Chapter 7
Your friendship with Bucky had deteriorated at an alarming rate. Missed lunch dates and study sessions. Ignored phone calls and text messages. You didn’t see him in lectures anymore.
Natasha would take him notes at the end of every shared class, and it made you sick knowing you were the cause of his absence.
He was your best friend, and you kicked yourself on a daily basis.
You had screwed up big time, and you were starting to lose all hope of reconciliation.
“Go talk to him. Your moping is giving me feelings,” Natasha snaps after a particularly hard sulking session.
You blush crimson, her sharp words settling heavily in your stomach. “He doesn't want to see me, Nat. I screwed the pooch.”
Nat barks out a laugh before pulling you into a side hug. “маленький цветок,” little flower, she responds fondly, “You will never know until you try. Men are stupid. They need things spelled out for them,” she says. Smiling widely, she gives you a saucy wink before slinking out of your shared dorm.
She was right, of course. Things would never be as they were, of that you were certain, but, you could at least attempt to clear the air.
You didn’t want to lose his friendship. You missed him terribly and would tell any number of lies to persuade him your feelings were purely platonic. It would hurt like a bitch, but having no Bucky hurt more. Unrequited love was something you could deal with. It would fade given enough time.
Losing a friendship over silly feelings? It was too horrible to contemplate.
You stand from your messy bed, dusting the cheeto residue off your old hoodie, and attempt to tame the rats nest on your head. It had been a long week. You looked like someone had run you over with a bright orange steamroller and then let bird's nest in your hair. Heavy bags framed your eyes, the evidence of many a sleepless night binge watching trash reality T.V.
There was no saving it. You looked like death and no amount of fussing would remedy it.
You square your shoulders and slip on your banana slippers. Your shoes were inexplicably missing, buried under a week's worth of washing and take out containers. You had no idea how Natasha managed to put up with you.
Deciding that she was, indeed, a saint, you walk confidently to the front door. Your hand hovers over the doorknob for longer than you would like.
Big girl panties, (Y/N). Big girl panties.
Turning the doorknob, you fling the door wide, and let out an undignified squeak as the startled figure of one Bucky Barnes jumps backward, nearly falling onto his shapely behind in shock. You stare dumbly at each other for what feels like an eternity.
Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, a clear act of defiance. You begin to sweat profusely. The distinct aroma of cheeto fills the air. You’re acutely aware of the clear state of hobo you’re in.
Oh god. Oh god. You were a frumpy trash pile, dipped in cheeto dust and regret.
“Uh... Hi?” he ventures.
You giggle nervously, and fiddle with the edge of your hoodie, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The blush you’re sporting could light up New York after dark.
“Hi,” you reply.
Bucky rubs the back of his neck. His eyes looking anywhere but at your face. “Can I come in? To talk?” he manages to get out.
You step mutely away from the door.
Bucky stops in the middle of the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His hands are thrust into the pockets of his worn jeans.
“How are you?” you blurt.
Bucky snorts, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Small talk, huh?”
You groan out loud. “I’m so sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. It was just... Steve is a right prick, and you were closest...” you trail off lamely, desperately wanting the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
“I was closest,” he echoes dully. “So if it was Sam or Pietro standing next to you, you would have done the same thing?” he probes.
“Well... no, but,”
Bucky interrupts, “And you definitely would have moaned? Plastered yourself against them? Run your hands through their hair?” he interrogates further. “And it definitely would have felt like your body was on fire. The only thing keeping you from falling was your hands on me?”
“Oh, Jesus,” you whisper.
Bucky was standing in front of you, his eyes dark as he stared into yours. His imposing frame impossibly close to you. “Don’t play games, baby girl. We both know what that kiss was.”
“I... I uh...” you stutter, his proximity short circuits your frazzled mind further.
Bucky smirks and captures your lips in a fierce kiss. His hands gripping your waist. He pulls you tightly to him, your chest plastered to his.
You’d never seen this side of him, and God was it turning you on.
His touch ignites your entire body. A smoldering spark burst into life. Stars flicker against your eyelids as Bucky moans into the kiss. His grip tightening to be nearly painful.
Your brain moves to autopilot. Your inner Vixen whooping in glorious delight.
He was yours. Finally, he was yours.
Your hands finally catch up with your mind, and you rise to your tiptoes, flinging your arms around his neck. Matching his reverent kiss with equal enthusiasm, it seems to last an eternity, a hundred lifetimes before he pulls away.
Breathing out a shaky breath, he opens up his eyes and stares at you for a long moment, seemingly contemplating a matter of great importance. He inhales and frowns before a small smile twitches on his lips.
“You taste like Cheetos.”