youngjae had a knack for shirking responsibility, that little traitor, so there they were.

The newest employee, Dowoon, is a bright young man who has too much enthusiasm in his tiny body. He’s willing to do whatever Bambam asks of him, and while it might be little overbearing, Bambam thinks he would make a great barista in the future.

After showing him the basics of brewing coffee, Bambam had been making Dowoon wipe down for about an hour, as the customer stream grew heavier and Bambam and Youngjae were busy behind the counter. As the number of customers began to lessen, and Youngjae snuck into the kitchen to nab a pastry for himself to snack on, Bambam decided to let Dowoon take his very first order.

“Hey,” Bambam smiled as he approached the table Dowoon had been dutifully scrubbing at. “I think you can take your first customer now!” He took the rag from Dowoon’s hand. “Let’s swap. The next customer is yours. Take their order, make sure Youngjae isn’t stealing more food from the kitchen, and serve them their order.” Bambam cocked his head toward the counter. “Simple as that.”

Dowoon’s beam could have rivalled the brightness of the sun.

“I’m on it,” Dowoon saluted, and scurried behind the counter, fingers tapping eagerly on the cash register. From behind, Youngjae emerged from the kitchen, a danish between his teeth and a croissant in his hand.

“You want one?” he offered it to Dowoon.

Dowoon shook his head. “It-it’s fine, Youngjae-hyung. I shouldn’t be eating on the job.”

“Yeah, Youngjae,” Bambam called out dryly from the table he was at.

The door bell jingled.

Dowoon jumped. “Wel-welcome! What can I get you?”

Bambam grinned at the familiar silhouette.

“I know this one,” he called, before the man could even open his mouth to reply. “Caramel frappe, with…” Bambam pretended to ponder. “Extra whip?”

“You know me so well, Bam,” Jackson grinned.

The tips of Dowoon’s ears were a bright pink. “Well,” he smiled. “I’ll get right to it. I mean—Youngjae will get right to it. I don’t—I don’t know how to work the machines yet.” Dowoon was stuttering like a high-schooler at his first day at school.

“It’s my first day…” Dowoon trailed off, the flush spreading to his cheeks.

“No problem,” Jackson smiles warmly, before turning to face Bambam.

“You’re training him?”

Bambam nodded proudly. “I think he’s doing great!”

Jackson walked over and slapped Bambam heartily on the back. (A little too heartily, Bambam might add. He nearly choked on air.) “He’s so sweet. And cute.”

Bambam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a snort from behind the counter, and Dowoon’s face seemed almost as red as a tomato.

“I’ll be back,” he reassured, before ducking behind the counter.

“What’s going on?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Dowoon thinks your friend here is really handsome,” Youngjae snickered, stuffing his face with the croissant he had saved from earlier to stifle his laughter.

“H-he said I was sweet too. And cute,” Dowoon stuttered.

“Yeah, he sure did,” Bambam frowned.

Dowoon let out a high-pitched noise that could have been a squeal. “Do you think he’d give me his number?”

“I don’t know, Dowoon,” Bambam cocked his head to the side, eyeing the younger. Dowoon, though, bless his adorable self, seemed to be completely oblivious and continued to gape at Jackson as the latter’s head was bent over his phone.

Bambam’s phone pinged.

i think he likes me bam

Bambam clenched his teeth.

i think i should give him my number. he’s a qt

Youngjae, practically about to burst into tears at the whole affair, shakily caps Jackson’s drink and hands it over to the smitten Dowoon. “Finish up your first customer!”

Dowoon looked as if he was about to melt into a puddle on the ground.

“Uh—caramel frappe for Jackson?” he called shyly, and Jackson walked up to the counter with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“That’s me.”

Dowoon reached over to hand the cup to Jackson, before pulling back and grabbing a marker, scribbling something on the side of the cup.

Bambam clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palm.

“Here,” Dowoon thrust the cup over, averting Jackson’s gaze.

