#mickey-henry

Muffled singing breaks the chains of his wretched state. Your voice brings a smile to his face—he instinctively knows you’ll pull him from the depths of his mind.

The irresistible gravitational pull of your soul draws him in like no other; resistance is futile. He fell into your gravity the day he met you. Since your introduction, he’s been inexplicably drawn to you, tugged towards your glowing spirit, like a moth to a flame, desperate for a glimpse of your fluorescence.

You’re the sun to his moon, the light to his dark, the joy to his pain—the two of you form a delicate dichotomy. His world changed for the better the day you met; you quickly became the luminescence of his life. He’s grateful for even a single ray of your sunshine.

Your effervescent glow, like sunshine on the ocean, makes him want nothing more than to dive into the depths of you. He hopes you can spare a bit of your light with him tonight.

He’s gently knocking at your door before he realizes what he’s doing, your melodies like a siren’s call. He pushes it open once he hears a muffled reply, taking a moment to admire you from the threshold.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, hugging a pillow as you stare engrossed at the movie playing on the television. A smile trickles across your cheeks as you look towards him.

“Hey blossom, can I join you?”

“Of course, Bucky,” you answer, scooting yourself over to make more room on the bed. You throw your lap pillow aside and pat the spot next to you. “There’s plenty of room.”

Bucky sits beside you, his arm lightly brushing against yours. Of course, you don’t mind the contact, but you feign ignorance, unsure how he feels about it.

“What are we watching?”

“Mamma Mia 2! It’s the best musical movie. The first one is great too, but something about the sequel really gets me. You haven’t missed much. Ooh, here comes the best part of this song!” you exclaim, straightening yourself as you prepare for the chorus. “Waterloo, I was defeated; you won the war. Waterloo, promise to love you forever more. Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to. Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, Waterloo, finally facing my Waterloo,” you softly sing, slightly embarrassed now that you have company. You glance to see Bucky’s reaction, noticing him smiling and shaking his head. You look at him quizzically. “What?”

He loves to watch you in your element: happy, bubbly, sincere. Your adorable heart passionately sings along to the movie. He’s never met someone so unapologetically themselves; he admires that quality about you. Your kaleidoscope eyes glimmer as a smile tugs at your lips. He’s never known someone more perfect than you. These ideas swirl around his mind at a million miles per hour. Of course, he voices none of this; instead, he smiles and says, “you have a lovely voice, blossom.”

You can’t help but blush, “Thank you.”

You continue to sing along, your gentle melody carrying throughout your bedroom. As enjoyable as the movie is, Bucky can’t help but watch you instead. A particular lyric sticks with him, an echo of his feelings: he couldn’t escape you even if he wanted to. He’s sure it’s destiny the two of you met; he’s so appreciative of your kindness and friendship.

After a few more scenes of the movie pass, you feel Bucky’s weight shift on your side—he falls asleep with his head perched on your shoulder. Your heart flutters in your chest; this is the most vulnerable Bucky has ever been with you. This small gesture means the world; you’re in awe that he’s comfortable enough in your presence to let his guard down.

Bucky’s head slides down from your shoulder. You gently guide his head into your lap, praying you don’t wake him. He remains asleep, his legs curling into his stomach as you situate him on your thighs. You softly stroke his soft brown hair, letting it run between your fingers, resting your arm on his bicep. The heat of his torso warms both your legs and your heart.

When you first met, Bucky’s eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, drew you in unlike anything you experienced before. The torment behind his eyes and the pained expressions he hides in the daylight finally dissipate; he’s relaxed, happy, and at ease asleep in your lap. You’re relieved to see his anguish melt away.

In his slumber, he pulls your arm between his, gently hugging it and intertwining his fingers in your hand. Without thinking, you softly kiss his temple. Your cheeks burn as his lips curl into a smile from your touch.

You hope Bucky can feel the love spiriting through your veins. It shatters your heart knowing how Bucky sees himself: damaged and broken. You see past the cracks in his mirror; the beautiful reflection of his soul is clear to you: his pure, sweet, wholesome essence. You could stay in this moment forever, content and at peace, even with your arms and legs fast asleep.

Waterloo’s catchy melody echoes through your mind. It’s destiny that Bucky is here with you, in your arms, at peace for once in his unnaturally long life. You know he went through hell and back—a super-soldier lost in time. You can’t help but be thankful that through all the dark twists and turns of his life, it’s led him to you. He’s a beautiful friend; you’re so grateful to know him.

