Steve absolutely loathed galas. He was always forced into a suit that was tighter than the spandex he wore for his USO tour. He had to plaster on a smile and shake hands with every slimy politician or pompous socialite who wanted a chance to talk to the legendary Captain America.
The worst part though, was the women. He knew that the second it was announced that he would attend something any woman going would find the most revealing gown they could. They always latched onto his arm, digging their perfectly manicured nails into his sleeve trying to stake their claim over him. Whenever one released him, another would catch him in their clutch.
Steve was trapped in a conversation with Bob Something, while his daughter Shelby was trying to tear through his suit jacket. The man was going on and on about whatever it was that his company did and how his stock decreased due to something the Avengers did. Steve wasn’t paying a lick of attention to the man. All his energy went to trying not to pry his daughter off his arm. He still made eye contact with the man and nodded when appropriate, but every so often he would glance around for a fellow Avenger who could come save him.
It wasn’t until he was twenty minutes into talking with Bob that he saw a chance to escape. Natasha, being Natasha, arrived at the gala fashionably late with a beautiful brunette at her side. Seeing his chance at escape, Steve took it.
“I’m sorry to cut you off,” Steve lied through his teeth, “but Natasha, Black Widow, just arrived and there is something I need to discuss with her. It was lovely talking to you sir.”
“Thank you. I hope you take what I said into consideration the next time you and your pals are out fighting robots.”
“I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”
Steve shook hands with the man, hoping his daughter would get the hint and release him.
She did not.
“Captain, I hate to ask this,” Cheryl started, “but I’ve adored the Black Widow since the Avengers formed. Would you be so kind as to make an introduction?”
He tried his hardest not to roll his eyes at her obvious attempt to cling onto him longer.
“Sure,” he told her, praying Nat would be able to get rid of her.
He ushered Sheila over to the corner Natasha was hiding her gorgeous friend in. While they walked over, Shannon went on about how much she loved Natasha and that she couldn’t wait to meet her. Steve knew that Natasha would hate this woman.
“Rogers,” Natasha deadpanned as he approached her, an eyebrow quirking when she caught sight of Shelly.
“Romanov,” he replied in kind.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Romanov.” Shirley said, beaming. She extended a hand for Natasha to shake, while still making sure to keep the other firmly latched to Steve’s bicep.
Natasha just stared at the hand, much to the amusement of her companion.
“Who are you?”
Her blunt response made the blue eyed man beside her snort. Shanna, on the other hand, recoiled as if Natasha slapped her. Even though her face remained neutral, Steve could see the glint in Natasha’s eyes at that response.
“Oh, I’m Sharon. Sharon Carter. My father runs Carter Co., the energy company.”
Sharon, that was her name, not that Steve would bother to remember it after she left.
“You mean the oil tycoon who is responsible for the second largest oil spill of our generation? And obviously when I say ‘our’ I’m not talking about the grandpa you are clinging to. Speaking of which, Steven, I thought you avoided bringing dates to these sort of functions. Something about not wanting to dance with someone until you knew they were the right partner? And blondie here doesn’t seem to be your type.”
Instead of running away like Steve anticipated, Sharon dug her claws deeper into his arm. She leveled Natasha with a glare.
“You don’t know what he wants, and you don’t speak for him,” she pushes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to chase me away so that you can have him. If you ask me, that’s a pretty shifty thing to do. Especially with your boyfriend right there.”
The brunette lets out a beautiful peel of laughter at that. “Sweetie,” he said condescendingly, “Nat’s about as much my type as you are. I’m just the hot gay friend she brings to these things the same way you bring a purse. I’m an accessory to help make her look better, doll.”
“You’re not even that attractive,” Sharon blurted out, clearly sensing she was losing this battle. “I bet I could get more men here in bed than you.”
“Congratulations sweetie. Do you want a sticker?”
“What?”
“Do. You. Want. A. Sticker.” He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. “They have chicken nuggets on them.”
With that, blue eyes turned the paper around to show that it was actually a sheet of stickers, specifically chicken nugget stickers.
Steve couldn’t hold his laughter in any longer. He let out the ugliest laugh, throwing his head back and clutching his chest.
Sharon, clearly unhappy with his response, finally released him from her grip and stormed off.
“James, that was rude,” Natasha told the brunette.
“One, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky. Two, all I did was ask her if she wanted one of my amazing chicken nugget stickers. You were so much worse to her,” the brunette - Bucky - shot back.
“Wait,” Steve jumped in, “why do you have chicken nugget stickers in your jacket pocket?”
Bucky turned his attention back to Steve. “Because, dear captain, they are stickers that have chicken nuggets on them. Need I say more?”
“Yes.”
Natasha snorted. “I’m going to leave you two morons together. Don’t do anything stupid.” With that, she walked away from the pair.
“I’m not the one dating Barton,” Bucky shouted after her. Without looking back, she flipped him the middle finger. He chuckled, then turned his attention back to Steve. “I’m Bucky Barnes, by the way. Connoisseur of all things both chicken nugget and sticker related. Nice to meet you.”
“Steve Rogers. Not really a connoisseur of anything, but I’m a very confused old man.”
That earned Steve another twinkling laugh.
“Do you wanna know the truth?”
Steve nodded.
“It’s really fun to be a dick to strangers, but no in a mean way. So I always make sure to have stickers on hand. If someone says something I deem rude or annoying, I just say something along the lines of ‘congrats, do you want a sticker?’ And when they get confused I pull out my stickers. So far, no one has ever taken me up on my offer for a sticker. It’s a tragedy.”
“Ask.”
“What?”
“Ask me if I want a sticker.”
“Steve, do you want a sticker?”
“Yes Bucky, I would love a sticker. Thank you for asking.”
Bucky smiled softly and peeled one of the chicken nugget stickers off the sheet. He reached out and stuck it to the lapel of Steve’s suit jacket.
“How do I look? Dashing?”
“Why Captain,” Bucky said dramatically, wrapping his hand around Steve’s bicep like Sharpay was doing moments ago, “you look absolutely stunning. Any gal here would be lucky to be on your arm.”
Steve’s eyes flicked down to Bucky’s lips. “Well then I guess it’s a shame that I’d rather have a fella. Specifically one with an impressive collection of stickers.”
Bucky chuckled. “Well ain’t I just the luckiest fella in the whole world. Say, why don’t we shimmy on over to the dance floor and show these cats how it’s done.”
“Buck, that sure does sound like the bee's knees, but I was thinking we could get out of here. I’ve got a sudden hankering for some chicken nuggets.”
“That sounds like a great idea, as long as we stop using 1920’s slang.”
“I make no promises, I did grow up in that decade.”
“Come on grandpa,” Bucky laughed, pulling Steve out of the gala.