Jackson grabbed the cup and glanced at Dowoon’s messy handwriting, biting his lip as a smile began to spread across his face.

“Did you just give me your num—”

Bambam reach over the counter to pull on Jackson’s shirt harshly, reeling him in into a rough kiss that cut off whatever the latter was just about to say. He made sure their lips lingered, tilting his head a little to try to deepen the kiss. He felt Jackson’s lips tilt upwards as he played along.

When he finally pulled away, the shit-eating grin was back on Jackson’s face.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous, babe.”

Dowoon let out another high-pitched screech.

(“Oh my god!” Youngjae hollered into the phone—since when did he get on the phone?

“Gyeom! I just watched them kiss. Yes, Jackbam! I just watched the two of them /kiss/—ha! You owe me twenty dollars now!”)

#jackbam #character:jackson #character:bambam #got7 #author:val #genre:fluff

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ohwhatamessiam · 6 years

Text

Lies

Summary: A month into your friendship with your favorite barista, Bucky Barnes, he invites you to meet his friends. You’ve been denying your feelings for him the whole time, but after spending an evening with him, it becomes clear you can’t hide how you feel anymore.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5.7k (sorry guys, I got carried away)

Warnings: Language, some alcohol consumption, pining, angst, and maybe a happy ending?????

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m back with my second submission (the prompt was Lie) for @ughjoekeery‘s WWC. This is part 2 of Lonely, my coffee shop AU. A big thank you to my beta @fangirlisms-22! Barista!Bucky is still soft and loving here, and I think you’ll all enjoy the ending a little better.

I love feedback, so tell me what you think!

Read Part 1 (Lonely) here

A month went by while you and Bucky remained friendly. You visited the coffee shop two or three times a week, secretly hoping to run into him. Fortunately, he let you pay for your own food now, and he didn’t bring up going on a date again. He also started accepting the tips you left him. But he continued the trend of taking his break while you were in store and spending it entirely at your table.

And that didn’t bother you one bit.

You’d exchanged phone numbers, but only texted when you’d miss each other at the shop. You learned that he was a struggling artist who’d barely had time to paint a new piece in a month. His friends were all artists as well and had jobs at galleries, magazines, and bars in Brooklyn.

As your friendship with Bucky grew, the coffee shop became your safe haven and your favorite place to edit. When your boss would get particularly difficult, you knew there was a delicious drink to soothe your frustration, and a sympathetic ear waiting for you there. And to top it off, you were head over heels for Bucky.

His pouty bottom lip, his fluffy head of hair, his scruff covered jawline, his dimpled chin. You couldn’t look at him for too long without getting caught on those features. And whenever he’d turn his attention on you and his kind eyes would crinkle, you felt like the ground had fallen out from under you. His bright blue eyes made you feel like you were flying, like anything was possible. In those moments, you wished you were the only person in the world. You didn’t want to think about him looking at anyone else like he looked at you.

But did you tell him about how you felt?

No.

You fed yourself lies.

That you weren’t ready to take that leap yet. That you needed more good friends and people in your life. That the loneliness that left you clutching a pillow in bed, staring at the wall was still just that, and not you daydreaming about seeing him next.

Did you want to spend every second of every day talking to him, falling for him?

Of course.

But would you let yourself say it out loud?

No.

You lied and played it off.

You pretended like he was just a friend and your heart didn’t beat twice as fast every time you pushed the front door of the coffee shop open. You knew he saw the cracks in your composure, he was too observant not to. But he let you lie, to yourself and to him.

As you continued building your relationship with Bucky, you started spending more time with some of the other editors at the publishing house. Some days you even got drinks with them after work, and a few of the writers you’d picked up started grabbing lunch with you. You finally felt like you weren’t alone, that there were people who wanted what was best for you.

And that’s when Bucky invited you to meet some of his friends.

It started out just like any other late afternoon, and he was on break having an in depth conversation with you on his next project while you were trying your best to not get lost in his eyes.