He wakes up as the credits roll, confused at the sense of serenity rushing through his veins. His head rests in your lap; he feels the gentle caress of your fingers as they circle through his hair. He’s surprised at the placidity; it’s been a long time since he’s felt this way.

He lays unmoving, desperate to stay in this moment for as long as he can.

His internal monologue usually goes on forever: never stopping, never ceasing. Even in his dreams, his thoughts follow and haunt him. The black hole that is his consciousness destroys everything it touches—ravaging peace and light.

But at this moment, in your lap, arms, and presence, his thoughts mellow.

His usual turbulent, reckless current of thoughts are now calm, gentle waves that softly kiss the scorching shore. He bobs up and down in the wave pool of his cognizance rather than swimming against a fierce riptide.

The calmness is overwhelming; the floodgates of his feelings come crumbling down. Suppressed emotions bubble to the surface, the lava-like torrent erupts his tranquility. Even as he feels everything at once, he feels secure because he’s with you.

God, he loves you so much. He wants nothing more than to profess his love; his heart screams and yearns for you. He knows he’ll be okay, though. Even if your love for him is only platonic—basking in your light is enough. Like the song you sang earlier, he promises to love you forevermore.

He selfishly indulges in this moment, memorizing how your fingers feel in his hair, how your thigh feels against his cheek, how your arm feels wrapped between his before you eventually let him go. He wishes this moment could last forever. He wouldn’t mind spending eternity with you; paradise is in your arms. He doesn’t feel like he’s holding the weight of the world anymore, all he’s holding onto in this moment is your soft arm.

The moment ends as he sniffles, surprised at the tears slowly trickling down his cheeks and embarrassed at his unexpected, visible vulnerability. He shifts to sit back up beside you. “I’m sorry for intruding on your space,” he whispers.

“It’s what you needed; it’s no problem, truly,” you reply with a smile. You wait until he looks you in the eyes to continue. “My door is always open if you need me. Don’t hesitate, Bucky, I mean it.” You angle yourself towards him, cupping his cheek and brushing the tears away with your thumb.

The kindness and love in your eyes surprises Bucky. He has never grown complacent to the way you look at him, adoringly, with light and joy in each glance. You are incredibly patient with him; you never push him to open up. Yet here you are as he bares his soul to you, unjudging and gentle.

“Thank you, blossom,” he answers. He knows your words are truthful, but he can’t help the swarm of insecurity buzzing its way through his mind. Although his words sound confident, his eyes are stormy with doubt.

Without hesitation, you press a gentle kiss on his brow, resting your forehead on his as you whisper, “I’m always here for you, I promise.”

He presses his lips gently into yours before he can refrain—a quick, chaste, and soft peck. You feel the heat spreading across his cheeks as his lips leave yours. Before he can turn away, you pull him back, softly kissing his pillowy pink lips. It feels perfect and passionate—everything you could ever dream of.

The universe signs its blessing in the stars, unifying your souls, a match made in the heavens.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, you both finally face your Waterloo.

On the late night walk from an all night restaurant a few blocks over from the apartment you shared with Bucky, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders; tucking you in his side.

"These dates have been extra eye opening, thanks for suggesting them, Dollface." He grinned down at you as you put your arm around his back. "They're not dates, Bucky. We've been over this." You laughed, leaning closer to his side. "You say dinner, I say date. Same thing."

"It's starting to rain." You frowned, looking up at the dark sky, the lights of the city over powering all of the stars. "Perfect." Bucky moved in front of you and gently held your shoulders as the rain got heavier.

You narrowed your eyes at the dark haired man in front of you, the rain drops darkening his clothes and hair. "What're you doing?" You questioned, Bucky's hands gliding up the sides of your neck to hold your jaw; cold metal of his left sending a shiver through your body before his lips locked to yours.

It was sweet and slow, his tongue pressing against yours gently when he tilted your head back and took a step closer. "Ok, James. I get it." You giggled, pressing your hands to his chest as his lips peppered wet kisses to your jaw; both of you decently drenched from the down pour of rain.

"C'mon, it's romantic." He purred, taking your hands in his larger ones. "No, its pneumonia, Buck. Let's go home and we can continue there."