“That reminds me, there’s a new show opening at a gallery my friend manages on Friday. Sam got like six pieces that our friend, Natasha, created in it and she begged me to invite people,” he says, as he pulls a small flyer out of his back pocket.

You take the piece of paper from him, reading it carefully. The gallery is only six blocks away from your apartment, and you are interested in meeting more people in Brooklyn. But going to a gallery opening with Bucky sounded kinda like a date, and you still didn’t know how Bucky felt about you. Sure, he’d asked you out on day one, but you wanted your connection to last. And as beautiful and charming as Bucky is, you had learned that he dated rather casually. He’d brought up a few different girls to you over the last month, and you’d listen attentively and give him the advice he asked for. But casual wasn’t what you were looking for then, and after all this time, you knew it sure as hell wasn’t something you could do now.

“So, do you think you’ll be able to come?” he asks, his eyes watching you closely as you continue to stare at the flyer.

“Um, it sounds kinda cool,” you shrug. That’s a lie, a gallery opening is the perfect way for you to spend a Friday night, especially because it implies that you won’t be alone.

“Come on, (Y/N). I think you’ll really like my friends, and I never get to see you out of this place.”

“There’s a reason for that,” you remind him, your focus zeroing in on how his bottom lip juts out as he pouts.

“I know you’re being cautious, and you said it’s a no on the dating thing.” That was a truth that had warped into a lie not long after your first meeting. And you’d clung to that lie so hard you were pretty sure you’d convinced both him and yourself that anything more between you two wouldn’t work out. Your conscious warned you to be careful still, to keep your most solid friendship in New York safe. But your subconscious already longed for a relationship with Bucky. You’d been waking up in the middle of night from dreams that his face, hands, and lips graced.

His brows furrow as he continues to beg for your company, “But I promise this will only be a friend thing, and I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“You promise it’s just a friend thing?” He nods quickly, desperation seeping into his baby blues. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“Good,” he breaks into a victorious grin. His hand captures yours on the table and your heart leaps into your throat, cutting off your ability to speak. “You’re gonna love the artwork and my friends! It’s such a nice, fresh collection and everyone’s gonna be so happy to meet you. And I swear I won’t flirt with you too much.”

“Bucky, don’t make me regret this.” A carefully constructed lie delivered as you withdrew your hand from his. Trying to sell the ruse with your whole being, yet you couldn’t imagine anything better than a flirty Bucky.

“You won’t.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Another lie, because you were already regretting it. You knew you were a good liar, but you weren’t a great one. And there was no way you could spend a night out with him and keep your feelings hidden.

Friday came too quickly.

Bucky sends you a text two hours before the opening to ask if you’re still coming, and your fingers hesitate over the screen. A part of you keeps saying that tonight is a bad idea, but you type back, “Yes.” He responds with a smiling emoji.

Not sure if there’s a dress code for the evening, you try to balance classy and casual with a short, maroon dress, a pair of heels, and top it with a leather jacket. Walking to the gallery in heels is probably the worst decision you could have made, but you manage to get there fifteen minutes after the night was supposed to start.

You let out a deep breath as you pull open the front door of the gallery, your nerves already crawling up your throat and threatening to make you turn around. Fortunately, you only stand in the entrance of the gallery for a few seconds before Bucky spots you.

He cuts through a group of people to reach you, and it gives you just the appropriate amount of time to take in what he’s wearing. You’re not used to seeing him in anything but his work shirt, plain pants, and apron, so his black jeans, white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and nice black combat boots are a pleasant surprise. Not too dressy or too casual, so you don’t look out of place after all.

When he finally makes it to you, he greets you with a dreamy smile, his eyes softening as you smile back at him. He pulls you into a hug, and after a moment of surprise, you hug him back. He smells like just the perfect mix of a fresh aftershave and a clean yet woodsy cologne, but the scent of coffee still lingers in his hair. His body is firm against yours, and you close your eyes for only a second, reveling in how nicely his warmth feels.

He pulls away, and you gently slip your hands down his biceps before clasping them in front of you. “God (Y/N), you look amazing.”

“Uh thanks,” you can feel your cheeks flush. “You look nice too.” Your first lie of the night, and a major understatement. He looks beyond great, his jeans fitting him just perfectly and he’s gelled a little of his hair back so it’s not as fluffy as usual.

You two stare at each other awkwardly, anxiety and excitement nearly sparking in the air around you. He breaks the silence first, gesturing to the group of people over his shoulder who are watching you two like you’re on a reality TV show, “I should introduce you to my friends.”

Bucky steps to your side and gently slips a hand down your back before ushering you toward his group of ridiculously attractive friends. There’s a good amount of people walking around the gallery, taking in several pieces, but you’re lead to the group directly in the middle of everyone.

“Guys this is (Y/N),” Bucky starts, his hand lingers on the small of your back. “(Y/N), this is Natasha, a photographer and one of the artists of the night.”

“Call me Nat,” the redhead with stunning greenish-blue eyes and fair skin says, extending her hand out for you to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you after all we’ve heard.”

Your eyes go wide as you take her hand in your own, “Bucky told you about me?” Nat smiles as she shakes your hand and you notice how the expression transforms her features completely.

“He hasn’t shut up about you in a month,” a tall man cuts in, his skin a warm brown that matches his kind eyes perfectly. Your eyes shoot to Bucky as you release Nat’s hand, and you catch the blush darkening his cheeks as his gaze drops to the floor. His hand leaves your back, and you instantly miss the tiny piece of contact. “I’m Sam by the way. I manage this place,” the man continues, pulling your attention away from your suddenly flustered friend.

“I haven’t had a chance to look around yet, but from what I’ve seen this place is amazing,” you respond, shaking Sam’s hand.

“I like you,” he smiles genuinely, his easy friendliness somehow calming your nerves almost immediately.

Bucky swallows his embarrassment and finishes his introduction, “And last but not least, this is Steve, our recently returned poet.”

A large blond man, with a slightly darker, trim beard grins at you, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His blue eyes sparkle as you stare into them, almost rivaling Bucky’s.

“I want to hear all about how you turned down Mr. Blue Steel over here. I’ve never met anyone who could say no to Bucky,” Sam teases as someone waves at him from across the room. “But I am working tonight, so I’ll be back for all the details later.”

“And that’s my cue to get drinks,” Nat adds before pointing to Steve, “Your usual?”

“Yeah, but make it a single. I do have to work tonight,” he answers, his brows raising with his slight tone of sass.

Nat turns to you, “Anything I can get you?”

“A whiskey ginger.”

“I’ll come with,” Bucky announces before he leaves you and Chris alone with a polite smile.

You clasp your hands in front of you again, unsure of what to say to Chris. Luckily, he picks up on your uncertainty and does his best to keep you engaged. “So I hear you’re a book editor?”

“I am,” you nod, not entirely sure where he’s going with that. “Do you have a book you want edited?”

“Oh, no no,” the way he shakes his head shows his modesty, but you pay closer attention to the way his shoulders pull against the fabric of his shirt. “I mean, I’m working on putting together a book, but it’s nowhere near the point of editing or publishing.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Do you write too?” he asks, taking a step closer to you as a couple people push past him.

“I uh, I used to.”

“Prose or poetry?”

“Prose, primarily fiction, but I dabbled in non fiction too.” Bucky knew a little about your history with writing, but you rarely elaborated with more than one word answers with him. Not because you minded talking about it, more so because you knew he’d encourage you to start again. And the only thing you could imagine writing about, was him.

“Why’d ya stop?”

“I guess my inspiration just dried up. Personal life got in the way.”

“Do you think you’ll start again, now that you’re here?”

“I don’t know, I’ll just have to see what happens.”