He leaned down to press another soft kiss to your lips, a wide grin cracking over his face. "Home stopped being a place when you entered my life."

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.  

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought.  The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

You’re pulled from your reverie when Bucky calls your name. “Yeah?” you reply, barely masking the startled stutter in your voice.

“Pass me the salt?”

“Oh! Sure, of course,” you muster, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of you as you hand him the salt shaker. 

“Thanks, doll,” he flirts with a smile, the same one he gave you that night when he got back to the compound. You nearly choke. “Bucky Barnes called me a term of endearment?!? Holy shit.” Your heart swells and you look down at your glass in a desperate attempt to hide the blush creeping its way across your cheeks. “Goodness gracious, I respond this way from a simple word?” You couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if he touched you. 

It didn’t take long to find out. The following day, you stand in the kitchen prepping your lunch, singing softly along to the song playing from your phone. Bucky appears soon after. He stands close to you for a moment, closer than necessary, but of course you don’t mind. He has just showered; his cologne lingers in the air, intoxicating you. Somehow, you keep singing along, showing no sign that your mind is elsewhere. 

“Ugh, he smells amazing. This man has too much power over me; this is ridiculous! I don’t even remember what I was doing—”

“You have a beautiful voice,” he compliments.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you softly reply, your heart racing at his praise.

“Let me get by you real fast, doll,” he says, moving to walk behind you. 

“There he goes again with the pet name. My god, could this get any worse—” 

He places his hands gently on your hips as he moves beside you. Electricity travels through your whole body; you’re internally screaming at his touch. His hands feel better than you imagined. Even though the contact lasts only a moment, the effects of his touch linger after, leaving you speechless. 

You hear a musical chuckle from the man behind you. “Is he teasing me? It sure feels like it,” you wonder. There is no way that he can’t see the effect he has on you. Before you can even formulate another thought, he touches you again as he moves back to the other side of you. “That was definitely on purpose; certainly he wouldn’t do this by accident. Right?”

Your eyes linger as he finishes putting together his lunch. He catches your gaze and smiles. “See you later, sweetheart,” he says with a wink before leaving the room. “Okay, that answers my question; that was very intentional. What am I going to do with myself?”

You don’t know how much longer you can take his teasing. Throughout the week, he ups his antics, calling you pet names more than your own, stealing touches whenever he can get away with it, smiling whenever you make eye contact. The tension is insatiable; thoughts of Bucky follow you everywhere. You decide to take matters in your own hands; Bucky did not seem to be planning to make a move anytime soon. If he is going to tease the hell out of you, you might as well get some payback. 

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Tony’s announcement of Friday night karaoke gives you a wicked idea. However, for it to work, you need to recruit help. You know just who to ask. It doesn’t take long to find Sam and Steve; they spent a ton of their free time sparring in the gym. They seem to be at the end of their workout, their movements slow and sloppy, relying on witty retorts to throw off the other. They stop when they notice your arrival. 

“Hey!” Sam says with a smile, hugging you as you approach. You squeeze him tightly, even with his sticky sweat coating his arms. You greet Steve with a hug too.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Steve asks as you let go.

“Can I ask you guys something? And you promise you two won’t laugh at me? Especially if I'm reading this wrong?”

“Of course,” answers Steve. 

“Yeah, for sure,” replies Sam. 

You hesitate for a second, taking a deep breath. “Does Bucky like me? I swear he does. He keeps teasing me, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I think I am practically in love with the guy at this point, he’s so beautiful and—”

You stop as the boys exchange glances and begin laughing. 

You cross your arms, hurt. “You said you wouldn’t laugh at me! I can’t control how I feel.”

“No! Wait! We aren’t laughing at you!” Steve says between giggles. 

You furrow your brows. “Then why are you laughing?”

“Bucky’s obsessed with you,” Steve answers after calming his laughter. 

“God, yes, you’re all he talks about nowadays,” Sam adds. 

“What?! He does? Why? Are you shitting me right now? Because that would be really freaking mean—“

“No! Of course not,” Steve insists. “Don’t you see the way he looks at you?”

“And the pet names he gives you?” Sam adds.

“And how he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself lately?” Steve finishes. 

Now you feel stupid for even asking. Of course you noticed all of those things. They were all you ever thought about. “Well, yeah, but maybe he does that with all the girls.”