“I gotcha. I went through something similar,” Steve says, shrugging as he decides to stop interrogating you. “I choose to pursue investigative journalism instead of poetry, like I’d always wanted, and I ended up alone in D.C. doing grunt work for a newspaper I didn’t even like reading. It took all that for me to realize that I didn’t have to search for truth and justice. I had it in front of me the whole time, and I could write it however I wanted to.”

He stops to catch you watching him with intrigue, and drops your gaze in moment of shyness. “Sorry,” you shake your head, worrying that he thinks you’re interested in him in a romantic way now that you’ve been staring at him for too long. And honestly, if you weren’t aggressively pining after Bucky, you’d probably be more than willing to go out with Steve. But as he was talking, you noticed how the space between his eyebrows stayed pinched, and you wished you could just smooth out that tension.

“You don’t need to apologize, I just-, I know how much Bucky has talked about you in the last month. He’s always telling us how good of a listener you are, and how he’s dying to know what you’re thinking when he’s rambling. Now I know what he’s talking about.”

You give Steve a small smile, trying not to get stuck on the fact that Bucky really does talk about you. “So, how did you all meet?”

“I’ve known Bucky since we were kids, and I met Nat and Sam in college.”

“I had Poli-Sci with this tiny blond dude freshman year,” Nat cuts in, arriving with drinks. “And he loved to talk about government scandals and how the media shaped public opinion.”

“I was enthusiastic… and much smaller,” Steve explains, taking his glass from Nat.

“And he’s stayed enthusiastic, it just took three more years for him to finally hit his growth spurt,” Bucky jokes as he hands you a whiskey ginger.

“You didn’t get this big until you were 22?” you ask.

“Yeah, kinda.” he shrugs.

“Sam still swears it was a reaction to a weird chemical spill or that someone mixed steroids into his cereal every morning,” Bucky continues as you take in Steve’s height and build for the second time that night.

“My money’s on the steroids,” Nat winks at you before taking a sip of her drink.

Bucky was right.

You liked his friends a lot.

Nat was the mom of the bunch, and you could tell that she loved teasing the boys about anything and everything. It was her way of showing affection besides taking care of them. Sam was the showman, the entertainer. He commanded the room without even trying and people were automatically drawn to his charisma. Steve was the confidant, he knew everyone’s secrets and everyone came to rely on him. You’d consider calling him the dad of the group from his dumb puns alone, but something inside him seemed on edge, not nearly relaxed enough to fully carry the mantle of dad friend. You weren’t sure what that left Bucky as. Based on their dynamics he was the goofy nerd, but also the creative and adventurous one. They all looked to him for his opinion on the work on display, but also nudged him to make a few bad jokes about some of the more ridiculous pieces.

Sam is off selling a couple sculptures to some patrons while Steve and Bucky get drink refills. Which leaves you with Nat. She leads you through the six photos she has on display, two of them having already sold. She hesitates at the last image of hers, and you’re not sure what to think about it. It’s vibrant with colors and contrast, and the more you stare at it the better you’re able to pick apart the pieces.

“You know, Bucky helped me put this one together,” she comments as you take a step closer to the photo.

“There’s a lot of coffee cups in there,” you answer, not even bothering to count how many. The focal point of the image is a red velvet couch, half of its seat and the entire floor around it are covered in disposable coffee cups and ceramic mugs. There’s a small wooden table next to the couch and it has a half closed laptop on it, and a bound stack of papers with a red pen on it.

“It was his idea actually.”

The wall behind the couch is covered with white pages with red ink on them. “That’s love poetry, right?” you ask, making out a Pablo Neruda poem.

“Yeah, Steve shared some of his favorites and then even let me use some of his original stuff.”

“I really like it, it’s a group effort.”

“What do you think it’s about?” she asks, and you turn to find her chewing on her bottom lip.

You let out a sigh, not sure how she’ll like your answer but deciding to be honest. “It evokes the feelings of desperation, exhaustion, and love to me. Like someone doing what they love, in this case writing or creating something, but time’s going by and they’re fighting how tired they are. And the end result seems small, like the work doesn’t reflect the time and effort put into it, but regardless it’s what that person loves and will continue to do.”

As you finish speaking you turn to Nat, finding a smirk on her lips. “I like that, but that’s not what it was about. At all.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Her smirk grows into a grin. “It’s about you.”

A coworker of Sam’s takes over sorting and closing the gallery down when the group decides to leave for the bar Steve works at. It’s only a two block walk from the gallery, but the amount of conversation the group gets into in that short distance is ridiculous. Jokes about college and the art scene. Discussion on Sam’s current girlfriend, who he’s seriously considering proposing to. The group pestering Nat on who she’s seeing at the moment, the girlfriend they met three weeks ago or the boyfriend Steve ran into a week ago. And then that turns into her bugging Steve about dating anyone, at all.

While you listen and laugh along with them all, you’re still stuck in your head, thinking about what Nat said. She didn’t expand on what the piece meant in her mind, or in Bucky’s. She wanted you to figure it out yourself. She gave you a hint that the stacks of coffee cups were about the setting and the bound pages were a manuscript. You could put together that the red pen was a symbol of you editing, but you had no idea what the love poetry meant. And if you were the one using the red pen, did that mean you were supposed to be the one who covered the walls with poetry? Did that mean that Bucky knew you were falling in love with him?

As the front door of the bar gets yanked open, you notice how Bucky’s watching you, concern pinching his brows. “You okay?” he whispers, staying close.

“Yes. I’m just thinking.”

The group takes up several stools at the bar as Steve ducks behind it. The place isn’t fully packed yet, but most of the tables and booths are filled.

“Another whiskey ginger?” Steve asks as he leans onto the counter to look down at you.

“I’m sticking to beer now. I have a little bit of a walk home.” Steve nods and lets you tell him what brand as Sam bursts out in laughter next to you.

Once the group calms down from whatever joke Nat made, Sam swivels to you. “So (Y/N), tell me how you said no to that dumb, beautiful face,” he begins as he points at Bucky. “I need every detail, your internal monologue, the way Bucky looked. I need it all. I’m still pissed I couldn’t be there so I need you to give me this experience like I was.”

“Alright, well I ended up in the coffee shop by accident. I had a draft to edit for a new client and intended to just go home and make a large pot, but it was like fate pulled me to that place.”

Steve sets a drink in front of Sam and Nat, and Sam takes a sip before turning back to you, “You’re off to good start.”

“So I walk in, trying to feel the place out. It’s a calming little shop, and it helps my nerves a lot. I walk up to the counter and Bucky’s standing there at the register, but he doesn’t see me. I can tell he’s kinda cute from the little bit of his face I could see, but he’s too busy writing something down to notice me. I had to slide my hand over the countertop to get his attention, and even then he didn’t look up at me.”

“He can be a bit oblivious,” Steve comments as he places your beer in front of you. You catch Bucky rolling his eyes next to you, but take a drink before you continue with the story.

“So he tells me to order and I start to when he finally decides to look up at me, and my voice literally died in my throat.”

“It’s those baby blues,” Sam grins, looking past you to see Bucky.

“Exactly, I thought he was kinda cute and then I saw those and I was like never mind on that, we’re past cute. So then I composed myself and finished my order, and Bucky’s got a shit-eating grin on, fully aware that he’s fucking handsome.”

“I’m not that narcissistic!” Bucky adds, causing you to glance at him.

“You’re not, but babe, you know you’re good looking and you totally ate up my stunned moment,” you say, gently brushing a finger against his cheek as the whiskey finally affects your confidence. His eyes follow your hand as you bring it back to the counter. “So I pull out my card to pay, and Bucky tries to only charge me for the croissant I ordered.”

“Free coffee is a good move,” Nat nods at Bucky.

“And when I put up a fuss, he takes my card from me, reads my name from it and then hands it back. Doesn’t swipe it or charge me. Just tells me I’ve already paid as he hands it back to me.”