“What girls?” Sam retorted. “The only women who are here often enough to cross paths with him are you, Natasha, and Wanda. Wanda’s with Vision, as weird as that is, but love is love. Natasha shoots daggers at anyone who looks at her with love in their eyes. That leaves you.”

“Why in the world would he like me? Of all people? He’s out of my league,” you sigh,

Sam’s scoff pulls you from your thoughts. “Bucky? Out of your league? He’s a crazy ex-assassin with emotional issues! If anything, he's out of your league.”

“You’re a catch, why wouldn’t he like you?” Steve assures.

Steve and Sam always know just what to say to make you feel better. “I guess you’re right,” you admit with a defeated grin. 

“So, you know how Bucky feels. What are you going to do about it?” Steve asks. 

“I have an idea, but I need your help.”

“We’re listening.”

You divulge your plan to them. They smile, hyping you up. 

“Dude, I’m so down!” Sam exclaims, clapping his hands in excitement. 

“You think this will work?”

“Definitely,” Steve assures. “This is going to be amazing!”

“Okay then, we’re doing this. Let’s go find Bucky. Time to initiate phase one.”

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Bucky is sitting on the common room couch, flipping through a book when he sees you, Sam, and Steve enter. He exchanges a glance with you, smiling as your eyes light up. The three of you sit down. You’re sitting next to Sam, closer than usual. There’s a brief moment of silence before you speak. “Sam, are you going to karaoke night?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss everyone’s drunk-ass singing for the world.”

“Will you be my duet partner?”

This catches Bucky’s attention. He looks up from his book. Why the hell were you asking Sam to sing with you? You normally ask the girls...

“Sure thing, baby. It’ll be a ton of fun!” Sam smiles. 

Baby?! What?! How dare he call you a pet name, his girl, right in front of him? Well, you may not be his girl yet, but Sam knows how he feels about you. What the hell is he thinking?

“Yay! This’ll be so fun!” You hug him, grabbing his hand before continuing, “Wanna practice with me in a bit?”

“Find me when you’re ready, sweetheart,” Sam answers, kissing your knuckle before letting go of your hand. 

Sweetheart?! What the fuck was going on? Did he miss his shot? Would Sam really do that to him? Bucky can barely handle his swirling thoughts. He storms out of the room without looking back. 

Steve can’t help but laugh once Bucky is out of earshot. “That worked a little too well, wouldn’t you say so?”

“That wasn’t too far, was it?” you ask with a worried expression on your face. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. He’ll just come on even stronger now. He won’t give up on you that easily,” Sam assures you. 

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Bucky can barely contain his anger as you step on the stage with Sam, giggling and smiling at your karaoke partner. Jealousy engulfs him. He can barely listen to the start of the song, ignoring the catchy beat blasting through the speakers. He doesn’t recognize the song, but looks up from his drink when you sing, “Hey Bucky boy, what you doing tonight? I wanna see what you got in store."

He looks right at you. Did she just say Bucky?

Sam echoes, “Hey, hey Bucky!” Well, that answers his question.

“You're giving it your all when you're dancing on me. I want to see if you can give me some more,” you continue, twirling your fingers through your hair.

“Hey, hey Bucky!”

“You can be my man, I can be your girl, and we can pump this jam however you want,” you sing, swaying your hips to the cadence of the lyrics.

“Hey, hey Bucky!”

“Pump it from the side, pump it upside down, or we can pump it from the back and the front,” you wink as you finish the line. Bucky sits up suddenly, crossing his legs, his face turning beet red. You smile, knowing the plan was working. Steve laughs from beside him. He keeps his eyes glued on you as the two of you continue the song, utterly entranced. You look him right in the eye as you end the song, “I want you tonight.”

You saunter over to where he is sitting after high-fiving Sam, confidence filling your chest. “So, what did you think of my performance, Bucky?”

You yelp as he grabs your hips and pulls you down to sit on his lap. His voice deepens, “you’re such a tease, you know that right?”

You laugh. “I’m the tease? Really? You’re the one who just pulled me onto your lap and taunts me with flirtatious remarks and smiles all freaking day. My god Bucky, make a move already—”

He cuts you off, pulling you in for a kiss, his flesh arm grabbing the back of your neck. The team whoops and cheers. 

“Glad you finally made a move, Bucky,” you pant as your lips part from his.