“This little shit, right?” Sam asks, his eyes wide as he looks at Bucky.

“You’re right,” you answer as you turn to the beautiful man that you’re fighting your feelings for.

Bucky’s eyes are on you, and you alone as a small smile pulls on the corners of his lips. You hope it’s only the alcohol’s effect, but as you smile back at him, you understand. The love poetry was for you. It was his feelings for you, the exhausted, rapid coffee consuming, book editor sitting at the small wooden table. He’d covered the walls with his love for you. His love was surrounding you and goddammit, you couldn’t stop your own feelings from creeping into your gaze, your heart beating faster as you watched him.

You really weren’t that good of a liar.

After another hour of conversation at the bar, you decide to call it a night. Steve pretends like he won’t let you pay, and the glare you turn on him forces the whole group to laugh.

“Hey, most people would be happy to have me cover their tab,” he shrugs as he hands you the receipt.

“Just like most people love talking to you for hours?” Nat asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Yes,” Steve nods at her and she snickers in response. “What?”

“People tell you things because you’re comforting, but also you’re fucking beautiful,” Sam cuts in and elicits another laugh from Nat. “If they stare at you for too long their brains just turn to mush and the alcohol lets it all slide right out of their mouths.”

You can’t help but laugh at Sam while Steve rolls his eyes. Pulling your wallet from your clutch, you find a couple bills to cover it and tell Steve to keep the change. His eyes go wide as he realizes how large the tip is, but he doesn’t turn you down.

“Why don’t you walk (Y/N) home, Buck?” Steve asks quietly, side eyeing his best friend.

“Yeah, don’t make the pretty lady fend off catcallers by herself tonight,” Nat leans against the bar.

“We just made a new friend Barnes, gotta make sure she gets home safely if we want to hang out again,” Sam pushes as you slide off your bar stool.

“I’m going guys, Jesus,” Bucky says before he polishes off his drink and throws money on the counter. Nat and Sam both get up to hug you goodnight, and the way they look at you and Bucky says that they hope one of you makes a goddamn move.

You wave goodbye to Steve as Bucky holds the door open for you, and as you step into the cooler air you pull your jacket tighter around you.

“How many blocks is it?” he asks, his step falling in with yours.

“About 8.”

“Lead the way.”

Your conversation on how the night went and how much you like Bucky’s friends dies down as you reach your block. “I had a really good time tonight,” you tell him as you walk toward your door.

“I’m happy you came out.”

“I am too.” You stop in front of the building’s entrance and turn on your heels.

Bucky nearly bumps into you but catches himself in just enough time. He brushes a hand through his hair, making you think he might be nervous. “I think everyone else was too.”

“I’m not used to you being that quiet.”

His gaze meets yours, and even in shadowy darkness his eyes are breathtaking. “I’m-, I’m not usually. I promised I’d be on good behavior, remember?”

“I remember. And you did your best not to hit on me.”

“That definitely was not easy.” You bite down on your lip as a grin breaks across your face. Bucky’s eyes watch your mouth for a moment, and although it’s dark you could almost swear he’s blushing. He brings his focus back to your eyes as he licks his bottom lip, “Do ya think you’d be willing to go out with the group again?”

Your heartbeat speeds as you try not to focus on his mouth or his eyes too much. There’s no need for you to melt on the sidewalk. “I absolutely would.”

“Good,” it’s his turn to break into a smile.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

Silence hangs in the air between you two and you can’t stop thinking about the love poetry in Nat’s photo.

His feelings for you.

The way he looked at you on day one and the way he looked at you tonight. Somehow they were both the same gaze of adoration and you just couldn’t see it. You weren’t ready to admit it, but now you are.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Bucky says, giving you a small nod.

“Goodnight Bucky.”

Neither of you move.

The longer you stare at him, the more sure you are. Drowning in his eyes, you feel your body lean toward him, your hand reaching for his shoulder. Your feelings take over, pulling your lips to his. You want to get lost in this moment. The instant you give in and stop caring.

You close your eyes, anticipating the kiss as you feel his hand ghost your hip.

Except your mouth finds his cheek, scruff scratching your lips.

Bucky’s hand gently guides you away from him and you open your eyes to find that he’s turned his head so you wouldn’t kiss. You feel your brows furrowing with confusion as he takes a step back from you. “I’ll see you,” he throws over his shoulder before he disappears down the dark street.

Well shit.

Maybe you were wrong after all.

After Bucky rejected your kiss you spent the rest of the weekend curled into a ball on your bed, binge watching TV.

You were so sure he felt the same. So sure it was safe to make a move. You had friends now, people who you liked and trusted. You weren’t alone anymore.

But you couldn’t erase the pain in your chest that started when you watched Bucky vanish.

You avoided the coffee shop Monday, still not sure if you could handle seeing him. You didn’t think you could ignore what happened Friday night, and bringing it up would only break your heart more.

When Tuesday morning rolls around, you try to make a cup of coffee but realize you don’t have enough left to make a decent one. Knowing he usually works Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings while he works Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, you decide it’ll be safe for you to stop by the shop. You get ready in a hurry, trying to leave enough time to get your coffee and get to your subway stop.

You walk into the shop, your nerves tingling like static under your skin. Another barista is working the register and you let out a deep breath of relief. He isn’t here.

As you step up to the counter you tell the young woman your usual order, and just as you begin to dig for your wallet you hear his scratchy sigh. Holding in the groan that desperately wants to escape your throat, you duck your head down and search through your purse. There’s no wallet to be found. The barista is trying her best to appear patient but the line behind you only gets longer.

“She’s good, I got her,” Bucky cuts in. You squeeze your eyes shut, praying you could just disappear on the spot.

“You sure?” she asks him.

He answers her with a chuckle, “Yep, she’s covered.”

You move out of line and toward the pick up area, feeling his eyes on you. You just want to ignore him. You know the second you look into his eyes, you’ll break.

“(Y/N).” Bucky says your name softly, fully aware that you’re waiting to get the hell out of there.

You keep your eyes down and place a hand on top of the cup. Just as you start to pick it up, his hand covers yours. Your eyes shoot up, finally meeting his, and he’s wearing a frown as he watches you.

“I’m sorry for how Friday night ended.” You stare at him blankly, trying to keep yourself in check. “I wanted to kiss you, I really did. But I didn’t want our first kiss to happen like that, with you bordering on drunk. I wanted it to be special.”

“It would have been plenty special to me,” you answer, dropping your eyes back to the counter. You want to be mad at him, but you can’t.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been special. Jesus, I’ve literally wanted to kiss you since the first day I saw you, but I want it to be perfect. Bordering on magical. Just like how I wanted out first date to be.” You can’t stop yourself from looking at him.

The barista calls for Bucky but he ignores her. “Look, I know I came onto you really aggressively the first time, and I just wanted to make sure you wanted this too. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been hoping for a second chance, because I have. Hell, I’ve saved every tip you’ve given me, just waiting to spend it on a really nice date, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable again. I wanted to make sure you wanted this too, that it wasn’t just the alcohol affecting you.”

“It-, it wasn’t,” you manage, your heart feeling like it’s about to explode.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against yours before he pulls his hand away, “Good.”

He turns back to the countertop, taking the next cup in his hand and filling it with espresso. You take a step toward the door, preparing to go home to get your wallet when a thought crosses your mind.

“Hey, Bucky?” you ask, your hand gripping onto your hot drink.

“Yeah?” he asks, he looks worried but he forces a fake smile.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

His eyes light up as a genuine smirk tugs up his lips. “I’m not.”

“Good.” You hesitate, afraid to push the words out. “Why don’t I pay you back by taking you out for dinner?”

The grins that spreads across his face pushes his cheeks up and crinkles the corners of his eyes, making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“That sounds fantastic.”

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